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Kindle Edition
Published November 5, 2025
So much could have blown Nadal off course: injuries, family dynamics, soccer, big money, ennui, pressure, the azure lure of the nearby Mediterranean Sea that seemed a world away from clay-stained socks, sweat-stained bandannas, and daily sacrifice.
What were the odds?
I remember mulling something similar when I visited Kopaonik, the modest ski resort in Serbia where Novak Djokovic, one of Nadal's future archrivals, took his first tennis lesson just across the street from the family pizzeria, much as Nadal had taken his first lesson from Uncle Toni just across the street from the family apartment in Manacor.
When I stepped onto that Serbian hard court, which was cracked and neglected when I arrived in 2010, it was child's play to imagine another outcome. There were no serious tennis players in Djokovic's family, only competitive skiers. If those courts had not been built in that particular spot, and if Jelena Genic, a charismatic tennis teacher and formidable talent spotter, had not chosen that particular summer to start giving clinics on those remote courts in the Serbian mountains, Djokovic would never have had the early start and solid platform a future tennis professional required.
The other element here is Nadal's roots are not simply his roots. They are his present. He does not need to make a nostalgic pilgrimage to the modest spot where it all began: to fly from the Spanish mainland or farther afield with camera crews and chroniclers to Manacor (population 43,000) and these clay courts on the edge of it. He drives by them all the time even if he stops very rarely. His eponymous, state-of-the-art tennis academy is nearby. His boyhood apartments in Manacor are even closer, and his new clifftop dream house with a Bondian boat slip cut into the rocks below is in Porto Cristo, the resort village only twelve kilometers from Manacor that has long been a getaway for the Nadal clan.
When people rightly talk about Nadal being grounded, this is where the ground is. He was born in Manacor, grew up there, and except for one up-and-down year of boarding school in the Mallorcan capital of Palma, he has remained based in Manacor, marrying a local—Maria Francisca Perelló and staying a local: usually returning as quickly as he can after the tennis travels that made him a household name far beyond his home island. In his teens, he and his parents and younger sister Maribel moved to an apartment building in central Manacor with their grandparents and Toni Nadal's family, each generation and family unit getting their own floor.
The building was on one of Manacor's main squares, the site of the principal church that Nadal could see so clearly from his balcony.
Once out the door, he was in a cozy community full of familiar faces, neighbors, and shopkeepers to greet politely; a community where ostentatiousness and braggadocio were frowned upon.
He would bring that same ingrained civicism to the tennis world, re-creating a sense of village on the tournament grounds at Monte Carlo, Rome, and Roland-Garros.
Toni Nadal, knowing his nephew needed all the positive energy he could get, delivered a prefinal pep talk in which he kept repeating the 2008 campaign slogan of U.S. president Barack Obama: "Yes we can!" And Rafael repeated it to himself on the changeovers.
And it was not that Nadal's work ethic was based on delayed gratification. The work ethic was the gratification.
"Maybe," he told us, "I like more fighting to win than to win."
[…]
It seemed so simple, so obvious, when he described his mindset. But very few in the history of sports have been able to develop and maintain such a mindset over the long haul. Nadal did not want another Roland-Garros title.
He wanted a Roland-Garros title. He was not focused on breaking anyone's record. He was focused on getting the best out of himself in any given point, match, or year.
"I always say, it's good to enjoy suffering," Nadal said. "When you are fit, with passion for the game, and when you are ready to compete you are able to suffer while enjoying the suffering. Today I had this feeling."
"Loeuf" supposedly morphed into "love" in modern English tennis scoring. But there is also the possibility that the term came from "playing for love" of the game rather than victory. The term "love" existed in card-game scoring in the eighteenth century. But whatever the truth, the term never made the romantic leap into French (or any other Romance language), which still—in tennis at least—relies on the rather less hopeful "zero."
"The vast majority of people who follow Rafa in Spain and elsewhere don't play tennis," he said. "And that makes you wonder why Rafa is so closely followed and why he generates so much emotion in so many people who don't play the game he plays. And my conclusion was that Rafa embodies excellence.
When someone in whatever activity achieves excellence the barriers between different disciplines and walks of life disappear. And others can find a way to apply what Rafa does to their own lives."