Roger Federer Inducted into Hall of Fame: A Journey of Tears and Triumph

The first time Roger Federer cried after a big win, he didn’t recognise himself.

Wimbledon, 2001. Centre Court. Pete Sampras on the other side of the net, the man who owned that patch of grass, beaten by a 19-year-old making his debut on the sport’s most sacred stage.

“I go to my knees, (then) I shake hands with Pete and he's my hero … and these emotions came all over me,” Federer told CNN Sports. “And I was like, 'What is going on?' This is not who I am normally."

From that moment, the tears became part of the story. From the boy who toppled Sampras to the man who bowed out in 2022 with a microphone in his hand and his voice cracking beside Rafael Nadal, Federer built one of tennis’ greatest careers while becoming, almost accidentally, its most visible crier.

This weekend, the Swiss is inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, Rhode Island. He knows what might be coming.

“If I'm speaking about the game and all the gratitude that I have, and having my entire family there – from my parents to my wife to my four children and my whole team from coaching staff and physios, etc. I think it could hit home very hard,” he said in the hours before his big moment.

"If it happens, it will be more memorable for me personally, but I hope I get through the speech without too many hiccups. We'll see."

For most, this induction has felt inevitable for two decades. The destination was signposted as early as 2004, the year he seized three of the four grand slam singles titles and climbed to No. 1 in the world, then refused to let go. He stayed there for 237 consecutive weeks, a record that still stands and a symbol of his dominance as much as his elegance.

In 2005, he won more than 95% of his matches. The following season, he went up another level. The 2006 campaign is widely regarded as his peak: three more majors, 12 titles in total, a 92-5 record and a scarcely believable 94.8% win rate. The numbers read like a misprint.

Sampras’ 14 grand slam titles once looked untouchable. In 2009, Federer passed him at Wimbledon and never glanced back. He finished on 20 majors, a mark since overtaken by Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic, but for millions he remains the standard, the original modern great.

He earned that devotion not just with the trophies, but with the way he won them. The gliding footwork. The liquid forehand. The sense that the ball bent to his will.

He knows that perception all too well.

"It looked like I wasn't actually hitting the ball so hard," he recalled of how people saw him as a junior. "But it was kind of flying off of my racket with a lot of power. People always thought, like, 'It's so simple for you,' because it looked like elastic. But it wasn't the case. There was a lot of work and effort put into it.

"When I would lose, they say, 'Why don't you try harder?' And when you win, they would say, 'Oh my God, it's so easy for you!'"

Buried in that contradiction is the explanation for all those tears. The effortless genius that never felt effortless from the inside.

"The sacrifice was massive and I was holding a lot of pressure in."

The pressure has gone now. The void that many athletes talk about after retirement? He doesn’t seem to recognise it.

"I'm actually really happy going through everyday life at a lower pace," he said.

He is still busy, just differently. Life as a father of four, a philanthropist, an investor and a businessman keeps his schedule full, and the travel itch remains.

"I've always been a guy who loves being on the road."

Newport offers something else: a chance to look back, to place his own career alongside the giants whose posters once hung on bedroom walls. He has even allowed himself to imagine a fantasy draw, a set of matches that could only exist in the mind of a Hall of Famer.

"I would have a little list," he said, before reeling off the names: Rod Laver, Bjorn Borg, John McEnroe, Stefan Edberg, Boris Becker and, of course, Sampras again. "I think these would be my favorite players to play against. I've always admired their personalities, what they have achieved, and what they represent in the game."

The numbers say others have gone beyond him in the record books. His supporters don’t care. To them, he is still the greatest of all time, the man who made tennis look like art and exposed its cost in those raw, public tears.

Asked what he’s trying to master now, he doesn’t reach for another sport first, but it’s there.

“I'm trying to get better at golf," he said. "I would love to start with an instrument again. I used to play the piano, so when I have more time, I'd like to dive into that because my four children and my wife play the piano.

"I hope I'm a good listener and a good decision-maker. Hopefully I'm a guy who people enjoy being around. I'm a big family guy. I love being surrounded by my friends – that's really the priority in my life."

In Newport, the applause will roll over him one more time. The numbers, the records, the titles will be read out. The ovation will swell. The eyes may fill.

This time, Federer knows exactly who he is when the tears come.