Switzerland's Roger Federer left, and Spain's Rafael Nadal attend a press conference before the Laver Cup in London, on Sept. 22, 2022.Andrew Boyers/Reuters
During his endless farewell tour, Rafael Nadal has been steady about one thing. He is not Roger Federer’s friend.
“I wouldn’t consider him a friend, but someone familiar, with whom I have a great relationship,” Nadal told one Spanish outlet.
“We are not close friends,” he told another, then threw in, “We can call each other any time and speak about anything. I spoke with him just today.”
After two decades as the most famous rivals in sports, they came together and played doubles at the 2022 Laver Cup – Federer’s last hurrah. As it ended (they lost), they sat side-by-side, holding hands, looking away from each other and bawling.
Nadal is ending his own career with the Davis Cup this week. Federer is a tangible presence hovering over the tournament. On Tuesday, the Swiss released what can only be described as a love letter to Nadal.
Like most crush notes, it goes on too long. There’s a bit about that doubles experience:
“It meant everything to me that you were there by my side – not as my rival but as my doubles partner. Sharing the court with you that night, and sharing those tears, will forever be one of the most special moments of my career.”
Pals? I guess some might say that. Amigos? It depends on what part of Spain you’re from. But definitely not friends.
The internet, being the internet, has tried to impose a sexual tension on this relationship. If you’re going to Google it, don’t do it at work.
You get why some people are confused. This sort of male friendship – one that doesn’t need to be constantly advertising itself; physically intimate, but not tinged with desire – doesn’t get much play in mainstream culture any more.
But anyone Gen X and older gets it – and both Nadal and Federer were always throwbacks. This is what the bonds of brotherhood used to look like, before op-ed writers and social scientists turned male friendship into a zoological study.
This sort of male friendship starts in competition and mutual suspicion. When you encounter someone who is very like yourself, you feel the need to measure yourself against him, and beat him if you can. You’re young. You’re taking applications for father figures, not rivals. Wherever you look, all you see is the red cape.
Federer and Nadal first met when they were 22 and 17, respectively. Federer was the world No. 1. Nadal won that match. Afterward, the two circled each other carefully.
“Obviously, he didn’t play his best tennis and that’s the reason I could win,” Nadal said.
“I think this is not a big surprise for everybody,” Federer said.
The pattern was set for the next 20 years. The two men would say only nice things about each other, and otherwise maintain a distance.
Clearly, there was a respectful understanding. At the height, they were both Nike men – given their celebrity and pull, a difficult-to-imagine scenario if one disliked the other.
When Nadal beat Federer in the greatest men’s tennis match in history – the 2008 Wimbledon final – he threw himself to the ground at the end. Usually, the winner rolls around there for a while. But you could see Nadal register in the midst of it how he must appear to the defeated man. He popped to his feet and ran to Federer, bowing and hugging him apologetically.
There were no big public breakthroughs in this friendship. Like people once tended to do, they both kept their private lives private. Nadal’s still doing that now with his ‘friends but not friends’ shtick.
That’s what makes watching this acquaintance flower at the end so lovely. They’re both older now, into middle age, husbands and fathers.
The end – the real end – is coming up over the horizon at them. Far enough off that they don’t need to deal with it today, but knowing for the first time that they’re going to have to deal with it at some point. That changes the way you think about things, and people. Anyone who’s been there this whole time with you is now a precious human resource. They get you.
Having shared such a unique experience, Federer and Nadal may each be the only person alive who really understands the other.
These guys haven’t spent too many years giving each other over-the-top compliments and doing a million ads together. They have sought no business synergies. They’ve been tough on each other, distant. Now that they aren’t, it has the ring of truth.
Typically, when Player X says of her/his great rival Player Y, ‘They made me better’ or ‘I love them so much,’ what I think is, ‘This is X’s way of hogging some of the spotlight during Y’s farewell party.’
But I believe this one. I believe all the nice things Federer says about Nadal in his letter. The line that strikes me most is buried at the end: “I know you’re focused on the last stretch of your epic career. We will talk when it’s done.”
Real friendship makes no demands. It shows up when it matters. Then it recedes into the background. Real friendship doesn’t feel the need to feature in the Instagram carousel. It’s often shy and bashful and a little embarrassed by its own intensity.
The real buddy isn’t the one who needs to play the good guy where other people can see it happening. He’s the one who’s there after the party’s over, when everybody’s gone home and it’s time to start figuring out what happens next.