Fed Express - Android

About midway through yesterday's second set between Andy Roddick - meaning about the time that The Mighty Fed was getting so close to having a break point that he could almost see it with the aid of the Hubble telescope - a smitten female fan somewhere behind where Steve Tignor and I sat hollered, "Federer, you're unreal!"

Now that got me thinking. TMF certainly is unreal. But what if were, well, really unreal?

What if this "Federer" didn't really exist, except as some Jungian figment of the imagination of all those aesthetes who ever had to sit through a Luis Horna vs. Mariano Zabaleta match on clay? Or perhaps this "Federer" is an android, built by a bored, unemployed, Swiss time-piece designer. I mean, come on - doesn't this whole thing about "Federer" coming from Switzerland have "Jamaican Bobsled Team" written all over it, except for the fact that the Jamaicans in question couldn't find their way to the bottom of the hill with a map, while "Federer" is already, according to some, the GOAT (Greatest of All Time)?

Doesn't it strike you as just a little bit suspicious?

Hail, maybe this "Federer" started out as an idea in the mind of some Sega Genesis game designer, but the algorythms just got out of hand and he leaped across the Great Divide like some character out of a Philip K. Dick novel. Or maybe he's just a good old-fashioned hologram, like on your credit card. In any event, I think it's high time we asked: Does Roger Federer really exist?

The arguments for those who suspect there is no such thing as a Roger Federer, that we're just the victims of some humongous cosmic tennis prank, falling head-over-heels for a character no more "real" than Bart Simpson, Superman, or Zac Efron, were never better articulated than last night. Andy Roddick has a gigantic serve. He's a former U.S. Open champion, and he's been World No. 1. And he's bigger, stronger, and more experienced now than he was back then.

Last night, Roddick was playing his flat-out best tennis on a court that, if you believe what many of the players are saying, is faster than Wimbledon's Centre Court. And he was doing this was in front of an adoring American crowd, willing him to win with a vibe so strong that it put all that harmonic convergence baloney of a few years ago to shame. And yet. . . at the end of the set, what was the score? "Federer" was rolling toward the finish line, 7-6,7-6, to be continued. . .

Now, isn't that enough to make even the most Cartesian reality freaks among you wonder, at least a teensy-weensy bit?

How about what Roddick said after he lost in straight sets: You know, I thought I made him play as well as he could play. . . Personally, I think it was just tact that kept him from finishing that sentence: . . . for somebody who's really an android, hallucination, psychic projection or some other weird thing.

Beyond that, do you ever notice that this so-called "Roger Federer" has perfect hair that never seems to get mussed or out-of-place - the dude looks like one of those pictures your local barber has tacked up all around his mirror, hoping you'll be hoodwinked into dropping an extra Jackson on the full "I want to look like I'm in a boy band!" look.

You ever see, oh, human being Rafael Nadal's hair? Notice how wet and stringy it gets, and how it flies all over the place when he runs around, because he's working so danged hard? Now that's genuine human hair - tennis player cum rock star hair. How about Nikolay Davydenko? Okay, he doesn't have hair. Forget him. I think whatever "Federer" is, that hair is just painted on, like on those old-fashioned, pink, soft plastic dolls that smell so cool.

Have you ever noticed how this "Federer" doesn't really sweat?

Oh, late in a third set he gets this sheen on his forehead and cheeks, but that could just as easily be some kind of cooling apparatus meant to keep the machinery from overheating, like those sprayers that keep the vegetables fresh at your local Whole Foods. How about the fact that the guy never freaks out, pitches a fit, or, having broken serve (which he does quite a lot, actually), rolls out one of those flying scissor kicks, punching the air and yelling "Vamos!"

Androids only have feelings in strange movies like Blade Runner; in real life, they're probably real quiet dudes like "Federer", who's idea of an in-your-face end-zone dance is making a small fist and quietly aspirating a "Yes."

