Imagine you could meet your idol and ask them a single question. What would it be?
That was the extraordinary opportunity presented to me when I learned that I would see Roger Federer earlier this week. Federer would be doing a press event at McLaren Park of all places, the somewhat rugged and occasionally quite rough expanse between the Excelsior and Bayshore neighborhoods. The incongruity of the debonnaire Swiss tennis legend, winner of 20 grand slam titles, appearing at a park I’ve visited often and where I’ve occasionally played tennis, only heightened my intrigue.
Federer is in San Francisco for the Laver Cup, the moveable tennis tournament his company co-founded, that starts Friday at Chase Center. Federer was appearing along with another tennis great, Yannick Noah, to promote the San Francisco Community Legacy Project, dedicated to supporting tennis and organizations in underserved communities. The Laver Cup paid to resurface the tennis courts at McLaren and is giving funds to non-profits including Youth Tennis Advantage, which runs an afterschool program at the park. Noah’s presence was a big enough draw, but when I learned the “surprise guest” would be Federer, I began pondering the question I hoped to ask him.
I had seen Federer before, about two decades ago, from the distance of stadium seats at two different years of the US Open. Later, in 2008, I went early to photograph him warming up for a match at Indian Wells, near Palm Springs. Using a zoom lens I bought specifically for the occasion, I clicked so many photographs that at one point he paused and looked directly at me to size up the weirdo behind the camera.
“Obsessed,” a friend sniffed dismissively, as I showed him my collection of hundreds of photos afterwards.
After a night match at Indian Wells the following year, Federer removed his wristband and threw it into the audience. It rose high in the night sky against the stadium lights, then tumbled like a falling star into my outstretched hand. Two teenage girls sitting next to me begged me to give it to them. I shook my head. They had no idea how serious I was about Roger.
“Congratulations,” said another friend when I shared the news of my prize. “You got someone’s sweaty wristband.”
My relationship, or whatever you want to call it, to Federer has its roots in my childhood. My grandfather got me started with tennis at a young age, but I learned mostly on my own, playing on hot summer days on public courts in Denver. After college, I lost touch with the sport until 2001, when I moved to San Francisco and picked it up again. At the time, I was inspired by Federer, whose professional career was just getting started. It felt like we were aligned.
Tennis commentator John McEnroe has repeatedly described Federer as the “Baryshnikov” of the sport, and I’m not one to disagree. In his all-whites against the green of Wimbledon’s grass courts, Federer’s movements were as balletic as they were athletic. He sometimes hit it around the net, a kind of magician, his racquet a wand.
The late David Foster Wallace described Federer’s forehand as a “great liquid whip,” and YouTube is full of videos purporting to show how his moves defy physics. I found myself watching every one of his matches that I could, paying for streamed games that weren’t on cable. I emulated him as best as I could, building my second tennis act and my player rating on a United States Tennis Association team, at the public courts at Golden Gate Park.
As elegant as Federer is on the court, he appears to move just as easily through the world, another thing worth emulating. In interviews and appearances, often answering the same questions fluently in three languages, Federer is at once down to earth and above it all. His unusual presence at McLaren gave me the chance to see for myself how Federer’s image, refined over years into a marketing juggernaut, squared with reality.
Making his way from the parking lot to the McLaren courts, Federer, 44, looked as fit as he did on tour before retiring in 2022.
Most remarkable was how accessible he seemed. The event was kept small, and while undercover security must’ve been lurking, fans managed to approach Federer with little interference. Federer’s aura of confidence and calm served as a kind of shield. He greeted anyone who approached him, especially the two dozen or so kids enrolled in the Youth Tennis Advantage program in attendance.
As he stepped onto the court to hit with the kids (and the mayor, who appeared to cut the line), Federer was possessed by his own childlike glee, grunting with feigned effort on every shot, adjusting his level of play to the ability of each kid, blending instruction with compliments.
When it finally came time for reporters to ask him some questions, I pushed my way to the front of the pool of reporters. This was my chance to say something, anything, to this person I’d spent so many years observing, thinking about, and trying to emulate on court. This was the guy that helped me get back in touch with tennis, who showed me a way to age into my abilities and become the player — and the person — I am today.
It seemed only logical that I’d ask him about his second act. “You’ve done some things in your 44 years,” I told him. “What do you want to be remembered for, what are you trying to accomplish, in the second half of your life?”
Asking this, I looked into Federer’s eyes, brown yet somehow golden in the sunlight. He radiated intelligence, looking right into my eyes as he answered.
I had moved in close, only the tennis net separating us. For a moment, I just watched him talking, not listening to what he said, lost in the proximity. Luckily, I recorded the answer.
“I think a little bit still to be determined,” Federer told me. For the moment, he said, he’s focused on his kids. He noted that his twin daughters are 14 years old, and then caught and corrected himself — they’re 16, he said, and his twin sons are 11 years old. “Obviously, I want to be around tennis, so I’ve got to figure out what that is.”
“I’ve had my foundation for 22 years. The same as Yannick, we care dearly about giving back,” Federer said. He said he wants to “inspire a new generation to do sports, to be healthy, to go outdoors, you know, maybe play tennis, pick up a tennis racquet, and just have a good time. Maybe make friends as well.”
The word “friends” stood out to me in particular. It occurred to me that as Federer guided my return to tennis, I found a partner to hit with weekly. We even kept it up during the pandemic, on the very court where Federer and I stood on at that moment. Almost two decades later, I count that tennis partner as a true friend.
Over the years, I’ve pondered how Federer is both a product of, and an antidote to, the times we live in. As he accumulates recognition, wealth, and influence, his qualities of generosity, civility, grace, and sense of humor seem to deepen. Those are traits that are in perilously short supply from public figures today. Perhaps out of a feeling of desperation, I asked Federer if he’d ever consider going into politics.
“Who, me?” he said.
“Yes,” I pressed. “Eventually.”
“No, no, I’m okay,” Federer said, laughing.
With that, I let him go, grateful for the short time he offered me, and for the other gifts Federer has given me: the restoration of a childhood joy of tennis to my adult life and the friendship with my tennis partner.
As I became a parent, and my obsession with Federer has properly dimmed, I’m sharing the sport, along with stories and footage of his brilliance, with my children. One day soon, one of them may even get his wristband, which I keep in a Ziploc bag, a reminder of who I was the night I caught it, and who I’ve become since then.
