At the moment, I’m operating in a media blackout.

No television; no newspaper; no Web.

Why? Because about seven hours ago, halfway around in the world, two men stepped onto a tennis court to enact the latest chapter in one of the great sporting rivalries of our time.

A true fan would have set his alarm for 3:30AM and gotten up to watch the Australian Open semi-final as it unfolded, live.

I happen to like sleeping slightly more than I like watching tennis. I also hate commercials. Which means that for me, the sensible choice was to record the match and watch it later today, fast-forwarding through the ads.

You don’t have to be a tennis fan to know about Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer, just as you don’t have to be a fan to know about the Williams sisters, Serena and Venus, who, in their heyday, were every bit as dominant on the women’s side as Rafa and Roger were on the men’s.

There’s a key difference, though: Nadal and Federer represent a titanic rivalry; whereas the Williams sisters represent…what, exactly? Co-domination of the women’s game?

Whenever Nadal and Federer have met — usually in the final of a grand slam — there have been fireworks. The exception is when they’ve met in the French Open, which is played on clay, Nadal’s native surface, and one on which his supremacy is unmatched — perhaps in the history of the sport. But in the other majors, which are contested on grass or hardcourt, a Federer/Nadal final has often meant an instant classic.

Contrast that with Serena and Venus. The Williams sisters haven’t met in a grand slam final since 2009, but in their heyday, they faced off in eight of them. A few of their finals were scintillating, but those were the exceptions to the rule. A Williams/Williams final was more often than not an awkward family affair, with as much attention paid to their parents sitting in the player’s box as the action on the court.

The Williams sisters had the two best serves in the game; the best groundstrokes; unmatched movement on the court. So why weren’t their matches explosive? Did they know each other’s games too well, having practiced together since childhood? Was it just too hard to forget that the player on the other side of the net also happened to be a sibling?

In other words, what makes a great rivalry, as opposed to a great match-up?

Part of the answer lies in a study of contrasts. Sports like tennis, baseball, soccer, and football, are expressions of a dualist understanding of the world, which is our predominant mode of thinking in the West. The outcome is simple and iron-clad: there is a winner and a loser.

The loser is perhaps the more significant of the two in defining the sport.

Unlike, say, Olympic sports, which reward the three top contenders at an event with a medal, albeit of different values, a Grand Slam, a Superbowl, or a World Cup is designed to showcase a single champion. Yes, the loser takes home a whopping check, and maybe even a small trophy, but the winner gets the glory – and all the bragging rights.

Great rivalries are marked by differences that can be endorsed or rejected by a victory. In the case of Federer and Nadal, these differences are striking and immediately apparent. Federer’s game is catlike and precise; Nadal’s, a study in power and endurance. Federer’s temperament is cool and aloof; Nadal’s, fiery and macho. Federer hails from Switzerland, a country known for jeweled watches and aristocratic banks; Nadal is from Spain, land of the toreador and the raging bull.

Of course, as the Eastern religions teach us, dualism is largely based on illusions. Federer’s forehand, his most potent weapon, is one of the most powerful shots in the game; Nadal’s finesse at net, which has improved immensely over his career, is greatly responsible for his Wimbledon victories. Underneath Federer’s cool exterior, there’s a volcanic competitor; underneath Nadal’s ferocious passion, there’s an icy stillness.

There has to be something larger at stake between great rivals than mere skill. The Williams sisters teach us that. How do you root for one of them over the other? To me, they both represent the same thing: the victory of talent and hard work over the streets of Compton. Of course there are plenty of differences between them as players and individuals, but they’re subtle.

A great rivalry, on the other hand, represents a collision of extremes — of playing style; temperament; even nationality. That’s how we pick sides. We identify with one player over the other, then cross our fingers and hope to see our world view celebrate on the podium by holding up the giant check and kissing the trophy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 02 February 2012

For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com