To Be Roger Federer

I am delighted to have reached the International Tennis Hall of Fame. This is a beautiful venue and I have enjoyed every moment so far. Naturally, there are grass courts here, which are my favourites. It was bound to be a good fit for me.

The museum is incredible: rackets, trophies, iconic outfits worn by the great champions – over 25,000 memorabilia items. And now, I suppose, I too have become one of them. It is both strange and marvellous to walk through the Hall of Fame, to immerse oneself in the history of tennis, to read the stories of one’s heroes and to realise, for the first time, that there is a place there for you too. It is one of the greatest honours of my life.

They call it the Hall of Fame, but fame has never been my goal. My aim was to spend my life doing something I love, alongside people who love it just as much as I do. And so many of those people are here today: my family, the friends who mean everything to me, the fans who have travelled to be with us and who continue to show me their affection after all these years. And then all these legends sitting here in front of us. What a privilege.

Now I can tell you what it really took to make it into the Hall of Fame. I’m not talking about Grand Slams or weeks at number one, but about the figures that really tell the story.

Between 1998, when he first joined the ATP Tour, and 2022, when he retired, he wore more than 5,000 hair bands—more than Borg and McEnroe combined, he believes, since the Tour does not officially track such data. He also used more than 7,000 pairs of socks—probably double the number worn by many of his opponents—because he used to wear two pairs at a time. Once, in the first round at Wimbledon, he was so nervous that he actually wore three pairs. He only realised it after the match. And his stringers, Ron and Nate, have strung around 10,000 rackets over twenty-five years.

Yet there is no way to measure what it means to be here. He had the privilege of stepping onto the grass of Wimbledon’s Centre Court, looking up at Mirka, their four children, his parents and his team, and then looking across the net to find himself face to face with some of the greatest players of all time. He has also competed on the clay courts of Roland-Garros, in front of thousands of fans at Melbourne Park, Flushing Meadows and the Finals. Such images remain etched in his mind.

And yet, when I close my eyes and think of the game I love, this is what I see. I’m in Basel. I’m thirteen years old. We’re at the Swiss Indoors.

I am not playing; I am a ball boy. I stand against the back wall, hands behind my back, eyes fixed on the ball. The vantage point offered an unforgettable perspective on the match and its physical demands. Being in close proximity to the players, handing them the ball, offering a towel, observing their sweat and relentless determination, and witnessing their strategic problem-solving under pressure was exhilarating. The following morning, however, my legs were numb—a reminder that standing for an entire day is demanding work.

That is why I would like to thank all the ball boys and girls who remained on the pitch during my matches – during all our matches – for hours on end. I see you. Thank you. I used to be one of you.

By the age of thirteen, I had already been in love with tennis for a decade. My parents say I picked up a racket at the age of three – my father’s wooden one. That’s right: I grew up with wooden rackets and white balls. I’m that old. That racket was so heavy that I played both my forehand and backhand with two hands. Who would ever have imagined that I’d become a one-handed player?

Switzerland was a wonderful place to grow up. My parents gave me and my sister Diana a marvellous childhood. As a child, he would hit balls against the wardrobes in his bedroom, his grandparents’ garage door and the walls of the local clubs. He played football with friends, imagining himself as either Maradona or Zidane. On the basketball court, he was Jordan or Shaq. He and his friends would go skateboarding and cycling with their Walkmans, and they would play table tennis and badminton. Yet, for him, tennis was always the main event.

Tennis became the fabric of my life. My mother held a full-time job, yet she organised my lessons, entered me into matches and supported my coaches; she was the driving force behind my development. My father also devoted considerable time to training me on the court. I particularly recall his strict ban on hitting high lobs when I played against him: a rule that made me a more aggressive competitor. Thanks, Dad: Robbie Federer, the real RF.

