God, it seems, is in the tailoring. Forget your forehands and backhands; abandon all thoughts of head-to-heads. You can even ignore the potentially historic nature of tonight's final and the five and a bit hours Nadal took to get here on Friday night. No, if this Australian Open has taught us anything, it is that clothes maketh the man.
As the tournament began, 128 blokes gathered in the locker room. They were a rag-tag-and-bobtail collection of talents, hopefuls, wannabes and super heroes and we pretty much knew who was going to cut the mustard. For a start, anyone wearing mustard (never a good look, especially in the heat) was on a hiding to nothing.
This theory of the clothes reflecting the player – or vice versa – began with Dame Timothy Henry Henman OBE (Order of the Backhand Error). Back in 1999, he started the year ranked in the world's top 10 and the whole of Britain was getting over excited.
His clothing sponsor kitted him out in a white and khaki combo but as the year progressed and his results didn't, the khaki faded to light tan until, by the time he had dropped out of the world's top 10, he was a vision in beige. So, there is a precedent here.
Andy Roddick arrived looking lean, tanned and honed but despite his new coach, new training regime and newly acquired confidence (which came as a free gift with the aforementioned), he was on his way home after the semi finals. But who could have expected anything more?
There was A-Rod, lashing down his serves in a shirt the size of a duvet cover and in shorts that resembled two pillow cases loosely tacked together with string. And he was taking on the lovely Rog, the man in the Saville Row tailored blue shirt. The royal blue shirt. The regal blue shirt. Only one winner here, pal….
Novak Djokovic made the schoolboy error of wearing khaki shorts which, as he perspired, showed up deeply embarrassing damp patches (rats, there goes the title). Jo-Wilfried Tsonga wore a yellow shirt so bright it could be seen from space while Fernando Verdasco, a dead ringer for Cristiano Ronaldo, went for the ‘70s look in what can only be described in delicate company as nappy-green. Sorry, lads, you never stood a chance.
That leaves us with Raf and Rog – the two finest players of the moment. In Raf's case, he is also one of the finest clay court players ever to pick up a racquet and has become a demon on most other surfaces while in the case of Rog, he is possibly the greatest player ever.
So, what will make the difference tonight? Easy – comfy undies. I'll say it loud and I'll say it proud.
Raf's new look this year is designed to make him appear more grown-up, more dignified, as is befitting of the world No1. Gone is the singlet top (because, let's face it, when it comes to underarms, if they must be seen, they should not be furred) and gone are the pirate pants.
In their place comes the well fitting t-shirt and the carefully tailored shorts. Revealing his knees to a grateful audience, his shorts are a thing of beauty while his shirt is functional yet dignified.
Rog, too, has well crafted shorts and a shirt that is inch perfect on the shoulders. Added to which, the Mighty Fed appears not to sweat. In fact, like a modest Victorian lady, he barely glows.
So far, then, there is not a gnat's nadger between them. But the secret to creating a look that is meant to last – anything from Chartres Cathedral to Coco Chanel's Little Black Dress – is in the foundations. Deep foundations and you have a monument that will survive the centuries; proper foundation garments and you have an outfit that will look good in any situation. And Raf's foundations are obviously a size and a half too small.
He has picked and fiddled and plucked his way to the top, winning five Grand Slam titles and earning the No1 ranking in a frenzy of knicker-picking activity. The better he has got, the more advisors, managers and helpers he has gathered – and not one of them has thought to give him a pair of budgie smugglers that actually fits.
All the while, Rog has continued his regal progress through the record books, secure in the knowledge that his path to greatness is supported by a well-proportioned brief.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the key to tonight's match.
The only worry for Rog is that Raf might finally get a pair of knickers that fitted him. If he is this good now with a permanent wedgie, just think how good he could be in comfy undies.
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