The Early Days of One Would-Be Federer

Jo-Wilfried Tsonga of France (R) jumps over the net to consolidate Grigor Dimitrov of Bulgaria whom he defeated in their second round match for the Wimbledon Championships at the All England Lawn Tennis Club, in London, Britain, 23 June 2011.

from The Wall Street Journal (blog)

by Tom Perrotta

Tennis has a Roger Federer problem: When the 16-time Grand Slam champion eventually retires, fans are going to want another Federer to follow—and he's not going to be easy to find.

Much is expected of great players, but never quite as much as now. Federer's accolades, and the impressive pace Rafael Nadal has set in chasing him, have redefined what it means to be a tennis champion. John McEnroe, legend that he is, won seven major titles in his career. Federer won eight from 2005 to 2007.

It's perhaps more burden than honor, then, to be called the next big thing. Grigor Dimitrov, a 20-year-old Bulgarian, with a flowing game, a pretty one-handed backhand and light, fast feet—sound familiar?—has lived with it for a while.

In 2008, when he was 17, he took a set off Rafael Nadal in Rotterdam. Nadal was so impressed that he said Dimitrov was "heading to the Top 10, for sure." The road has been slow. He has won two Grand Slam matches in his career and lost in the second round of Wimbledon Thursday, 6-7(4), 6-4, 6-4, 7-6(8) to Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, seeded No. 12.

Still, there was a sense that Dimitrov, whose style bears an uncanny resemblance to Federer's, isn't far from learning, as his idol did, to both look good and win. He said he's flattered by the comparisons but not worthy.

"It's great to hear—I can hear this all day, put a ringtone on my phone or whatever, but that won't win any matches," Dimitrov said after he won his first-round match Wednesday, his first victory at Wimbledon. "You can't compare the greatest player of all time to a dude that is 64 in the world. It's impossible." (Dimitrov is actually ranked No. 62.)

Dimitrov said he has watched the top three men in the game—Nadal, Novak Djokovic and Federer—with awe. "I think just certain people are chosen for this," he said. "Maybe as a junior, I was. But I'm absolutely no one right now."

Dimitrov grew up in Haskovo, Bulgaria, a southern province near Turkey and Greece. His father is a tennis coach and taught him the game. His mother is a former volleyball player. He now trains at the Mouratoglou Tennis Academy in France; Peter McNamara, a former Australian player who reached No. 7 in the world and used to coach Mark Philippoussis, has been Dimitrov's coach since last June.

It's easy to see why Dimitrov has already developed a small following despite few victories on the tour. His physical presence won't impress: He's 6-foot-2, skinny and wears a backward baseball cap that looks a bit too large for his head. And then you see him move. He's quick, graceful, always balanced, whether playing defense or attacking, or slipping on the grass, as he did on one forehand winner late in the fourth set Thursday. He finishes points at the net and he hits wrist-flick winners from awkward positions that seem natural, like nothing at all.

And then there was the shot, the shot of Wimbledon so far—a shot probably only a hundred people saw. At around 9:20 p.m. local time Tuesday, in fading light and temperatures fit for sweaters and scarves rather than tennis shorts, Dimitrov was in the middle of the third set of his first-round match on Court 10. His opponent, Cedrik-Marcel Stebe, hit a deep shot, high but lower and harder than a lob, over Dimitrov's shoulder (he was at the net). Dimitrov turned around and raced to his right, toward the far corner. It was a Federer moment: Time slowed down as he moved. The ball seemed to wait for him. He slid four feet and, with his back to the net, curled his racket behind the ball and slapped it backwards, behind him and around his body, down the line. It sailed—slowly, perfectly, obviously destined to land in—over Stebe's head and into the corner for a winner.

"Where's YouTube when you need it, right?" he said after he finished his match, which was called for darkness, on Wednesday.

In the second round Thursday, Dimitrov showed off his talent to a much larger audience inside Court 1. He and Tsonga, a Frenchman with an explosive game, hit all kinds of winners, diving volleys and passing shots over four sets. Dimitrov showed a lot of grit, too, as he came from behind in the fourth set to push it to a tiebreak.

On the second-to-last point of the match, though, he made a mistake that talented shot-makers often make: He went for style over substance. On a fine Tsonga lob, Dimitrov tried to hit a between-the-legs winner when he had time for a less risky shot. He fired it into the net, and one more Tsonga backhand sent him packing.

It's a mistake that even Federer has made—recall the 2005 Australian Open semifinal, when Federer had match point against Marat Safin but missed a between-the-legs shot. (Safin eventually won the match and the title.)

Dimitrov made a far more serious error at a Challenger tournament in Helsinki last November. After his semifinal loss, he pushed a chair umpire and swore at him. He apologized and paid a fine—and says he still regrets it.

"It was a bad thing," he said. "I can't get it back. I think I learned my lesson."

Dimitrov said he doesn't have specific goals to improve his ranking or to win X number of titles. At this point in his career, he wants to play as many matches as he can.

"You've got to be consistent playing week in and week out, which I'm still not capable of doing, honestly," he said. "But I think you have to give it a shot even though the statistics are odds that you don't want to see sometimes. Especially in tennis. You can be talented as hell. Talent is not winning matches."

The match he'd like most, of course, is against Federer.

"I want to play against him at least once before he finishes his career," Dimitrov said. "Hopefully he's going to play for many more years." (Federer won his second-round match 6-2, 6-3, 6-2 Thursday and has shown few signs of slowing down.)

But to be like Federer, or to be the next Federer? Dimitrov said he wasn't interested in that—and he made a convincing case. Asked what he would call that first-round shot, the one so few men could hope to hit, he answered immediately and confidently, and with a smile. "My shot."

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