The 2008 Davis Cup final, pitting perennial contender Spain against a strong Argentina squad, was to be the perfect finale to an amazing year—a year that saw two first-time Grand Slam champions hailing from the small nation of Serbia in Novak Djokovic and Ana Ivanovic; the first back-to-back French Open-Wimbledon winner on the men's side since Bjorn Borg and subsequent ascendancy by long-time #2 Rafael Nadal to the world #1 ranking; the resurgence of the Williams sisters, too long from the top of the game, competing for the Wimbledon title; the inevitable but still unexpected fall from the mountaintop of Roger Federer, who had dominated his sport for four years and 237 consecutive weeks; the slow and steady rise to the WTA #1 ranking by Jelena Jankevic, a woman who had yet to challenge for a Slam title; and the emergence of a slew of relative newcomers on both the women's and mens tour, all ready and eager to shake up the established pecking order.
Among these newcomers is Juan Martin Del Potro, a lanky giant of a man not yet of drinking age but full of promise. Del Potro went on a 23-match tear over the summer, garnering four straight titles along the way. So, when the Spanish team found itself after the Paris Masters Series event without its stalwart, world #1 Nadal, out with tendinitis of the knee, the Name Del Potro suddenly loomed ever larger. Alongside David Nalbandan, an already proven warrior known for his late-season heroics and fondness of indoor venues, Del Potro began to look like the guy who would help Team Argentina—four times a finalist without a Cup to show—achieve her destiny.
Friday, the first day of play, saw David Nalbandian take on David Ferrer in the first rubber and Del Potro battle with Feliciano Lopez in the second. Nalbandian secured the early lead for Argentina with a straight-sets win over Ferrer, and it looked as though the loss of Nadal and others to injury and the Argentine home-court advantage might be too much for a Spanish team that is otherwise deep in talent. Then a funny thing happened—Lopez knocked out Del Potro in four sets, two by tiebreak.
Suddenly, what seemed an inevitable 4-1 or 3-2 Argentina victory began to look like an upset was in the making. By evening up the score at 1-apiece, Spain goes into Day 2, the doubles, with the momentum and with confidence that the experienced and skillful doubles team of Lopez and Fernando Verdasco can put Spain out in front going into the third and final day.
In isolation, the Lopez win might not be so significant, but put into the context and flow of the Davis Cup format, it may very well turn out to be the deal-breaker (or sealer, if you've been betting on Spain all along). If he and Verdasco can win the doubles rubber, putting Argentina ahead 2-1 going into the last day's reverse singles matches, Spain will have to be considered the favorite, her odds greatly improved. Winning two straight singles matches on the final day is a daunting task, and one that will certainly cause the Argentine players to feel a great deal of pressure, given the pre-Cup expectations in the midst of Nadal's absence.
The Lopez singles win over Del Potro also has shown once again how crucial the doubles rubber is to a team's bid to win a Davis Cup title. It just cannot be overstated. Funny how Lopez figures in that one, too. We may just have a new Davis Cup hero by Sunday afternoon, and an unlikely one at that. A fitting end to an unpredictable year full of wondrous surprises.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The New World Order
I’ve always been a bit skeptical of putting tennis in the Olympic Games. My reasons mainly pivot on a bias toward maintaining (or should I say returning to) the traditionally amateur nature of Olympic competition, which sadly has given way to professionals like the U.S. basketball squads—the so-called “Dream” and “Redeem” teams.
But something happened this year to give me pause. Spain’s Rafael Nadal, the impending world #1, and world #3 Novak Djokovic of Serbia met in the semifinals.
Djokovic took the year’s first Grand Slam title in January at the Australian Open in Melbourne, where he beat then-world #1 Roger Federer in the semifinals. That win added to previous hard-court wins at Key Biscayne and Montreal, and final showings at Indian Wells and the 2007 U.S. Open, where he lost to Federer. These results, and his successive conquests of then-world #3 Andy Roddick, then-#2 Nadal, and then-#1 Federer in the 2007 Rogers Cup Masters Series event in Montreal, have made Djokovic the new hard-court favorite.
