The country of Switzerland is flush with fountains. But you are unlikely ever to see people throwing coins into one. A tradition virtually everywhere else in the world, this ritual never caught on in Switzerland for a simple reason. There’s no need to wish for good luck when you already have it. As one native son put it, “Only the poor have to hope.”
This theme of abundance and extravagance—and recognition of good fortune—echoed through the career of Switzerland’s most towering athlete. Roger Federer, who announced his retirement from tennis Thursday at the age of 41, always seemed to have plenty. Plenty of charm. Plenty of time. Plenty of decency. Of course, plenty of talent.
Federer was kissed by the tennis gods, his talent so extravagant that it was obvious to the vast army of casual fans, whom he turned into his fans. Gliding around the court without sound or sweat, Federer performed tennis more than he played tennis; and he did so, at once, with a brutal economy and a wealth of flair. He possessed every shot in the book—and authored a good many original editions. There was the flicking forehand on the run. There were craftily angled volleys, in defiance of physics. There was this, perhaps the single purest shot ever hit. Federer, more than any player, reminded us why a batted tennis ball is known as “a stroke.”
