Boris Becker

Boris is nearly 40. Forty in November. There’s a rite of passage, for him, for us, who remember the strawberry blond, thick-set, indomitable kid who got lucky (according to John McEnroe) when he won Wimbledon 22 years ago at the ridiculously young age of 17. His growing-up has been hugely public ever since. “It was like sitting on the lavatory with the whole world watching,” was how he described the process.

Boris (Becker, but I hardly need explain that) is a different beast these days. “I am more relaxed,” he explained upon arrival at a hotel room, complete with hush and sandwiches, to talk about his impending commentary at Wimbledon.

But first of all, the ‘40’ business. He mentioned it more than once.

Getting his retaliation in first, perhaps. Typically aggressive, a cross-court manoeuvre, striking down the scythe of Father Time before it could be raised against him. Mid-life crisis, don’t make him laugh. “I still have lots of hair. I still have my blue eyes,” he said, deploying them with full icy force. “I don’t have too much overweight.” He still has his vanity. “Of course,” he replied, obviously set to sail, perhaps ‘plough’ would be a better word, through middle age.

“I hope so. I have so far. I haven’t had an accident yet.” There then transpired a small argument from which it could not be said the questioner emerged victorious. But you have been, for more than half your life, an icon of physical prowess. “Not in my eyes.” Well, you were famous for your physique. “You don’t know my physique.” But isn’t it difficult for a man famous for his physical power to face a law of diminishing returns?

“I have to tell you it still works pretty well at 40. Maybe when I get to 70 I can give you a different answer.” So you are not afraid of ageing? “No. I think for men of my age, these are the best years coming. It depends how fit you are and how you keep busy, but from 40 to 55, those are the best ages for men. When you are 20 or 25, you are a young man after all. Yes, you do run a bit quicker, you do jump a bit higher, your endurance is better, but the game isn’t better overall. When you are older you know so much more. Experience for a man is vital. It makes all the difference. You know more when you have done a long journey.”

Ah yes, the journey. His from stripling to superstar has been an absolute Pilgrim’s Progress of incident. His sporting victories, his love affairs, his divorce, his prosecution for tax evasion, his children and their interesting diversity, they have all played across the screen in vivid technicolour.

Yet he is sitting still in his blue pinstripe suit (and pink tie, I think), smiling, positively twinkling, with the hard-won effect of wisdom. “I couldn’t sum up what I've learned over the years. So many lessons. Take Lewis Hamilton. He doesn’t know what he has to face in five years time. I do know what he has to face. So for me, knowing what to expect, it has become easier than it was at 25.”

In those days he used to disguise himself in a black curly wig to try to deflect the mad attention that surrounded him in Germany. Now when he strides into Wimbledon, the hair folded and flat, not upright any more like an electrocuted orange rug, it is with confidence, certainty, comfort and considerable readiness to argue again with McEnroe. They missed it last year — Boris was at the football World Cup — but this year the battle lines are redrawn.

The dynamics work beautifully for television. McEnroe, Becker, Jimmy Connors, colleagues, sort of friends, undying foes. “We used to do it with rackets. Now we do it with microphones. You are either competitive or not. It doesn’t matter what Johnny Mac does, he’ll always be competitive. Same goes for me. If he says something I disagree with, of course there’s no way I will let it rest. Not all the words we say to each other come over on television, fortunately. When we really speak to one another, and there’s a little bit of alcohol involved, it’s not for British television.

“Coming back to Wimbledon is like coming home, really. It’s a place where I feel extremely comfortable. I know every tree there, every bench. I’ve been coming here now for 25 years. I’ve been doing this more than half my life.”

As such, he has a keen eye for what is going on. He reckons all is not well with Roger Federer, for instance. “I just heard the news that Roger cancelled his warm-up tournament in Halle, and that’s a first. That tells me that he’s struggling now with motivation. He’s mentally hurt by the loss he had to Rafa Nadal in France. If I were his coach I would absolutely have told him to play Halle.

“He put so much effort, time and energy into winning the French Open. It started really over Christmas, with all the extra training sessions. So the letdown is great for him. Missing Halle is a first. All four times he’s won Wimbledon, he’s played Halle first. It doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen again, but Roger is a bit hurt, more vulnerable.”

So is it Nadal’s year? “Well, then you have the problem of the two major tournaments back to back. We seem to have been talking about this for ever. For Nadal to play two months like a maniac, like a genius, as he has — he cannot mentally and physically be at his very best on the grass. It was surprising for me he made the final last year.