Nadal, who has always struggled more on the hard courts, lost in the year’s first Grand Slam to the fiery Frenchman, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, in the semifinals. Since then, of course, Nadal has had a career year, winning eight titles already, including the French Open, his fourth straight, and Wimbledon. Both wins came at the expense of Federer, Roland Garros in convincing fashion and Wimbledon in what may be considered the greatest Slam final in history. Nadal’s win in this year’s Rogers Cup Masters Series event in Toronto began to dispel the doubts about his ability to win on hard courts.
As if to make it clear he has earned bragging rights, Nadal defeated Djokovic in three tough sets in Beijing to move on to play Fernando Gonzalez for the gold medal. Nadal won the final in convincing fashion—as he is prone to do with so much at stake—to add Olympic gold to his Roland Garros and Wimbledon crowns.
The day after, August 18, will be remembered as the day the new world order was ushered in. It’s been a long time coming, and finally arrived two full weeks after Rafael Nadal had earned enough tournament points to overtake Roger Federer for the number one spot in the computer rankings.
But the computer isn’t finished, the shuffling of the deck not yet complete. With Djokovic the most likely candidate to give Nadal a run for his money on the sports grandest stages, we may very well see Roger Federer, who held the top rank for 237 consecutive weeks, slip to the third-place spot before next year’s Wimbledon. What’s more, if Federer were to fail in his defense of his U.S. Open title or the Masters Cup Year-End Championships, and Djokovic were to win the U.S. Open, the Masters Cup or the 2009 Australian Open in January, Federer could fall to world #3 by February.
What I especially like about Djokovic is his ability to first withstand the barrage of viciously heavy topspin forehands from Nadal to the backhand. With his uncluttered, technically sound two-handed stroke, Djokovic not only absorbs those blows from Nadal, he can turn them on their head. He does this by taking the ball early, on the rise, and powering through the hitting zone to drive the ball either with precision up the line or cross court flat and deep to Nadal’s forehand corner, where Nadal has shown some vulnerability. This vulnerability, which has been exploited expertly by players such as countryman Juan Carlos Ferrero and Andy Murray of Great Britain, is due mainly to his preference for open-stance forehands and his inability to generate as much pace or rotation when he is forced to hit his forehand from behind the baseline on the dead run with a cross-over step and the ball moving quickly away from him.
And by using his two-handed backhand instead of stepping around that wing to crack an inside-out forehand, Djokovic does not leave open to attack his forehand court. He takes away what would be a vulnerability created by a one-handed player making a risky move.
Federer’s struggles against Nadal boil down to his inability to construct a solid answer to Nadal’s cross-court forehands and wide-slicing serves into the advantage service box, both of which reveal the one chink in Federer’s armor—a one-handed backhand that can be exploited through powerful, high-bouncing balls and serves stretching him wide and opening the court.
Andy Murray can challenge both Nadal and Djokovic when healthy and running on a full tank. Others who will soon be in the mix are Juan Del Potro, recent winner of four straight tour events, and Ernests Gulbis, Gilles Simon and Marin Cilic. Of course, I’d love to see a healthy Tsonga trading shots with the top dogs every week, but his body seems as frail as it is impressive.
Any way you look at it, the game is evolving as the players with big wingspans and two-handed weapons are making the court wider and longer and the service boxes narrower. In the new world order, only the supremely fast and fit can survive.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
But something happened this year to give me pause. Spain’s Rafael Nadal, the impending world #1, and world #3 Novak Djokovic of Serbia met in the semifinals.
Djokovic took the year’s first Grand Slam title in January at the Australian Open in Melbourne, where he beat then-world #1 Roger Federer in the semifinals. That win added to previous hard-court wins at Key Biscayne and Montreal, and final showings at Indian Wells and the 2007 U.S. Open, where he lost to Federer. These results, and his successive conquests of then-world #3 Andy Roddick, then-#2 Nadal, and then-#1 Federer in the 2007 Rogers Cup Masters Series event in Montreal, have made Djokovic the new hard-court favorite.