Here's another thing: You know an awful lot about "Federer," right? You'd recognize him across a crowded room in an instant, and if you exchanged a little friendly banter, you'd pick your moment to use the phrase "it's a pity", and then wink and jab him in the ribs with your elbow. But how do you know your elbow would actually hit flesh and bone? Have you ever touched "Federer", or do you know anyone who has?

Michael Barkann, you say? Ha! You wouldn't believe the things they can do at a digital video mixing board these days.

My own alarm bells started going off when I noticed that "Federer" has no known eccentricities, or distinguishing characteristics. His face is smooth, fox-like, handsome and well-proportioned. It's the kind of face you might put on a child's toy or doll, where you don't want to go with a big honkin' nose, weak chin, or Charles Manson eyes and a soul patch (That would the the Janko Tipsarevic doll).

Perhaps it's significant that "Federer's" game is equally smooth, clean and seamless. This is a guy to whom an unforced error is a challenge that gets overturned by Hawkeye. Everybody says that in order to survive on the tour today a player needs at least one weapon, yet "Federer" is so danged good at everything that you can't say he's got a weapon. Ergo, by the very logic of all the pundits and players, this "Federer" couldn't possibly survive, never mind dominate, on the tour today - unless something fishy is going on.

With thoughts like these in mind, I went back through some of "Federer's" recent press conference transcripts and found these telling exchanges:

Q. (Feliciano) Lopez didn't realize that you had won that many points on your serve. Were you aware of it as you were doing it? 35?

"Federer": "I don't know. What are you talking about?"

Q. From the time you were down Love-40 in the first game of the third set, you did not lose a point of your serve until that mishit.

"Federer": "That's awesome. What, that last game or what?"

Okay, how could "Federer" not know? I submit to you that only a creature or fabrication without emotion or the power of abstraction (yet cleverly programmed to mimic a young human by frequently saying, "awesome!") could be so oblivious to what he/it had just accomplished.

And before "Federer" played John Isner, he was asked how he would handle the big fella's serve. He replied: "I saw he had a good serve. He's got a good second serve, too. It's going to be interesting to see how I handle that because the trajectory of a big guy like this, tall guy, it's always different."

Note how "Federer" himself expresses an interest in seeing how. . . "Federer". . . handles the Isner serve. This suggests that perhaps this "Federer" is remotely operated by someone (perhaps inside the IMG luxury box, or via Tiger Woods' Blackberry) who really is curious to see how the machine, having been designed to handle serves from guys 6-6 and under, will handle the task.

During one press conference, "Federer" was asked how he relaxes between matches. He answered: "What do I do? I relax. I don't know, I just. . . I'm in the city. Take it easy. Have nice dinners and lunches. I have some treatment, massage, stretches, hang out with my friends and family."

Okay, work with me here. You're a voice-software programmer, right? You're told that you'd better build in some default answers to certain recurring stock questions that have nothing to do with the Nadal kick serve to the backhand, or the Novak Djokovic injury timeout. What kind of filler would you write?

At one point, "Federer" said: I'm happy with my game, to be honest. I've been serving well basically since the day I arrived in North America."

You know what I think he meant to say, before he caught himself?

"Since the day I arrived in North America. . . in that container ship used to smuggle me into New York harbor in order to avoid the Bush regime's religious extremist laws against androids taking the Greatest Road Trip in Sports along with the Roddicks, Sharapovas, and Chelas!

After "Federer" beat Isner, he was asked: Was that a fun match for you today?

He answered, "Yeah, I enjoyed it actually, believe it or not."

Okay, how about that believe it or not? Why wouldn't we believe it? I'll tell you why - because we know a robot is incapable of feeling human emotions like joy. That's why!

And finally. Remember how "Federer" collected a handful of second serve aces and won bushels of points by seeming to know exactly where Roddick was heading to field his shot. When he was asked about this in his press conference, "Federer" said, quite alarmingly if nonchalantly, "Well, it's good if you can read his mind sometimes."

Now, how many of you so-called regular human beings can read someone's mind?

I rest my case.