With the exception of the French Open, Roger Federer has pretty much dominated men’s tennis for most of this century. His power, speed, touch and athletic ability combine to produce an almost perfect tennis machine. Technically, he is as good as anyone who has ever stepped on to a tennis court. But – and you knew there was one coming – for me, he has sucked the life out of the game of tennis. Whether it is Federer’s brilliance, or whether it is due to there being so little quality opposition, the predictability of the outcome robs his games of any drama that they may otherwise possess.

Federer even looks the part. Tall, strong athletically built – it is as if a committee had sat down to design the perfect tennis player but, as with all committees, they forgot one vital ingredient. They gave Federer has the versatility of a Swiss army knife, the precision of a Swiss watch but the personality of Swiss chocolate.

His form has slipped this year, with a few chinks finally starting to show in his armour but, even then, there is no heightened sense of anticipation. Win or lose, Roger will maintain an even temperament and will, as always, maintain the façade of a perfect gentleman. In the boardroom, these would be qualities that are greatly sought after, but Federer walks the same stage as some of sport’s great showmen and entertainers; legends like Andre Agassi, Jimmy Connors, Ille Nastase and, my favourite, John McEnroe.

While Federer’s record will stand him in good stead with the all-time greats, will he generate the same passionate arguments – for or against him – that occurred (and still do) when discussions turned to John McEnroe? McEnroe evoked strong reactions and everyone had an opinion about him. It didn’t matter whether they loved him or hated him, there was no ignoring him. He brought fans to the game – maybe some for the wrong reasons – because he always put on a show.

McEnroe was the complete sporting package. His technique was wild and unconventional – he was a left hander, for goodness sake – but he had a deftness of touch that was uncanny. He could play the most delicate of drop shots or blast his opponent off the court. He seemed to serve with his back to the court and yet could deliver flat hard serves down the middle or sliced ones that went impossibly wide; his ground strokes often verged on the completely bewildering, making shots that he has no right to be able to make.

McEnroe was also a showman. You could never watch a McEnroe match and know what was going to happen. At his best, he didn’t just beat his opponents, he humiliated them - but then, in the middle of a game, he would lose focus and implode. At times he was the joker and then he would explode with a self-destructive rage. Often this rage would be directed inwards to lift himself for the game, sometimes it would be directed at an unsuspecting bystander who would bear the full force of McEnroe’s frustrations.