Red is the colour of summer in Paris. The roses, the courts, his socks eventually and his form. It’s as if he, an earthy player, was spiritually connected to the clay at Roland Garros. Certainly the aviator, after whom the premises is named, would have loved Rafael Nadal. He travelled to altitudes no one could reach. So has the Spaniard in Paris. 

We watched Paris every year because of the promise of him. In The Gladiator, Maximus says, “What we do in life, echoes in eternity” and Nadal’s tally of 14 French Open titles in 18 attempts personifies that. Photographers would wait till he bent to serve and a bead of sweat skied down his nose and perched there for a second. Like he was on the edge of explosion.