Spain's Rafael Nadal waves to the crowd as he leaves the court after losing his first round match against Germany's Alexander Zverev at the French Open in Paris, on May 27.Yves Herman/Reuters
For 45 years, the same guy – Danny Ray – would put the cape on James Brown during Please, Please, Please.
Brown cribbed the cape routine from a revivalist preacher he’d seen as a kid. He’d fall to the stage, exhausted and despondent. The audience would keen with concern.
That was Ray’s cue to hurry over and lay the cape over Brown’s shoulders. He’d slowly usher his boss to the wings. Before they could get there, Brown would tear himself away, re-energized.
But Brown didn’t always play it the same way. Sometimes he’d jump to his feet before Ray got to him. Sometimes he’d refuse the cape altogether. It was the not knowing that prevented the cape routine from turning into kitsch.
Whatever Rafael Nadal is doing right now, it would be better with a Danny Ray.
Last year, Nadal was muddily clear that 2024 would be his final season of top-level tennis.
“[It’s] probably going to be my last year on the professional tour,” he said in a prepared video.
If it’s not, then why release a video?
When you’re at Nadal’s level – a human corporation – these announcements are not tossed off. There are businesses to wind down, and others to wind up. Goodbye, performance footwear; Hello, whatever recent retirees are driving these days.
The Apollo Theatre of Nadal’s farewell tour would be the French Open. No individual athlete has ever owned an event the way Nadal has owned this one – 18 appearances, 14 titles.
As promised, Nadal took the rest of 2023 off. Then he took the first bit of 2024 off as well. French Open officials decided that if there was going to be a farewell party, they’d better schedule it right at the beginning.
When he got to Paris, Nadal told everyone to return the gold watch to the jewellers. He wasn’t retiring after all. Well, probably not. Maybe. He was going to see.
If this was a Netflix film, the scene where Nadal walks into the dressing room, spots a novelty cake, twirls his finger in the air and says, “We won’t be needing this, caballeros,” would happen about an hour in. That movie can still work, but it’s going to need extensive re-writes.
Nadal played Alexander Zverev in the first round on Monday. Zverev, a robotic Russo-German, is an ideal tennis villain. Here’s a guy the crowd doesn’t feel bad about snubbing.
Unfortunately, Zverev is about a hundred years younger than Nadal. He’s also twice as big and, like everyone else in the men’s game, no longer afraid of the Spaniard, even on clay.
Nadal played as well on Monday as he has in a long time. There was a run in the middle of the second set when the young Nadal reappeared – leaping four feet in the air after saving a series of break points.
But 2010 Nadal didn’t last long. Mostly, it was 2024 Nadal – a step too slow and consistently off the beat.
It only seemed close because Zverev bled Nadal for three hours. By the end, the crowd was hangdog. Their Cinderella lost in straight sets, 6-3, 7-6, 6-3.
Only one other person had ever done that to Nadal in Paris – an absolute-peak-of-his-powers Novak Djokovic, nearly a decade ago. Zverev is no Djokovic.
Traditionally, the loser does not address the crowd. French Open director Amelie Mauresmo had to convince Nadal to take the microphone. Once he had it, he attempted the most ambitious James Brown anyone’s seen since the Godfather of Soul left us.
Speaking haltingly, but never overcome with emotion, Nadal teased the crowd with his appreciation.
“For me it’s difficult to say what’s going on in the future. It is a big percentage that I will not be back playing here in Roland Garros, but I cannot say a hundred per cent.”
The cape was on.
A couple of sentences later, he said he hoped to compete in the Paris Olympics, which would mean playing at Roland Garros.
The cape was off.
Later still – “I never could imagine when I was a kid that I will be here with almost 28 … (embarrassed pause) … 38 years old. I would love 28!”
The cape was back on.
Nadal bounced all over the place. Confused as to what exactly they were watching – an adieu or an au revoir – the crowd hung expectantly. When it became clear he was wrapping up, they began an ovation.
Some may not have caught his final words: “I really hope to see you again, but I don’t know.”
Short of falling to his knees, you’re not going to see a better James Brown in sport. The thing is – Brown knew the concert eventually had to end.
None of this is confusing. Encouraged by their sponsors, top athletes are being turned into nostalgia acts long past the point of competitiveness.
But it’s still sad. Nadal proved on Monday that he is no longer up for it against the best. And this was on clay. What’s he going to look like on hardcourt or, God help him, grass?
Nadal can be a semi-decent player for years to come, but why would he want that? It can’t be money. Is it hubris? Or habit?
Nobody wants to see to see Rocky Marciano losing a two-to-one decision, no matter how much they love him. The aura of impregnability is the mystique. Once one is gone, so’s the other.
Nadal lost his mystique on Monday. Last year, he could still kid himself that he was a legend on parade. That’s gone.
Now he’s Muhammad Ali after he lost to Larry Holmes. He’s a guy who used to be great, can’t take a hint and because of that is suddenly, deeply vulnerable.
What Nadal has left now is the cape routine. He might take another lesson from Brown – the way to keep people interested is to surprise them. Based on what we saw Monday, Nadal has only one more surprise to spring.