“Mr. Federer, meet Alex Ovechkin. You might remember sharing a birthday cake with his big rival at the Roger’s Cup last summer; be advised they’re not like you and Rafa; they don’t like each other. Yeah, he plays that sport, the one that prides itself as being as inelegant as possible, where men punching each other are considered part of the game(lately there’s been talk of getting rid of that because three of those men died recently, but it doesn’t seem likely to happen). He’s very big and loud and boisterous, is rocking that big burly uncultured ‘manly man’ image, you know, attends Versace events in t-shirts , and you know that one time you completely defied your image by getting drunk(um, you were drunk, weren’t you? Surely it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise) and singing that ‘We are Swiss’ number to Davis Cup fans? He does that sort of thing all the time. You can read his Twitter if you like, but the atrocity of the grammer, etc., even for someone whose first language isn’t English, might make you faint. Basically, he is about as unlike you as they can get. Hey, at least you two can talk about your Gillette and Nike contracts together.”
Of course, Roger being ever the diplomat, I’m sure the meeting was really quite run-of-the-mill; Alex was at least prudent enough to come equipped with a Russian hockey jersey to present him with, Roger no doubt offered him condolences to his recently lost friends. But seriously, one wonders how these two meeting didn’t cause the universe to implode.