Not so long ago I wrote a paean to the Gods of Tennis, thinking this would be their swan song. Sometimes it is nice to be surprised on the wrong side. Age is but a number. And for some athletes that number seems stuck on the scale of youth.

Roger Federer won again. Twenty out of Thirty.

What can humanity take away from such trancending accomplishments? Is it mere admiration for the athleticism? Is it just a momentary appreciation for an ageless wonder with no autumns?

Roger is long past adjectives and adulation. Yes, the game seems so easy, the strokes so graceful and yet powerful. He is sometimes here and yet over there on all sides of the court, moving with ease that would make a mother leopard proud. But beyond all this, lies a deep passion for the game. Mere competitiveness cannot drive mortals beyond the plane of mediocrity.

The legends have a deep rooted respect and awe of the game, their trade and like the archer who cannot perceive anything but the bird’e eye, they zoom in on their passion and never let it out of their sight.

Roger, broke down at the end with tears, a humble man possibly trying to comprehend his achievements for he seldom thinks about its fruits, the work being its own reward.

Next week another legend beckons. And my bet of course is on Brady.