When Roger Federer lost the Australian Open final in January, he cried his eyes out.

When Tiger Woods fell away at the Augusta Masters in April, he stormed off the course in disgust and blamed his “band-aid swing”.

When LeBron James’s Cleveland Cavaliers lost to Orlando Magic in the NBA’s Eastern Conference finals in May, he refused to shake hands with his opponents, saying he couldn’t bear to congratulate a team that had beaten him, because he was “a winner”.

But when the long-haired, bicep-kissing, ever-grimacing Rafael Nadal lost this Sunday on the red clay he loves so dearly, he had a forgotten message to convey in broken English: “I have to accept with the same calm when I win that when I lose. After four years, I lose here, and the season continues.”

Grace is a rare commodity in sport these days. Often mistaken for weakness, for a lack of hunger, its virtue has gotten lost somewhere in the by-lanes of a land where champions are cold, ruthless mercenaries in pursuit of perfection; where the bar is raised by a nanometre each year; and where the mind must be without fear but the head needn’t be held high.

In the middle of this strange world we’ve created, Nadal’s attitude at Roland Garros came as a sweet surprise. Here he was, going for an unprecedented fifth consecutive title in the toughest of all Grand Slams, the odds-on favourite, but he could still channel his disappointment into graceful praise for his victor, into explaining to his shocked fans and the anxious media that life would indeed go on. Instead of being consoled, Nadal was the one doing the comforting.

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