Davis Cup, North Carolina Style (Day 1)

The last time North Carolina hosted the Davis Cup was in 2001, when the U.S. squad defeated India to stay in the World Group. On April 6, 2007, the USTA and Captain Patrick McEnroe brought the American squad back to Winston-Salem to use a home-court advantage against the perennially successful Spaniards.

Winston-Salem, at one time most recognized as the home of R.J. Reynolds Co. and the birthplace of famous cigarette brands such as Winston and Salem, is now a cozy town known for its Wake Forest University basketball and the world-renowned Bowman-Grey Medical Center. It's situated about two hours due west of the state capital, Raleigh, along a stretch of Interstate 40 that is just plain weird. Between Durham and Winston-Salem are towns like Burlington, with its many factory-direct shops, its factory irregulars, and its china replacement megastore; Greensboro, which is best remembered for its clash between some members of the Ku Klux Klan and the Communist Party, which ended in a police intervention and several dead; and High Point, former world center of furniture (it's quickly being eclipsed by the big monied and convention-friendly Las Vegas). Also along the road to Winston-Salem, you'll find such oddities as a Dockside Dolls strip joint sharing a parking lot with a Life Fellowship Baptist church. Actually, in North Carolina, that's not all that odd.

The Davis Cup tie is being held at the Lawrence Joel Veterans Memorial Coliseum, where the Demon Deacons play basketball. It seats about 14,500, and we've got a full house. The event sold out in three days.

The Demon Deacs, as they're called by the locals, used to hail from a small hamlet just north of Raleigh on N.C. Route 1 called Wake Forest. It began as a seminary, and when the school grew into a college, it relocated to Winston-Salem. Wake Forest still has the seminary, now called the Southeastern Baptist Seminary, a quaint campus on a hill of orange brick buildings in the Classical Revival style, I believe. I forgot to mention that this part of North Carolina, known as the Piedmont, is also known for its red clay soil and consequently its brick manufacturing.

I arrive at the coliseum, which is smack dab in the middle of nowhere — actually, it's part of the fairgrounds — a bit early to see what I can take in. Apparently, not early enough to catch Andy Roddick's practice session, but early enough to meet a home-grown celebrity of sorts — Elizabeth "Lizzie" Horton, Miss North Carolina. Lizzie, tiara and all, hails from High Point and is there to sing the National Anthem. She's a cute, pixie-like young woman who claims to have played on her high school tennis team. She's enrolled at Johns Hopkins University, and has a dual major in vocal performance and something or other. Later, after she has belted out the Star Spangled Banner, I find her soaking in the action through my binoculars.

Next I watch Fernando Verdasco practice. He's got good wheels (must be a Spanish thing, because they all do), a huge roundhouse forehand, and a solid, flat two-handed backhand. He can blast a flat first serve, which is dart-like but doesn't look as heavy as Blake's or Roddick's, of course. I'm a bit surprised by his volleys, however. He seems to get a late start with his footwork, and often lets his elbow collapse behind him on his forehand wing. A decent teaching pro would make him drill endlessly until he learned to keep that elbow in front of his belly button.

I'm in the Upper Level, Section 213, Row P, Seat 1. It's only a half-dozen rows below the roof line, but there's not a bad seat in the house, except the first three rows of the Upper Level, which are partially obstructed by a metal rail and a translucent plexiglas.

Before the action starts, I go to get my requisite hot dog, peanuts and tasteless beer, where I spot a couple of young guys juggling plastic bowling pins. They're sending them back and forth in a rapid volley, and have perfected an impressive move in which, while facing each other, one guy flips a pin around his leg while the other flips it between his legs. I show them the Roddick 'Tweener, and will check back today and Sunday to see if they've mastered it. I promise a picture if they do.

