The day of the Wimbledon Men’s singles final, was filled with anticipation, anxiety, and emotions unlike any I had experienced before. I vividly remember the day as if it were today. I had a dilemma, as my Japanese class was scheduled at the same time as the match [6:30 pm IST]. I debated whether to skip the class or not.
In the end, I decided to attend the lecture, but my mind was entirely focused on the match. Throughout the class, I was restless and couldn’t stop fidgeting. A sense of foreboding weighed on me, and I struggled to concentrate on the lesson, which felt utterly incomprehensible that day.
As soon as the class ended, I anxiously called a friend to check the score. His response was alarming—Federer had lost the first set 4-6. When I got home, Federer was leading 4-0 in the second set, but then he lost it 4-6.
I was so frustrated that I began acting irrationally, shouting at Nadal for playing well and urging Federer to do better. My family thought I had lost it completely; I had never acted like this before. In desperation, I started praying and offering tokens to God, not knowing what else to do.
Then it started to rain, and I thought perhaps my prayers were being answered. However, I couldn’t muster the courage to watch the rest of the match.
The next day, as soon as I arrived at class, I activated the GPRS on my phone and Googled the result, my heart pounding. When I saw Nadal’s name as the winner, I felt a deep, hollow weight in my stomach, and then—nothing. I went numb.
I lost all interest in the lecture and felt the urge to run away, but where to? When I got home and saw a rerun of the match, I forced myself to watch, but it was pure agony—an emotional pain far more intense than any physical pain.
I couldn’t bear it, and I broke down in tears, crying as if I had lost someone close, crying because I felt betrayed by the outcome, crying because I might not have prayed enough, crying because I couldn’t stand hearing Nadal’s name as the winner.
For two days, I wandered around my house in disbelief, hoping and praying it was just a bad dream. But it wasn’t.
Eventually, I began to recover, but every time someone in my friend circle proudly mentioned Nadal’s victory, it felt like salt in the wound.
When Federer won the Olympic doubles later that year, I was overjoyed, believing that no one deserved it more than him. And when he claimed the last Grand Slam of 2008, I cried again—this time with tears of happiness and vindicated joy!
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