IF

Last night, through all my jet lag, I stayed up till 2am India time watching what I now in all my awakeness believe was the greatest moment in sport. After the three set thrashing in the clay of Roland Garros everyone knew the winds of change were blowing. Indeed it was. The whistling wind was there playing its part in this carefully choreographed moment in history. I called a three set Nadal victory, my brother Gautam had said Nadal in four, Borg said Nadal and then changed his prediction to Federer. No one expected it to be what it turned out to be.

Someone said, during the match, that the center court at Wimbledon can not be owned. It can only be leased. For great champions may come and go, but the court stays on forever. I know I am in a poetic frame of mind but who can blame me for I now know what they meant by poetry in motion. The torch must be passed on from generation to generation and in sport's shrinking age gap, the difference between generations is now down to four years. Five years ago a young boy took over a crown and safeguarded it and now at age 26 he has very reluctantly handed it over to his 22 year old successor while a 52 year old watched. This dance must go on.

An era has passed and the gods must have been watching as their sad and joyous tears fell to the earth and blessed those who deserved it most. Above the players' entrance to Wimbledon hangs a board that everyone well versed in high school trivia will tell you is a copy of my favorite poem/piece of writing "If" by Rudyard Kipling. How unbelivably fitting!

If - Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!