Meet the new Roger Federer. Same as the old Federer with one crucial difference. This week, for the first time in living memory, he played disgracefully.
Not on his first return to Wimbledon since retiring, where he took a standing ovation on Tuesday which might still be going if the Princess of Wales had not told him to sit down. No, it was his Zurich guest appearance for Coldplay, truly bucket list stuff for people who spent their university summers interning for major investment banks. Federer botched his homecoming show, woefully out of time with Chris Martin despite his crucial rolein the band: chief shaker of the shaker.
On safer ground in SW19, Federer is still tennis’ biggest star in the minds of the Wimbledon crowd. It is not often you see someone look more refined than an actual princess but that was Federer waving beatifically from the Royal Box. Unlike Bjorn Borg or Usain Bolt who ghosted their sports after retiring Federer seems keen to stick around and tennis could not wish for a better ambassador. He exudes taste, careful tailoring and central European smarm. He looks like he shaves hourly to avoid even the suggestion of stubble.
So here is Federer 2.0. Charming, disarmingly natural, the consummate room-worker, but also now shorn of his superpower. His brand is old-school luxury, which requires a certain high-handedness. You cannot be the face of Rolex and Moet and also take part in TikTok challenges rating which 1990s hits slap hardest. But only great artists and athletes get to be completely distant. Beyoncé’s grand statements are her albums, Federer’s used to be his forehand. Now, to some degree, he has to toil on the relatability corner like everyone else.
David Beckham on Wednesday. Getty Images
This might be difficult, given his symbiosis with tennis, simultaneously the most luxe but least cool sport. He has used the phrase, seemingly in earnest, “My dear friend Anna Wintour”. A day after Coldplay he watched Elton John and dutifully called the experience “iconic” on Twitter. No on-stage role this time incidentally, given Elton’s commitment to supporting younger talent, hence the guest verse on Tiny Dancer for Holger Rune.
Gradually, Federer will become much like any other retired sports star. It is easy to prolong the myth for as long as you are playing and eking out winners from inexplicable angles. But myth-making requires constant burnishment. How long can the people who wang on about Federer continue to wang on about him without any new additions to his highlight reel?
There is a BBC Sport spot reportedly waiting for him but it is difficult to imagine Federer saying anything other than lovely, supportive things about players who he was facing so recently. Plus those who master a sport with the genius of their instinct do not often have much to add as analysts.
So what else? Back at Wimbledon every year for the best seats in the house and hospitality small talk over a scone with the men who invented Sipsmith’s gin? Bit of punditry, a well-branded video for the official socials, some light after-dinnering? Basically, become the Amex black card Tim Henman?
If that all sounds slightly naff then there is the encouraging example of David Beckhan, now little more than tattooed wallpaper, but with resolutely undimmed commercial appeal. That you imagine, will be Federer’s end goal, a sort of premium Becks. AKA Peroni.
No endorsements could derail the goodwill he earned throughout his career. It would take a true PR catastrophe to make any dent in his combined 42 million followers across Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Threads, although it should be noted that he is currently trailing your correspondent by a score of 66 followers to zero on the latter. You can keep your 20 Grand Slams, Roger.
It would be remiss not to mention his philanthropy, his eponymous Foundation, the fact he seems not just pleasant but credibly sane. The only certainty is that the specifics of his brilliance will fade. The intelligence of his game, its capacity to surprise, life measured out with absurd topspin.
As those things become distant what will remain? More, you would hope, than an immensely talented billboard.
The Daily Telegraph in London