Nadal, who has always struggled more on the hard courts, lost in the year’s first Grand Slam to the fiery Frenchman, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, in the semifinals. Since then, of course, Nadal has had a career year, winning eight titles already, including the French Open, his fourth straight, and Wimbledon. Both wins came at the expense of Federer, Roland Garros in convincing fashion and Wimbledon in what may be considered the greatest Slam final in history. Nadal’s win in this year’s Rogers Cup Masters Series event in Toronto began to dispel the doubts about his ability to win on hard courts.
As if to make it clear he has earned bragging rights, Nadal defeated Djokovic in three tough sets in Beijing to move on to play Fernando Gonzalez for the gold medal. Nadal won the final in convincing fashion—as he is prone to do with so much at stake—to add Olympic gold to his Roland Garros and Wimbledon crowns.
The day after, August 18, will be remembered as the day the new world order was ushered in. It’s been a long time coming, and finally arrived two full weeks after Rafael Nadal had earned enough tournament points to overtake Roger Federer for the number one spot in the computer rankings.
But the computer isn’t finished, the shuffling of the deck not yet complete. With Djokovic the most likely candidate to give Nadal a run for his money on the sports grandest stages, we may very well see Roger Federer, who held the top rank for 237 consecutive weeks, slip to the third-place spot before next year’s Wimbledon. What’s more, if Federer were to fail in his defense of his U.S. Open title or the Masters Cup Year-End Championships, and Djokovic were to win the U.S. Open, the Masters Cup or the 2009 Australian Open in January, Federer could fall to world #3 by February.
What I especially like about Djokovic is his ability to first withstand the barrage of viciously heavy topspin forehands from Nadal to the backhand. With his uncluttered, technically sound two-handed stroke, Djokovic not only absorbs those blows from Nadal, he can turn them on their head. He does this by taking the ball early, on the rise, and powering through the hitting zone to drive the ball either with precision up the line or cross court flat and deep to Nadal’s forehand corner, where Nadal has shown some vulnerability. This vulnerability, which has been exploited expertly by players such as countryman Juan Carlos Ferrero and Andy Murray of Great Britain, is due mainly to his preference for open-stance forehands and his inability to generate as much pace or rotation when he is forced to hit his forehand from behind the baseline on the dead run with a cross-over step and the ball moving quickly away from him.
And by using his two-handed backhand instead of stepping around that wing to crack an inside-out forehand, Djokovic does not leave open to attack his forehand court. He takes away what would be a vulnerability created by a one-handed player making a risky move.
Federer’s struggles against Nadal boil down to his inability to construct a solid answer to Nadal’s cross-court forehands and wide-slicing serves into the advantage service box, both of which reveal the one chink in Federer’s armor—a one-handed backhand that can be exploited through powerful, high-bouncing balls and serves stretching him wide and opening the court.
Andy Murray can challenge both Nadal and Djokovic when healthy and running on a full tank. Others who will soon be in the mix are Juan Del Potro, recent winner of four straight tour events, and Ernests Gulbis, Gilles Simon and Marin Cilic. Of course, I’d love to see a healthy Tsonga trading shots with the top dogs every week, but his body seems as frail as it is impressive.
Any way you look at it, the game is evolving as the players with big wingspans and two-handed weapons are making the court wider and longer and the service boxes narrower. In the new world order, only the supremely fast and fit can survive.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
A Non-Golden Moment
Sometimes athletes reveal themselves in ways that they think flatter them but when viewed from a different perspective actually do not. For me, two such moments stand out from the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
The first of these non-golden moments occurred in the semifinals in Men’s Tennis Singles. In a hard-fought contest between American James Blake and Chilean Fernando Gonzalez that featured some amazing shot-making and equally amazing blunders, we got to see into the souls of both athletes—and it wasn’t especially pretty.
Blake had reached the semifinals and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compete for an Olympic medal by finally defeating Roger Federer. Federer had never lost to Blake before their quarterfinal match in Beijing, winning so convincingly in their previous meetings that Blake had only managed to win one set from Federer, back in the 2006 U.S. Open.
Gonzalez, an unlikely semifinalist in many respects, came to Beijing with two Olympic medals from the 2004 Athens Games, where he took the bronze in singles and the gold in doubles with teammate Nicolas Massu. Outside of his one Grand Slam final appearance—the 2007 Australian Open—the man with the huge forehand and great variety had always managed to perform beneath his potential.
