The greatest ...
Look, I love Roger Federer. There's really nothing wrong with him except a very occasional slight smugness, he seems a fine person, he's obviously the most graceful sportsman ever, a pure joy to watch, he took his sport to a new level, he deserves to bask in the acclaim of his vast vast army of fans (albeit his mild smugness seems to reflect on them and magnify thirty-fold, such as every oleaginous SW19 We Love You Roger slightly lessens my affection for the man himself), 17 Grand Slams, even if that's all he gets, will probably never be beaten. Hell, he's even a big cricket fan. What's not to love? There may well be a strong argument for suggesting he's the greatest sportsman of the modern era, if not of all time. Yet, he's not, is he? Not by the measure of pure fierce indomitable will-to-win, of besting the best, of staring into the abyss and coming out stronger, of draining every last drop from his talent. There are a few, not damning, but pertinent fac