Here’s an old piece from the 2009 Australian Open Finals, where Roger lost to Rafa and broke into tears at the award ceremony

Roger Federer was not the first man to cry. Jesus wept before Lazarus’ tomb; Ronaldo was inconsolable when Portugal lost a World Cup semi finals to France, Agassi crumpled on the turfs of the All England Racquet Club when he won his first major.

Men, especially male athletes do indeed shed tears—at the finish line, on the podium, at press conferences. It is only human when facing such intense situations. So it was hardly unusual when Roger Federer broke down before the world at the Australian Open award ceremony, while giving his runners-up speech. It is not so much that he cried but why he cried, which is so important for the tears meant many different things.

There could be many arguments as to why Federer lost to Nadal that fateful Monday: Nadal had gotten into his head; he was serving poorly and unable to convert 19 breakpoints; Nadal’s incredible spin causes him distress. But reasons don’t matter, the consequences do. Life is a transition––the crossing of a bridge, the passing of a baton.

There are champions and then there are champions. Roger is still one title short of Sampras’ fourteen major victories. And Sampras had never accomplished a true Grand Slam, that is, winning all four majors in the same calendar year as Rod Laver did, twice. If statistics are the only measure of greatness, then why doesn’t Connors, who holds the record of 109 singles titles, even get a mention?

Greatness requires something more, the intangible stuff, which separates a select few from the rest. To watch Federer is like a choreographed dance—his fluidity, elegance and grace. He is not a tennis player, he is an artist and witnessing his magic, it is easy to forget about records and numbers.

The weight of such a title can be burdensome but Roger bore it well. For somewhere, beneath his demure smile, is a well guised ego. Interestingly, when we think of ego, we think of Djokovic’s snide comments or a young brash Agassi. It is not a word commonly associated with the polite, Swiss. But after all, remaining the best is the most difficult of all tasks. Not merely does one have to fulfill others’ expectations, one has to fulfill one’s own. To be number one is to believe, a belief in one’s own ability and therefore, superiority. Just as a writer’s self-appreciation prompts him to be read and admired by all, so too does an athlete strive for recognition. When a reporter misquoted him saying, “former champion.” Federer snapped back, “I didn’t say former champion. I said former Grand Slam champion and former number one.” The reporter apologized, “I misspoke.” “Exactly,” said Federer. In fact there have been countless interviews where he has been immodest, claiming himself as “unbeatable.” He has called Nadal “one-dimensional” and last year, when asked of his chances to win the Wimbledon title, he replied, “Sure, I mean, I’ll have a chance to win this tournament for the next five or 10 years, you know.”  The world learned to tolerate his assertiveness. It was easy to forgive the legend as he tossed aside his blonde tresses with a flick of his head and hit a forehand winner that words could never describe. The public applauded his frankness and honesty. After all, over-modesty is a form of egoism as well. It was easy to forgive perfection.

Federer didn’t cry because he failed. If victory mattered so much, he would have filled a bucket of tears at Wimbledon last year, where his epic defeat to Nadal was even more heartbreaking. It was his first loss to his nemesis outside a clay-court event and was particularly significant for he owned Center Court since 2003. Wimbledon, it seemed, was his birthright. For a Spanish clay-courter to win on grass was unfathomable enough. To beat Roger on the way was sacrilege. Yet, he remained gracious in his defeat. It was the world that cried, watching him relinquish the title and wondering what it meant to their sport.

Last Sunday, neither man displayed their best tennis. Yet, Roger was unable to contain himself. It wasn’t the sight of a grown man sobbing that was so unnerving. As the evening edged into early morning and the hands of the clock inched to the right, he lost more than the last point. He lost hope. For Federer didn’t just fail in his fifth Grand Slam final to Nadal or even the chance to equal Sampras’ record. The possibility to redeem last year’s Wimbledon was now gone. Every athlete has a small window of opportunity and his time is closing in. If that Wimbledon loss signified a shift in history, then the Australian defeat was the final turn. It proved that Nadal’s wins were not by chance; there was a new design in play.

Federer cried because that day, he became human.