Both men certainly had plenty of motivation going into the match, and both were on top of their games on a court that seemed suited to their gun-slinging styles.
Early in the match Gonzalez had an opportunity near the net to pass Blake and chose instead to go at the American’s body. A perfectly legitimate play, it nonetheless stung as Blake glared at Gonzalez.
Fast forward to 8-9 in the third and final set. Gonzalez serving, first point. Gonzalez makes a foray to the net and Blake, with a passing shot on his backhand side, goes directly at his opponent, who in moving to avoid being hit appears to make contact with the ball on the throat of his racquet. The ball sails over the baseline and is a called out.
Blake contests the call, questioning whether Gonzalez inadvertently touched the ball as it sailed past. Viewers in their living rooms see a replay that clearly shows the ball deflected off the throat of Gonzalez’s racquet, but Gonzalez maintains that he does not know what happened and that he “felt nothing.” The call stands. Point to Gonzalez, 15-Love.
Gonzalez goes on to win the match and in the presser Blake makes a big deal out of that single, contested point and Gonzalez’s unwillingness to rule against himself. Blake speaks about the Players Code, his upbringing, and how his father would have yanked him off the court had he ever behaved so unsportingly. Gonzalez, in his presser, maintained that he could not feel the alleged hit and therefore did not feel compelled to overrule the chair umpire.
What we saw in that one moment and in the moments that followed were how far players will allow themselves to go to justify a win—and a loss.
Should Gonzalez have ruled against himself, informing the chair umpire that he had inadvertently touched the ball before it sailed long? Certainly yes, in a perfect world. In a perfect world, we would be able to tell with certainty that he knew he had made contact with the ball. In a perfect world, the Player Challenge and Instant Replay would be used to resolve these types of dispute, not simply to make calls of “in” or “out.” It is not, as most of us know, a perfect world.
Should Blake have brushed it off, put his head down, and gotten down to the business of beating his opponent with renewed vigor and purpose, even righteousness? Of course, but he did not. And in the end, what really made the difference in the match was the 70 unforced errors from Blake’s racquet.
The second non-golden moment was just after the 200 meter (4x50) freestyle team relay. Coming out of the water with a silver medal, the third in these games for 41-year-old American swimmer and relay race captain Dara Torres, the poolside reporter asked the women about their experience. Olympic great Natalie Coughlin spoke of preparing for “this meet” and how much they enjoyed “this meet”—as though she were completely unaware that this was the Olympic Games.
Talk about having too-little appreciation for the moment. Or, maybe it’s just her personal mindset in getting ready for the largest swims of her career—it’s just another meet, no cause for fear or nerves.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
The first of these non-golden moments occurred in the semifinals in Men’s Tennis Singles. In a hard-fought contest between American James Blake and Chilean Fernando Gonzalez that featured some amazing shot-making and equally amazing blunders, we got to see into the souls of both athletes—and it wasn’t especially pretty.
Blake had reached the semifinals and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compete for an Olympic medal by finally defeating Roger Federer. Federer had never lost to Blake before their quarterfinal match in Beijing, winning so convincingly in their previous meetings that Blake had only managed to win one set from Federer, back in the 2006 U.S. Open.
Gonzalez, an unlikely semifinalist in many respects, came to Beijing with two Olympic medals from the 2004 Athens Games, where he took the bronze in singles and the gold in doubles with teammate Nicolas Massu. Outside of his one Grand Slam final appearance—the 2007 Australian Open—the man with the huge forehand and great variety had always managed to perform beneath his potential.
Both men certainly had plenty of motivation going into the match, and both were on top of their games on a court that seemed suited to their gun-slinging styles.
Early in the match Gonzalez had an opportunity near the net to pass Blake and chose instead to go at the American’s body. A perfectly legitimate play, it nonetheless stung as Blake glared at Gonzalez.
Fast forward to 8-9 in the third and final set. Gonzalez serving, first point. Gonzalez makes a foray to the net and Blake, with a passing shot on his backhand side, goes directly at his opponent, who in moving to avoid being hit appears to make contact with the ball on the throat of his racquet. The ball sails over the baseline and is a called out.