I get back to my seat in time to see the next pre-match activity, the Calypso Tumblers. This group of five black performers does amazing things with their bodies, and thoroughly entertains the crowd. I wonder, though, why the USTA doesn't come up with some sort of traveling tennis show, either with kids or with a small troupe of athletes that could showcase some of the exciting things we're about to witness, except in a super-lively, acrobatic manner a la Ringling Brothers or Harlem Globetrotters.

Next, the teams are introduced. The Spanish captain has decided to put Tommy Robredo and Fernando Verdasco in the singles, while Captain McEnroe goes with his two studs, Roddick and James Blake. The twin towers, Bob and Mike Bryan, wil take on Verdasco and Feliciano Lopez, who I must say is not as handsome in person as he is pretty.

The play itself is a bit pedestrian on this day, I think, except for Blake's performance. James comes out fired up and ready to play in the first match, looking a bit like Nadal as he bounces on his toes and then dashes back to the baseline to start the warm-up. You can sense that he's hungry for a win; God only knows he needs one.

Robredo is silky smooth, with his relaxed and easy strokes off both sides. As the match wears on, though, I notice that Disco Tommy is never able to really crank it up when needed. He hurts you mostly with his disguise. He has the classic windshield-wiper forehand, and in his case he never ever breaks his wrist. He cocks it back and up, and it stays rigid throughout the stroke, hence he is not able to get that extra bit of leverage, or pop, from a good wrist snap. Robredo doesn't really extend toward the target on either side; his racquet path is perfectly circular. I think that's his weakness. That, and the fact that, despite his quickness, he doesn't play a very good defensive game on this day. He's far better off when dictating play and his opponent is on the run and guessing which way the ball will come next. At that he is pure genius.

Robredo won the toss and elected to receive. Despite frittering away a 40-love lead on serve at 3 games apiece, Blake fights for his hold and breaks Robredo at 5-4 to take the first set. And that is essentially the match, as Blake overpowered Robredo time and again with his serve and forehand on the slick, rubberized surface. Robredo's first serve is actually quite good, but he made the mistake of going to Blake's forehand a few too many times; his second delivery lacks the power or kick (at least on this seemingly deadening surface) to hurt anyone.

To his credit, James held his errors to a minimum, and he used his head well, rarely playing a numbskulled shot or going for broke too early, as he is prone to do. I was impressed with his performance, as was the packed house who cheered him wildly. One thing about Davis Cup that is unlike any other tennis match, is that it's alright to cheer the opposing team's error and to be unashamedly biased. It's a weird departure for me, but I get into costume quickly. The most effective ploy the home crowd can employ is to remain utterly silent when an opposing player makes a good play. It must be feel terribly lonely out there.

Next up, Roddick and Verdasco. This kid Verdasco, ranked number 35, is a terrific athlete, but his swagger is too evident, even from Section 213, Row P. It's not wise to strut around in Roddick's face; it just makes him angry. Verdasco actually played a brilliant first set; well, almost. He was up 5-3 and blew it, seving an ace, two double faults, another ace, then shanking a forehand into the stands behind Roddick, and finally missing wide with a forehand down the line. That's all Roddick needed to make it clear Verdasco was a lot more swagger than he was confident and capable. Roddick never looked back. And despite having a very nice first serve — he ended up with 14 aces — Verdasco double-faulted often and seemed to wilt when it counted most. For his part, Roddick didn't play brilliantly, and seemed to be content roaming the backcourt some six to eight feet behind the baseline. He needs to step up for his forehand to be the weapon it can be.

Other notable attractions were the brass band that played loudly and often, a Blake contingent in the Upper Level that were all wearing blue and had some makeshift drums, and a large band of Spanish hopefuls in red behind their team. Every time they tried to whoop it up and make some noise with their cow bells and rattles, the PA system would drown them out with some American rock'n'roll.

There's a strong contingent from Raleigh, and I will try to get a few pictures. I did run into a small group from Down East — the Greenville, Wilson, Rocky Mount area, and hope to see them again on Day 2.

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