Why David Ferrer Made Me Cry

Tennis Made
Sep 7, 2018 · 4 min read

Written by Austin Beaton — September 7, 2018

Ferrer receiving medical attention before retiring prematurely against Rafael Nadal at Monday’s US Open.

David Ferrer didn’t retire from a single major until his final match last Monday.

“This is my last grand slam,” he said in the on-court interview, choking up, hiding his face with his shirt.

His crying made me cry.

Professional sports, like any entertainment we connect with, provide hallmarks to our past.

I learned about Ferrer from my XBOX game Topspin Tennis as the guy who’s name was spelled like Federer, though he wasn’t nearly as good (Fed beat David 17 out of 17 times).

He first caught my attention at the 2007 US Open when he upset Rafael Nadal in the quarters, eventually reaching his first GS semi-final. I was 14 and had gotten a cheap-o Wilson tennis racquet for my birthday a few months before. I grew up playing basketball, baseball, and soccer, but had burned out of all of them, watching my friends grow larger and become faster than me. Sports for me then weren’t something to enjoy, but something to win.

No one I knew except my mom back in high school played tennis, so I tried it. Watching Ferrer that night, I was in the honeymoon start of the sport where each week I was getting visibly better.

I was learning how to keep score and hit a slice, checking the Tennis Warehouse message board daily and searching for a favorite player on the tour.

I miss falling in love with tennis.

Rafa was 21, ranked 2nd in the world, and at the peak of his lasso-like forehands and bullish dominance — long before knee troubles and rumors about hair plugs.

I watched with my mom, who played in high school and was getting back into the sport with me. Growing up, ESPN was always on. My dad raised me to be an obsessive football, basketball, and baseball fan. By my teenage years I began to reinvent myself, so it was weird for him to have tennis playing in the living room. He’d leave and watch a more mainstream sport in the other room.

It was nice having something for just me and her.

~

A younger Ferrer celebrates upsetting Rafael Nadal at the US Open in 2007.

We both expected Nadal to make quick of David. Each point was full of grunts, long rallies, shots that would’ve been winners against most any one else in the tournament.

After losing the first set in a tiebreak, Ferrer chiseled out three straight against Nadal in the stylized way he’d go on to trademark — spinny forehands, cutting backhands, chasing any shot that came over the net at him.

I leaped onto the David Ferrer bandwagon.

It made sense. Though my brother is 6’2”, I’m 5’9” — the same height as Ferrer.

“I got the tennis player genes” I’d joke, after telling people my brother played defensive end in college.

I appreciated and was frustrated by the technique needed to master the game. As an angsty teen I celebrated whenever a football or basketball jock tried to play, learning as their shot went over the fence that merely athleticism wasn’t going to cut it.

Ferrer was the perfect symbol for the tact needed in tennis. He was the every-man’s hero. My aspirations of being state champion (which never happened) felt possible through him. If he could become 3rd in the world at 5’9”, 160 lbs, then I could work towards something.

Commentators and fellow-pros lauded him for his work ethic, commenting on his legacy with terms like “grinder” and “pound for pound.” He’s the hardest worker on tour, they’d say, highlighting his off-season routine of intense cycling. The Little Beast became the most apropos nickname in the ATP.

So, seeing him retire before the match could finish — against the same opponent at the same tournament that made me fall in love with him — was heartbreaking.

And a harrowing reminder—what we build our identity around won’t last.

~

11 years later Rafa is again on top, slotted for a semifinal match against Juan Martín Del Potro. But, he’s muscled through a battlefield to get there, facing young hitters like Karen Khachanov (age 22) and Dominic Thiem (25).

As Ferrer leaves and Rafa sizzles, we’ll see youngsters replace them. What tennis means to us, even for the pros, evolves.

For me, I play tennis maybe once every other week. At 25 I’ve learned to enjoy it again. The afterglow wore off by 16, as I became a devilish junior, cursing at myself on court, vowing to quit the sport forever countless times.

My mom supported me through the fits—she never pressured me to keep with it, but I mostly did. Now we live 900 miles apart. I miss her. I miss when she’d feed me hoppers of balls, saying “nice shot, buddy!” when I’d connect on a backhand.

Whenever she visits we try to get at least one hit in.

She texted me during the first set of Nadal-Ferrer: “These boys are hittin the ball hard!!! 😳”

A few minutes later it ended.

The match didn’t go as we wanted. But, I’m grateful we still connect over tennis.

Ferrer never won a major and lost to Nadal 26 out of 31 times. He’ll likely retire in Spain. The US Open has continued, and will continue, without him.

Endings are almost never cinematic, especially in a sport centered around single-elimination tournaments. Old vets rarely go out on top. We’ll likely see Rafa and Serena, Roger and Sharapova leave with a loss, just like Ferrer did.

And as they’re interviewed on court one final time, we might also think about what we once had.

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