Blake contests the call, questioning whether Gonzalez inadvertently touched the ball as it sailed past. Viewers in their living rooms see a replay that clearly shows the ball deflected off the throat of Gonzalez’s racquet, but Gonzalez maintains that he does not know what happened and that he “felt nothing.” The call stands. Point to Gonzalez, 15-Love.
Gonzalez goes on to win the match and in the presser Blake makes a big deal out of that single, contested point and Gonzalez’s unwillingness to rule against himself. Blake speaks about the Players Code, his upbringing, and how his father would have yanked him off the court had he ever behaved so unsportingly. Gonzalez, in his presser, maintained that he could not feel the alleged hit and therefore did not feel compelled to overrule the chair umpire.
What we saw in that one moment and in the moments that followed were how far players will allow themselves to go to justify a win—and a loss.
Should Gonzalez have ruled against himself, informing the chair umpire that he had inadvertently touched the ball before it sailed long? Certainly yes, in a perfect world. In a perfect world, we would be able to tell with certainty that he knew he had made contact with the ball. In a perfect world, the Player Challenge and Instant Replay would be used to resolve these types of dispute, not simply to make calls of “in” or “out.” It is not, as most of us know, a perfect world.
Should Blake have brushed it off, put his head down, and gotten down to the business of beating his opponent with renewed vigor and purpose, even righteousness? Of course, but he did not. And in the end, what really made the difference in the match was the 70 unforced errors from Blake’s racquet.
The second non-golden moment was just after the 200 meter (4x50) freestyle team relay. Coming out of the water with a silver medal, the third in these games for 41-year-old American swimmer and relay race captain Dara Torres, the poolside reporter asked the women about their experience. Olympic great Natalie Coughlin spoke of preparing for “this meet” and how much they enjoyed “this meet”—as though she were completely unaware that this was the Olympic Games.
Talk about having too-little appreciation for the moment. Or, maybe it’s just her personal mindset in getting ready for the largest swims of her career—it’s just another meet, no cause for fear or nerves.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Eight Days in August
This blog post is a rare departure from my singular focus on all things tennis, but then these are rare times we’re experiencing.
08.08.08. Few of us will ever forget that date in history, or these numbers: Eight one-hundredths of a second. Eight golds in eight events. Fewer still will soon forget these names: Michael Phelps. Nastia Liukin. Dara Torres. Just a few of the U.S. hopefuls to achieve greatness at the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games.
The Games kicked off with the most magnificent—if also allegedly unreal in places—opening ceremony ever witnessed on the eighth day of August. Eight days later, history had been made, and I had been forever altered.
The Michael Phelps story, the biggest of these Games, was certainly compelling, as it played out over the course of eight days. It was very difficult not to look—a bit like trying to avert one’s eyes from a highway disaster that has just occurred. To me, though, the real story was Jason Lezak’s herculean effort to keep Phelps in the hunt for his Olympic-record eight gold medals, edging out boastful Frenchman Bernard in the final, freestyle leg of the 400 meter team medley. Making the turn at 50-meters, Lezak trailed the world-record holder by almost a full body length. But with his teammate’s historic quest in jeopardy, Lezak did the seemingly impossible, pulling even with Bernard with less than a meter to go and touching the wall first—by a mere eight one-hundredths of a second.
And what to make of 41-year-old Dara Torres, swimming in her fifth Olympic Games, having missed the 1996 and 2004 Games? She swam in spectacular form, missing the gold medal in the 50 meter freestyle by one one-hundredth of a second. The clock cannot measure it any closer than that. A real trooper and team player, even in defeat, Torres immediately went back in the water to lead the U.S. to a silver medal in the 400 meter freestyle relay. In all, she swam in three events, earning silver in each. Incredible.
However, when it comes to the Olympic Games, the very fact that it occurs only once every four years lends a larger-than-life element to each event and to each competitor. There is a suspense that pervades the site and hangs in the air before each crack of the starting gun or blow of the whistle. It is this suspense and the grandeur of the moment that can produce a cathartic experience for me. And I am rarely moved to the way I was watching the women’s individual all-around gymnastics event. Only four such moments come to mind in all the years I’ve watched professional tennis.
