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This often enigmatic and polarized athletic linguist needs to recapture quite possibly the most sensational and gripping heavyweight battle of my lifetime for those out feasting on processed meats over the holiday weekend. A well-decorated champion used ferocious slams and immeasurable grit to push his burgeoning rival to the limit to no avail as the newcomer punched and delivered big shots when in control to upend his nemesis.For those blood-thirsty fans anticipating a synopsis of the much-hyped UFC Light Heavyweight Championship bout between Rampage Jackson and Forrest Griffin, I implore you to scour the Net for a round-by-round breakdown of a forgettable fight in which the champ relinquished his belt with apprehensive fury. Instead of tossing around superlatives within the octagon, I summon my less carnage-craving persona to elaborate on what took place on the manicured lawns of a country club in the merry ole town of Wimbeldon.

This was Ali-Frazier. This was gladiators dueling, knights jousting, sprinters dashing. Undoubtedly the two best tennis players in the world entered today’s epic final with storylines buzzing and character development set.

The Champ: Roger Federer quickly replaced Pete Sampras in 2003 as the premier player atop the circuit after winning his first of five straight Wimbeldon titles. The Swiss star’s undisputed dominance over the field earned him comparisons to Tiger as tennis and golf seems to share an elitist commonality for the aristocrats weary of any sport with physical contact. Yet without chopping at my favorite past time, I only say that Roger’s rapid ascension mirrored another slugger competing in a more athletically grueling environment than a lush golf course. Federer, like Cardinals’ first baseman Albert Pujols, appeared to reign over his respective sport without ever revealing an inexperienced side. One day I woke up and Federer was the man to beat in his sport, just like one day Pujols jetted out to a feudal command of all MLB statistics. But to bring it back to Sampras, Pete had his Andre. Roger crushed his detractors with such disdain via long strokes and powerful confidence that his fame rusted without a worthwhile foe.

The Challenger: Rafael Nadal continued in the long tradition of speedy Spaniards to rule the clay at Roland Garros. Nadal captured his first French Open title in 2005 against an Argentinean before ousting Federer in 2006 and 2007. Despite Nadal’s winning record over the #1 player, the 22-year-old stood tiny in Roger’s shadow as the Spaniard earned the label as a clay-court specialist. Nadal’s failure to reach a U.S. Open final and Federer’s stellar record on grass prevented a Sampras-Agassi rivalry from developing. Or as they often say, so it seemed.

Entering Today: Nadal pushed Federer to five sets in last year’s Wimbeldon final before dismantling him only a month ago at the French Open. Nadal’s exceptional clay-court play entered a Federer-like zone as he won all 21 sets and embarrassed Roger so thoroughly in the finals (6-1, 6-3, 6-0) that he apologized during his press conference for such a one-sided exhibition. With steady improvement from the challenger and a failure to win this year’s Australian Open, the dormant pundits eager to manifest a story in the otherwise overlooked world of tennis, cast doubt concerning Federer’s once flawless game. The five-time champ could not rely on his numerous supporters to predict another graceful tournament victory across the pond. But entering today both players, as Doc Rivers told the Celtics after they escaped a survival game against the Cavs, were right where they wanted to be.

The Epic: I could care less if this match revitalizes the popularity of tennis. What I saw today left me aghast. Two men defying the limits of mental and physical stamina to stage a masterpiece. Team sports ask the athlete to find his or her niche in a certain setting. One-on-one competition demands total concentration. Total perseverance. Regret, over-analysis, skepticism and every other pitfall that enters the fray must be dismissed. When an opponent appears brilliant, one setback can destroy all hope.

But enough with the Hallmark cliches that wait for ESPN next year as they sell this illustrious tournament, allow me to paint a portrait with an illuminating and concise retelling of the match.

I set my mental alarm to watch breakfast at Wimbeldon but a lucid dream in which Federer swept three sets woke me at a little before 11 a.m. New York time (2 p.m. England). Nadal had taken the first two sets 6-4 but Roger appeared posed to break serve. However, 1-12 on break-point opportunities foiled that notion and coupled with Nadal’s whisking forehands and stoic demeanor the match seemed pedestrian. The consummate champ, however, understood the daunting feat of dethroning the king, unlike Rampage, and summoned his menacing serve when necessary to pull out a win in the tiebreaker. I failed to mention that Roger led 5-4 in the third before an 1:30 rain delay. I’m not the best with those things, I believe they’re called details.

The fourth set also required a tiebreaker but this time Nadal jumped out to a 5-2 lead with a chance to serve for the championship. He double faulted and eventually missed out on two championship points before Roger evened the match at two sets apiece.

With no tiebreakers in the decisive fifth set, the two warded off another rain delay and battled to a 7-7 tie. The sudden realization that no lights on Center Court anddusk blanketing the countryside in England, curtailed my enthusiasm and a postponement and an inevitable continuation the following day would surely deflate the intensity of the match. Right before 9:30 pm London time, drama concluded.

As much as I rooted for the champ, as I did in the UFC bout, I knew this was Nadal’s day, as besides a disadvantage from the serve, the Spaniard outplayed the best in the world in all facets. Nadal broke Roger’s serve and would hold at 9-7 before collapsing onto the ground in incredulous jubilation.

I would be lying like Jenna Jameson at confessional if I were to say I was more pumped to watch a civil and non-confrontational exhibition of tennis than I was to see a guttural display of elbow-dropping, knee-flying brutalism inside the cage. But if you have derived  anything from my infrequent blogs examining the world of sports and beyond, you must know that I thrive on athletics at its finest regardless of setting. At least it’s my general rule of thumb. So for those wondering how in the span of less than 24 hours I could vent my frustration over a disappointing mixed martial arts contest and then ramble on about a classic tennis match, I say get to know this well-rounded commentator that will douse you with dazzling reality over the months and years. Hey as long as competitors like Federer and Nadal exist I’m always going to have material ready to transfer from my mind to your screen.