On our street, next to the communal vegetable patches, my friends and I used to draw a court with chalk, string up a net and play mini-tennis with a soft ball. We would carry on until late into the night on summer evenings. And that word, ‘play’, says a great deal. We play tennis. We are tennis players. For me, that’s the point: the spirit of the game. This sport requires hard work and training, of course, but the spirit of the game has always been with me. When work and play merge, that’s the best feeling of all.

That is also why I turned professional. I did not see myself as a professional athlete: I was simply a tennis player, part of a community of players and people involved in tennis. Whether I won or lost was down to me. I was the one on court serving, slicing, smashing, winning and losing. I loved it to bits.

However, it has become clear that tennis is never solely about the players; it is an entire ecosystem. It encompasses parents like mine who transport their children to matches and cheer them on, coaches who teach children how to win and how to recover from defeat, and the staff who clean the courts and collect the balls, as well as the young players who are given the opportunity to serve as ball boys and girls. And then there are the line judges. When I was playing, we had line judges – do you remember them?

Tennis is the ecosystem made up of all these people and, of course, the fans. I was a fan even before I became a player; I still am, and I always will be. If you want to know how I played, you can find the answer here at the Hall of Fame or on YouTube. But if you want to know why I played, the answer lies in Switzerland, on Wasserhaus Street, at the Old Boys Club in Basel and at the Swiss Tennis centres in Écublens and Biel.

“Why?” is a question I’ve asked very often. Pierre Paganini, my fitness coach and mentor, can tell you just how many questions I used to ask as a lad. His guidance and long-term strategy have steered me throughout my career. That young lad had a great deal to learn: technique and shots, stamina and strategy. He also had to learn not to throw his racket around so often – ideally not at all – not to let his emotions get the better of him, and to strike a balance between passion and control. Fortunately, I had some extraordinary role models.

In his personal Hall of Fame are Pierre and all his coaches: Peter Carter and Peter Lundgren, who are sadly no longer with us and who not only improved his game but also helped him grow as a person; José Higueras, Paul Annacone and Tony Roche. My childhood hero Stefan Edberg, my friend Reto Staubli, and Ivan Ljubičić. Finally, there is Severin Lüthi, my longest-serving coach: eighteen years together. He motivated and protected me, and his insights were crucial to my successes. The physiotherapists and my doctor also played a key role, helping a young body become strong and an ageing body to keep functioning. And there is Tony Godsick, who for over twenty years has helped me to think bigger about the world beyond the circuit. The agent became a friend, and the friend became family.

His Hall of Fame also includes the legends he used to watch as a child: Boris Becker, Stefan Edberg and Pete Sampras, with whom he had the privilege of sharing the court. And two Martinas: Hingis, a Swiss like him and world number one at the age of sixteen, and Navratilova, who is famous in their family above all for having inspired Mirka to take up tennis.

And now we come to Mirka. I’m going to need some tissues and sunglasses. Mirka is my wife – which is already the biggest understatement I could possibly make – because she’s also been my coach, my training partner before matches, the person who keeps me grounded, and even my stylist – and back then, I certainly needed her. She is the person who taught me to focus more on tennis whilst, at the same time, enjoying everything else. She is a wonderful mother to our four children, a mother who makes the impossible possible in all our lives. She and I hold hands and run through walls.

The list of legends who paved the way is even longer: Laver, Emerson, Rosewall, Borg, McEnroe, Marc Rosset – who was like a brother to me on the circuit and won the Olympics for Switzerland sixteen years before Stan and I had the honour of doing the same. I learnt from all of them, but in the end I had to find my own identity.

An identity that has evolved over time. In 1998, when I became world number one in the juniors, I had bleached blonde hair, something that still embarrasses me today. In 2022, when I played my last match in London, I had racked up 4,040 sets on those knees – and I’m only talking about singles matches. The same knees all along. What’s more, I’ve still got them.

But at every stage of my career, I have tried above all to remain true to myself and to show my love for the game, because it really mattered to me and I wanted it to matter to you too. I wanted to be worthy of your attention, of your presence. People are under no obligation to come and watch us play; they attend to enjoy themselves, to draw inspiration and to feel the excitement. They could choose to go elsewhere, yet they opt for tennis—they opt for us. Wherever I have competed, you have made me feel as though I were playing at home.

