“I love the competition, not only in tennis,” he once said. “I love the competition in all aspects of life. I love to be there and fight for the win. Maybe I like fighting more than winning.”

His strenuous style took a toll. He suffered injuries to his knee, foot, wrist, abdomen and ribs, to name some. It was as if his game kept shaking his body apart. One of his less highlighted achievements simply is his longevity.

He emerged at a younger age than Federer and Djokovic, winning his first major two days after his 19th birthday (Roland-Garros, of course). By 22, some were starting to predict early burnout, a la Bjorn Borg, who was done at 26.

Yet Nadal was still winning majors at 36, and not just in Paris. His recovery from two sets down to beat Daniil Medvedev in the final of the Australian Open that year was as memorable a match as any in the tournament’s recent history.

Only in the past two years has the grind at last overwhelmed Nadal; he has played just 23 matches in that time, just three at majors. He became like an old car, with an engine still good for another 100,000 kilometres, but an unroadworthy body. The frustration was easy to read in his retirement announcement.

Part of the appeal of the supreme trio is that each had a distinctive style, as if playing assigned roles. Left-handed Nadal had that flourish of a forehand, hit with so much topspin that the ball appeared to elongate in flight and sometimes reach his opponent at head height. It wasn’t fair, but big-time sport is not always about fairness. Mastery trumps it.

In contrast to the orthodox ways of his peers, Nadal had OC mannerisms and tics that somehow endeared him further to fans: the way he would repeatedly adjust developing wedgies in his early days – it wasn’t just the denims that were snug – the scrupulous avoidance of lines when changing ends. These also defined him.

Then there was his courtliness. Once they’d overcome youthful intemperance, the three together elevated the sport with the way they conducted themselves.

Tennis is unique in that it is one on one and therefore highly personal, intensely physical and yet contact-free. Some overflow of emotions is sometimes inevitable, yet the three managed to set and maintain new standards for courtesy and respect. You remember the exceptions because they were so rare. Contrast it to Alexander Zverev, the Karen of contemporary tennis.

Nadal’s particular contribution to nobility was sometimes when injured to limp through to certain defeat rather than retire and make an anti-climax of his opponent’s triumph. One such occasion was the 2014 Australian Open final against Stan Wawrinka, who won his first major.

It won’t do to overplay the cuddly Rafa persona. The tennis bubble is big and insular and sycophantic and traps even those with the best will. Nadal, wealthy beyond all knowing, could not resist tacky commercial ventures, nor recently the green-washed Saudi dollars. He’s far from alone, but ever so slightly, this diminished him.

Henri Leconte once protested to Ivan Lendl in an Australian Open match in which Lendl, leading by two sets and a break, was challenging a marginal line call: “Ivan, you don’t need the point.” Likewise, we could say to Rafa, you don’t need the money.

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But Nadal’s gilded place in posterity is secure. In time, we will thank him further for whatever inspiration he gave to compatriot Carlos Alcaraz, whose burgeoning rivalry with Jannik Sinner – perhaps with Medvedev as the quirky third wheel – is pointing the game in an exciting new direction to follow the Djokovic-Federer-Nadal dynasty.

Otherwise, we would have had only the much-dreaded return of the man-brat Nick Kyrgios to dwell upon.

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