I watched the Wimbledon finals with a fan who would brook not a peep of admiration for the adversary, regardless who was sporting the better form.

Rafael Nadal, to be specific, was a Garanimal-wearer who had no place even crossing Federer’s shadow. Feigning scorn, I couldn’t help but come to another conclusion about his tennis.

I agree Nadal looked a sleeveless fright with white srtiped extremities and wrapped in a billowy sail. But outside of the fashion concern, the young Spaniard accelerated the play at each stroke, that much was obvious. To my mind, he forced the elder Swiss to play the mole in a bout of Whack-a-Mole. Nadal’s strength differential brought the wall in so fast on Roger Federer, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I might as well have been watching you versus Muhammad Ali.

True, Federer showed top-seed finesse as he persevered for what became a record length match. He may have been more impressive than that, but I didn’t get to see it. In the interest of full disclosure I’ll admit the small Nadal-dominated segment of the Sunday match was all I saw until I was driven from the family room for my non-partisan enthusiasm.

Normally I like to favor the underdog. In Whack-a-Mole for example I would probably favor the guy in the hole, for animal-rights reasons. David and Goliath would be another matter however, now that I’ve seen the tribe David begat. Certainly when survival is at stake, I hope it is instinct to root for the disadvantaged.

Perhaps the TV-land many were concerned for the survival of Federer’s winning streak. That mindset may be what distinguishes the true sports fan. For me, in a sporting match meant to rank athletic prowess, it seems counter-productive to hope the lesser best wins.