There had come to be a resigned, albeit not unwelcome, acceptance about the changes heading the order of men’s tennis in the latter part of the 2016 season, when Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray exchanged their positions atop the rankings, after an unexpectedly sizeable tussle when there seemed to be none before.

Their constancy despite remaining in focus all along re-emerged as the major talking point not only vis-à-vis each other, but also against the previous benchmark set by Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal who, along with the Serbian and the Briton, effectually closed out every other player from making inroads into the citadel of their dominance. However, if this perpetuity of dominance was expected to last awhile, the 2017 Australian Open threw any – and all – such plans into a complete disarray.

The seemingly back-to-back upsets of Djokovic and Murray at the hands of Denis Istomin and Mischa Zverev respectively brought the two two vanquishers, who were far removed from the tournament seeding, into prominence. Correspondingly, they also made a not-so subtle inference about the longevity contributed by Federer and Nadal to the tennis mix, both of whom who, incidentally, made it to the semi-final on either side of the draw without any mishap. The chance of a Federer versus Nadal Grand Slam final, which hasn’t happened since the 2011 French Open, is still on, with the Swiss making it through to the summit clash. Nadal could join him if he wins his semi-final against Grigor Dimitrov on Friday.

The rise of the Federer-Nadal duopoly

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In its occurrence, the coinciding dual dominance of Djokovic and Murray was uncannily similar to the overlapping dynasty of the Swiss and the Spaniard. However, while the former continued upon established precedents, ostensibly by the latter, the onset of the Swiss-Spanish era was quite a throwback to the no-so-distant past of tennis’ glory days that were missed in the fitful timeline of inconsistencies, in which top-ranked players’ performances swung high-to-low, almost right on the heels of each other.

When Federer won two Majors – at 2003 Wimbledon and 2004 Australian Open – seemingly within six months, before consequentially taking his place as the world’s best player in 2004 February, the prognostications that had been doing the rounds about his calibre, since his upset over Pete Sampras in the fourth round of 2001 Wimbledon, were validated.

In the course of the next four years, the control Federer exuded as the world No. 1, making it difficult – at times, downright impossible – for the rest of the playing field to stand up to him, made for a compelling argument about his stature. The presence of a younger rival in Nadal, who was able to flummox him just as much, chiefly at the French Open, then made for better inspired thought-provocation in that it not only brought an end to the Swiss’ visible monopoly, but also re-engaged the concept of multiple champions whilst upping the qualitative bar through the modicum of adaptability.

Making headway with changing times

Congruent to the base element of talent crowning both players’ successes, it’s their penchant to fine-tune their game whenever needed that has been the majorly distinct area for the duo, who have won a total of 31 Grand Slam titles between themselves.

The Swiss alluded to this aspect of needed versatility by drawing a parallel between the change in the playing style that has moved away from the preeminence of serve-and-volley to extensive – and exhaustive – baseline rallies. “I used to like the days when they used to to come in [to the net] a bit more,” remarked Federer in his on-court interview with Jim Courier after his quarter-final win over Mischa Zverev, who is one of the last remaining players on the Tour to still adopt the now passé style. “The game has changed [now]. The tournament directors chose to make it slower. Tennis balls have become slower too. It’s alright. I had to adapt my game and play a different kind of style. I enjoy this too. The baseline slugfest is alright too. I hope I get some of that [serve-and-volley] in the next match. The conditions [here] allow you to, I think, play forwards,” he added.

Incredible as the flexibility of Federer’s game style has been, it’s with respect to the Mallorcan that the characteristic gets resolutely striking. For, not only did Nadal have to tweak his naturally-occurring clay-court finesse and employ it ably on all playing surfaces, he also has had to make repeated adjustments to modulate it to give a reprieve to his over-worked physique as much as to get the best results against his opponents.

Lessons to be learnt

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Nadal’s straight-sets win over the world No. 3 Milos Raonic in the Australian Open quarter-final on Thursday is a fine example to put forth in this regard. The Spaniard, who lost the Brisbane Open quarter-final to Raonic earlier in January, positioned himself nearer to the baseline in Melbourne as compared to their previous encounter, where his court position allowed the Canadian to dictate the points and get back into the match. As a result of this modification, not only was Nadal able to neutralise Raonic’s big serves, he also disallowed Raonic from displacing him from at the baseline, thereby discomfiting him and giving the advantage right back.

Likewise, despite Raonic struggling with an abductor injury throughout the game, he was unable to get a read on Nadal’s tactics or come up with an effective counter to nullify it. Which, in turn, also becomes a sequential narrative to the factor of longevity.

While having a coach, or a super-coach, is indeed helpful in making the players transition their games to a higher level, it’s also a well-grounded principle that experience is the ultimate back-up to players’ knowledge. Though Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal both have preferred to dip into the notion of super-coaches, they have also retained their inherent playing individuality with which they entered tennisdom. Among all other deciding factors, this then perhaps is the eloquent rationale of them staying so afresh, in spite of innumerable upsets and knocks, even when the expected norm of the tennis world around them crumbles into itself.