I have always sought to convey just how wonderful it is to play this game—how marvellous it is to have a ball struck hard towards you, to watch it spin, to hear the sound it makes, the way it bounces, how the geometry changes as the ball comes towards you, and how the court itself seems to open up or narrow. Tennis is a complex and beautiful sport; it is spectacular to watch. The fan sees everything and experiences it all alongside us, point by point.

In tennis, there is an enormous amount of pressure: a volcano of pressure, a volcano of emotions. When a match ended, whether I had won or lost, observers could discern what I was feeling inside. What can I say? Tennis meant everything to me.

And it wasn’t just about playing or winning, but about creating something new. I played serve-and-volley; sometimes I stayed well back behind the baseline, other times practically on top of it; I even tried to catch my opponents off guard by moving forward on their serve – what later came to be known as SABR. I was keen to try new things.

Yet so much of what truly mattered unfolded off the pitch: the camaraderie in the changing rooms, playing cards with the team right up until the last second before matches, laughing with everyone, sometimes even with our opponents. Many of us became friends thanks to our shared experiences and the battles fought on the pitch, which have bound us together for life. These are among my fondest memories of the circuit.

Then there is another sort of ‘game’ – the one that happens with friends and, above all, with family. Mirka and I started out playing video games, going to nightclubs and having late-night dinners with friends. Then it all changed to changing nappies, looking for hotels with lifts big enough for twin pushchairs, and telling the children bedtime stories. Myla, Charlene, Leo and Lenny, you have transformed our lives; you inspire us and bring us happiness every day.

Our family has travelled the world together, but we have always returned to our home country, Switzerland. It has always been an immense honour for me to represent the Swiss flag. And tonight, as my name is inducted into the Hall of Fame, I am proud that Switzerland is being inducted here alongside me.

It has been an incredible journey. The Hall of Fame allows us to look back, but also to look ahead. As one might expect, I am still writing my love letter to tennis. My time as a player is over, but tennis will always remain at the heart of the things I care about most: my family, our friendships, the last forty years, and the future we are building. For me, tennis is responsible for all of this. So this is not a farewell.

Before concluding, I would like to share my hopes for the sport. I consider myself fortunate to have served as a bridge between different generations: from Pete and Andre, the superstars, to champions of my own generation such as Roddick, Hewitt, Safin and Ferrero, right through to the epic rivalries with the next generation: Andy, Novak and Rafa.

Sooner or later everyone steps down, but the sport continues to evolve. As tennis becomes ever faster and more global, it is to be hoped that the game retains something of its amateur spirit and the camaraderie among the players. It is also to be hoped that the athletes remain youthful in outlook and true to their authentic selves.

And remember: never stop asking questions or taking risks. Use this game to do things we’ve never seen before. Keep taking the sport we love to the next level and keep improving, improving and improving.

He also encourages readers to find ways to give back and share their passion, noting that there are countless avenues to do so. In his case, he established a foundation that operates in southern Africa, his mother’s homeland, and in Switzerland, his father’s homeland. Together with his team, he also created the Laver Cup to pay tribute to the legends of all generations.

To all of you here, I hope you can act as a bridge between the tennis of the ATP, WTA, ITF and the Grand Slams, and the tennis played when the sun goes down on a quiet street like Wasserhaus, where I grew up. The tennis played everywhere, from Switzerland to South Africa, from Slovakia to India and Brazil. Wherever children draw courts on the street with chalk, as I used to do, hit balls against a wall with borrowed rackets, parents take their children to training sessions, coaches go about their work and fans turn up.

Whether under a scorching sun or in bitter cold, where the ball boys are on one knee and ready to spring into action. I will always continue to see this sport through their eyes.

So this lad from Basel thanks you for this incredible honour. And I thank you, all of you, for sharing the journey that has brought us this far, together.