After Rafael Nadal’s 4th consecutive early exit from Wimbledon, analysts are rushing to explain what happened. One theory is that the game has evolved and Nadal’s “old school” tactics are no longer working. Really? If Nadal is old-school, then Federer is prehistoric. And Federer is still at the top of the game. In fact, the tour is currently dominated by veterans. They should be asking, “where is the new school?” The game does evolve over time, but it happens slowly, occasionally punctuated by a change in technology (graphite rackets, poly strings). The level of individual players changes much faster and this is what we’re seeing with Nadal. Since his absence in the latter half of last year, his game has failed to re-materialize. The question is why? He’s come back from past detours with a vengeance. What’s different now?

Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal are interesting rivals. The contrast between them is striking. Righty vs Lefty. Classic vs Modern. Elegance vs Savagery. Pick any spectrum you want and they’ll be on opposing sides.

Roger has more slams, twice as much time at #1 and has spent most of his career ahead of Rafa in the rankings (including now). Many experts consider Roger the greatest of all time, but Nadal has dominated their H2H matchup (23–10). Nadal supporters say you can’t be the best of all time if you can’t beat your greatest rival. Fed supporters argue that it’s just a bad matchup that has mostly been played on Rafa’s terms (clay courts, slow hard courts).

Before their matches, Nadal could write his strategy on the front page of a newspaper and it wouldn’t matter one bit.

“Dear Roger,

Today I’m going to hit every serve to your backhand and most of my groundstrokes, too. And I’ll run an extra 20 feet, with no chance in the point, just to rob you of a winner. I don’t care if this bores you. Uncle Toni told me this is the plan, so I do it.

Adios, Rafa.”

Despite so many contrasts to choose from, there’s one major difference that encompasses all of the technical, tactical and mental aspects of their games. At key moments in a match, Roger wins with brilliance and Nadal wins with tenacity.

For most of a match, each of them play at a level of 8.5 out of 10 let’s say. If they’re both playing at this level, the outcome will hinge on a few vital points. The tie-breaker. A break point. 30–all at 4–4. How they approach these key points is what separates them more than anything else.

To think of brilliance, let’s use the analogy of a light switch. It’s either on or off. When it counts the most, a brilliant player goes to level 11…or he doesn’t. He hits an ace. A line clipping winner. A deft touch volley. Or a narrow miss. Pete Sampras is the epitome of the brilliant player. His game was pure offense. He rarely had to grind out matches or even play defense early in a set. He even went for aces on second serves! At the end of the day, Pete held the trophy if he found brilliance in those few pivotal moments.

The mental foundation of a brilliant player’s success is confidence. When he needs to hit the line with a forehand winner on break point down, he can’t hesitate. The possibility that the shot could miss cannot exist in his mind.

Tenacity is a different beast. Instead of a switch, think of a dial. When necessary, it can crank all the way to 10. It might not reach 11, but it’s never 0. Late in the set, it’s turned up to 9. On key points, it’s cranked to 10. Instead of producing breathtaking winners, the tenacity dial throws more fuel at the problem. Footwork gets sharper. Topspin becomes heavier. Margin of error expands ever wider. If a tenacious player has to be brilliant, it’s only because his opponent has forced him into a corner and a winner is the only way out.

The mental foundation of a tenacious player’s success is not confidence, but hunger. Early in Nadal’s career, he spoke of Federer with reverence, like a scrappy younger brother. People laughed when he said it was his goal to win Wimbledon. A clay court specialist winning on grass? That year he made the finals and would soon hold the trophy. Hunger doesn’t fluctuate the way confidence does. Setbacks, like an injury, can even make it grow.

The tenacious player might not win every match, but he never beats himself.

For all its virtues, tenacity has a price. Mentally, emotionally and physically it is draining. Chronologically, Nadal is 29 and Federer is 34, but their structural integrity tells a different story. Fed has appeared in 59 consecutive Grand Slam events (an all-time record). During that span he reached 23 straight semifinals or better. Nadal has never appeared in 20 slams consecutively.

Lleyton Hewitt is even more the archetypal tenacious player. Built on a weaker frame, Hewitt can’t blast his opponents away with heavy groundstrokes. He plays even more defensively and counterpunches when he can. His career started out amazingly well. At age 17, he was beating tour players and he was the youngest ever world #1. The second half of his career looks more like a cautionary tale. He’s been sidelined by one surgery after another. Perhaps Nadal sees his own future in Hewitt.

When trailing in the 4th set, you sometimes get a sense that Rafa has his opponent right where he wants him, as if this was planned all along. All of those extra shots he ran down on seemingly unimportant points have now taken their toll on his opponent. He could have played short, aggressive points. But his nonstop barrage of heavy topspin destroys his opponents arms, and their will to win. At this point, players question whether it’s even worth it to fight on. Even the consummate warrior, David Ferrer, has given up against Nadal on several occasions. Others have fought to the end and suffered the worst losses of their careers, but rarely won.

In 2009, en route to winning the Australian Open, Nadal beat Fernando Verdasco in a 5 hour, 14 minute semifinal. It was a brutally physical match played in the Aussie heat. The points were long and hard fought. Verdasco has not been the same player since that loss. A few days later, Nadal was willing to dig deep again and beat Federer in a 5 set final. It was the most crushing defeat of Roger’s career. He couldn’t hold back the tears during the trophy presentation. This is the cost of failure when you try to beat Rafa at a slam.

He has always been the player most willing to pay the highest price. Until recently.

Whether it’s from injuries or mental/emotional fatigue, Nadal no longer has the same willingness to win a match by attrition. Instead of cranking his tenacity dial, he’s reaching for the brilliance switch on key points. But he struggles to find it in the dark. Instead of stunning winners, puzzling shanks are flowing from his racket. Even double faults! From a guy who was willing to just spin it to the backhand- every single time!- this is major. A double fault is the ultimate form of self defeat. Tenacious players never beat themselves.