Excerpt from his recent Dartmouth speech:
“Effortless”… is a myth.
I mean it.
I say that as someone who has heard that word a lot. “Effortless.”
People would say my play was effortless. Most of the time, they meant it as a compliment… But it used to frustrate me when they would say, “He barely broke a sweat!”
Or “Is he even trying?”
The truth is, I had to work very hard… to make it look easy.
I spent years whining… swearing… throwing my racket… before I learned to keep my cool.
The wakeup call came early in my career, when an opponent at the Italian Open publicly questioned my mental discipline. He said, “Roger will be the favorite for the first two hours, and then I’ll be the favorite after that.”
I was puzzled at first. But eventually, I realized what he was trying to say. Everybody can play well the first two hours. You’re fit, you’re fast, you’re clear… and after two hours, your legs get wobbly, your mind starts wandering, and your discipline starts to fade.
It made me understand… I have so much work ahead of me, and I’m ready to go on this journey now. I get it.
My parents, my coaches, my fitness coach, everyone had really been calling me out—and now even my rivals were doing it. Players!!! Thank you! I’m eternally grateful for what you did.
So I started training harder. A lot harder.
But then I realized: winning effortlessly is the ultimate achievement.
I got that reputation because my warm-ups at the tournaments were so casual that people didn’t think I had been training hard. But I had been working hard… before the tournament, when nobody was watching.
Maybe you’ve seen a version of this at Dartmouth.
How many times did you feel like your classmates were racking up “A” after “A” without even trying… while you were pulling all-nighters… loading up on caffeine… crying softly in a corner of Sanborn Library?
Hopefully, like me, you learned that “effortless” is a myth.
I didn’t get where I got on pure talent alone. I got there by trying to outwork my opponents.
I believed in myself. But BELIEF in yourself has to be earned.
There was a moment in 2003 when my self-belief really kicked in.
It was at the ATP Finals, where only the best eight players qualify.
I beat some top players I really admired—by aiming right at their strengths. Before, I would run away from their strengths. If a guy had a strong forehand, I would try to hit to his backhand. But now… I would try to go after his forehand. I tried to beat the baseliners from the baseline. I tried to beat the attackers by attacking. I tried to beat the net rushers from the net.
I took a chance by doing that. So why did I do it?
To amplify my game and expand my options. You need a whole arsenal of strengths… so if one of them breaks down, you’ve got something left.
When your game is clicking like that, winning is easy—relatively.
Then there are days when you just feel broken.
Your back hurts… your knee hurts… Maybe you’re a little sick… or scared…
But you still find a way to win.
And those are the victories we can be most proud of.
Because they prove that you can win not just when you are at your best, but especially when you aren’t.
Yes, talent matters. I’m not going to stand here and tell you it doesn’t.
But talent has a broad definition.
Most of the time, it’s not about having a gift. It’s about having grit.
In tennis, a great forehand with sick racquet head speed can be called a talent.
But in tennis… like in life… discipline is also a talent. And so is patience.
Trusting yourself is a talent. Embracing the process, loving the process, is a talent.
Managing your life, managing yourself… these can be talents, too.
Some people are born with them. Everybody has to work at them.
From this day forward, some people are going to assume that because you graduated from Dartmouth, it all comes easy for you.
And you know what? Let them believe that…
As long as you don’t.
OK, second lesson:
It’s only a point.
Let me explain.
You can work harder than you thought possible… and still lose. I have.
Tennis is brutal. There’s no getting around the fact that every tournament ends the same way… one player gets a trophy… Every other player gets back on a plane, stares out of the window, and thinks… “how the hell did I miss that shot?”
Imagine if, today, only one of you got a degree.
Congratulations, this year’s graduate! Let’s give her a hand.
The rest of you… the other one thousand of you… better luck next time!
So, you know, I tried not to lose.
But I did lose… sometimes big. For me, one of the biggest was the finals at Wimbledon in 2008. Me vs. Nadal. Some call it the greatest match of all time. OK, all respect to Rafa, but I think it would have been way way better if I had won…
Losing at Wimbledon was a big deal… because winning Wimbledon is everything.
Obviously, except winning the Dartmouth Masters pong title, sophomore summer.
I mean, I’ve gotten to play in some amazing venues around the world, but when you have the chance to walk onto Centre Court at Wimbledon… the cathedral of tennis… and when you finish as the champion… you feel the magnitude of the moment. There’s nothing like it.
In 2008, I was going for a record sixth consecutive title. I was playing for history.
I’m not going to walk you through the match, point by point. If I did, we would be here for hours.
Almost five hours, to be exact.
There were rain delays, the sun went down… Rafa won two sets, I won the next two sets in tiebreaks, and we found ourselves at seven all in the fifth.
I understand why people focus on the end… the final minutes so dark I could barely see the chalk on the grass. But looking back… I feel like I lost at the very first point of the match.
I looked across the net and I saw a guy who, just a few weeks earlier, crushed me in straight sets at the French Open, and I thought… this guy is maybe hungrier than I am… And he’s finally got my number.
It took me until the third set before I remembered… hey, buddy, you’re the five-time defending champion! And you’re on grass, by the way. You know how to do this… But that came too late, and Rafa won. And it was well-deserved.
Some defeats hurt more than others.
I knew I would never get another shot at six in a row.
I lost Wimbledon. I lost my number-one ranking. And suddenly, people said, “He had a great run. Is this the changing of the guard?”
But I knew what I had to do… keep working. And keep competing.
In tennis, perfection is impossible… In the 1,526 singles matches I played in my career, I won almost 80% of those matches… Now, I have a question for all of you… what percentage of the POINTS do you think I won in those matches?
Only 54%.
In other words, even top-ranked tennis players win barely more than half of the points they play.
When you lose every second point, on average, you learn not to dwell on every shot.
You teach yourself to think: OK, I double-faulted. It’s only a point.
OK, I came to the net and I got passed again. It’s only a point.
Even a great shot, an overhead backhand smash that ends up on ESPN’s Top Ten Plays: that, too, is just a point.
Here’s why I am telling you this.
When you’re playing a point, it is the most important thing in the world.
But when it’s behind you, it’s behind you… This mindset is really crucial, because it frees you to fully commit to the next point… and the next one after that… with intensity, clarity and focus.
The truth is, whatever game you play in life… sometimes you’re going to lose. A point, a match, a season, a job… it’s a roller coaster, with many ups and downs.
And it’s natural, when you’re down, to doubt yourself. To feel sorry for yourself.
And by the way, your opponents have self-doubt, too. Don’t ever forget that.
But negative energy is wasted energy.
You want to become a master at overcoming hard moments. That to me is the sign of a champion.
The best in the world are not the best because they win every point… It’s because they know they’ll lose… again and again… and have learned how to deal with it.
You accept it. Cry it out if you need to… then force a smile.
You move on. Be relentless. Adapt and grow.
Work harder. Work smarter. Remember: work smarter.”
Read Full Post »
Ryu's Blog 