Escéptico. In 2006, the late writer David Foster Wallace profiled a then-25-year-old Federer for The New York Times. What resulted from a less-than-30 minute conversation in a cramped ATP office was an essay so transcendent, so instantly canonical, that it has made further literary attempts to capture the beauty of Federer’s game in words somewhat redundant (even as the profile itself faced scrutiny for the liberties it might have taken with accuracy). A 2019 New Yorker review of Wallace’s body of work remarked how “The greatest tennis writer of his generation was writing about the greatest player of his generation. The sentence needs no qualifiers.” Fifteen years later, memories of the conversation with Foster Wallace still linger. “I remember where we were when we did the interview,” he says. “It was in an office on the side, like sort of by the green grass they have there. It was an area where we always say, ‘I'll meet you at the grass’ … So I went to speak there for like, half