Last week I outed myself as a Federer fan girl.

I had kept my shameful secret hidden from colleagues for the past five years but after finally owning up, I was subjected to a torrent of abuse. "He's smug. He's boring. He's past it". But, frankly, I don't believe a word of it.

Roger Federer is, in my humble opinion, close to being the most perfect sportsperson that ever lived. My justification? Well, he plays a unique brand of tennis combining precision, grace and power that is unparalleled among his contemporaries. He is a family man whose private life is without hint of scandal. His fashion preferences include adorable preppy blazers and floppy chestnut hair. Add to that his friends in high places – including pop star Gwen Stefani and American Vogue editor Anna Wintour – and you have the perfect package. Unlike with home favourite Andy Murray, I always feel in safe hands supporting Federer. He seems more machine than man at times. And when he comes up against other greats such as Nadal and Djovokic and gets beaten, he takes it on the chin. Even in defeat, his extreme self-belief is never dented. His demeanour, both on-court and off, is more akin to that of a politician or elder statesman than a tennis player.

The numbers certainly back up my love for Federer; his 16 grand slam titles ensure he will go down in history as one of the all-time tennis greats. Now aged 30, and judged by many to be past his best, my admiration for him grows. He continues to confound belief and prove his doubters wrong. What a joyous occasion it would be if Federer, the ageing champion, beat competitors five years his junior and captured the Wimbledon title once more this Sunday. I'll be cheering him on, all the way.