Longtime readers know how I feel about Roger Federer. Newer readers know how I feel about Roger Federer. Alien life forms probably know how I feel about Roger Federer.

My phone buzzed this morning with a few messages from people wondering how I was “handling the news,” somber phrasing that initially alarmed me. Had someone died? Announced a terminal diagnosis? Fortunately, it was nothing that dire.

Federer had finally acknowledged what was widely suspected already, that he was retiring after next week’s Laver Cup. Months ago, when Federer posted a ‘delfie’ with his family’s newly adopted dog, I felt certain it was over. The player who famously traveled the globe with a wife and two young sets of twins was now comfortably settled at home. It was a logical progression.

Serena Williams’ recent farewell at the US Open was a moment I was wholly unprepared for emotionally, even though it wasn’t a surprise. Aside from Iga Świątek’s brilliant clay court displays, the women’s field is still fairly open on grass and hard courts. There remains a question of whether she’s really done. (I think she is.)

For Federer, some thought the finish line was in sight nearly a decade ago. After his early, remarkable Grand Slam dominance, the biggest wins came less easily. There were heartbreaking semifinal losses, particularly in New York to Novak Djokovic. He won Australia in 2010. Wimbledon in 2012. And then he remained stalled at 17 major titles until winning his 18th in 2017.

During those frustrating droughts, tennis fans and even commentators ludicrously raised questions of his retirement. My father and an ex offered frequent variations of “He should quit, he’s never winning another Slam.” It was sometimes said teasingly. Other times it betrayed a sincerely held belief that there’s minimal point in participating in something you might lose.

Why on earth would he have walked away? He was still often ranked in the top two or three and won armloads of lesser titles each year. More importantly, he still loved what he was doing. Challenge gives triumph its meaning, if you’ll excuse the mawkishness. You’ll never win — in life or sport or anything else — if you’re so afraid of losing that you cut and run in the face of a challenge.

That’s why the Federer victory that moved me more than all the others came at the 2017 Australian Open. After years of speculation that his career was over, his Slam chances greatly diminished, Federer defeated Rafael Nadal, his greatest rival, in five sets to win the tournament. He cried in victory, as he cried in defeat, never disguising how much tennis still meant to him.

Federer could’ve retired the second he hoisted that trophy in Melbourne and his fans would have died happy. Instead, five months later, he won Wimbledon. Six months after Wimbledon, he successfully defended his Australian Open title. At 41 years old, he hasn’t played very much since 2020, plagued by injuries and the passage of time.

His late-career resurgence afforded us ample opportunity to say goodbye on our own terms — and he even gave us the pandemic tennis challenge gift of accidentally nailing Gaël Monfils in a rather sensitive location as Elina Svitolina watched. Gaël and Elina are expecting their first child together later this year, so there was no lasting damage. Maybe, in his retirement, Uncle Roger can babysit.