The 1975 Wimbledon final, when Arthur Ashe defeated the heavily favored Jimmy Connors with a brilliant strategy and near-flawless tactics. The French Open final, 1983. Yannick Noah wins his nation’s title and Grand Slam, beating the heavily favored Mats Wilander, and then weeps openly. The 1995 Davis Cup final in Moscow. Pete Sampras collapses on the red-clay court after defeating Andrei Chesnokov and winning all three matches he played to give the U.S. a 3-2 win over hometown favorite, Russia. The U.S. Open quarterfinals, the following year. Pete Sampras’ overcomes the effects of dehydration, vomiting on court, and a match point against him to win a five-set thriller over Spain’s Alex Corretja in what would be one of his most famous career-defining warrior moments.
Truth is, very few sporting events offer the level of suspense and drama that gymnastics’ all-around does. No other sporting event, save perhaps the decathlon, asks so much of its competitors. No other event demands that the athlete demonstrate such a diverse array of skills in such a short time. The floor exercise couldn’t be more different than the uneven bars, the balance beam than the vault. And the athletes must go from one directly to the other, with very little time to recover, reflect, regroup or retool. The pressure simply accumulates, greater and greater with each successive routine or apparatus.
Watching the U.S.’s Nastia Liukin seize the gold medal from favored compatriot, Shawn Johnson, was a moment to behold and to treasure. Forget for a moment that Miss Johnson was the 2007 world champion and was the U.S.’s best hope for a medal. Forget that the flexible young Yang Lilin, from China, would make all of her routines look easy. Or that the U.S. had never placed more than one female gymnast upon the medal podium. Forget that a poised and matured Mary Lou Retton, the 1984 Olympic gold medalist in the all-around, gazed on from the stands.
What made this moment extraordinary was the way in which Miss Liukin went about her business. Throughout the evening she had a look of calm that yet betrayed her determination and strength of mind. She didn’t look or act like an underdog. After the uneven bars, she trailed Yang. Moments later, she stuck her landing on the vault, showing she was a serious contender. Then Liukin performed a near-perfect balance beam routine, culminating in a picture-perfect dismount that was identical to her vault landing, putting her in the lead. In the final apparatus, the floor exercise, with the pressure on and now leading the reigning world champion in the floor exercise, Shawn Johnson, by a slim margin, she performed with the grace and self-assurance of an Olympic champion. Johnson followed with a brilliant performance of her own, a more muscular acrobatic performance that brought her the silver medal.
Standing on the medal platform together, it was evident that both young women felt overwhelming emotion. Pride in themselves, though visible, was momentarily overshadowed by pride for their country and for each other. What really got to me, though, was observing Liukin passing through a series of competing emotions, each fully capable of bringing her to her knees in a heap of spent energy. I could see in her eyes and on her face the years of exertion, of disciplined training, of dreaming and hoping and waiting for this moment, all washing over her like baptismal water, both cleansing and freeing her. The weight that she had borne for more than four years was now lifted from her shoulders, yet instead of relief there was a kind of sadness that lingered there, as in experiencing a great loss.
It was too much to handle, and as she trembled with the effort to remain poised, to keep from weeping openly, I felt a welling up inside me. I would bare, in the safety and privacy of my living room, what in that moment she could not.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
08.08.08. Few of us will ever forget that date in history, or these numbers: Eight one-hundredths of a second. Eight golds in eight events. Fewer still will soon forget these names: Michael Phelps. Nastia Liukin. Dara Torres. Just a few of the U.S. hopefuls to achieve greatness at the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games.
The Games kicked off with the most magnificent—if also allegedly unreal in places—opening ceremony ever witnessed on the eighth day of August. Eight days later, history had been made, and I had been forever altered.
The Michael Phelps story, the biggest of these Games, was certainly compelling, as it played out over the course of eight days. It was very difficult not to look—a bit like trying to avert one’s eyes from a highway disaster that has just occurred. To me, though, the real story was Jason Lezak’s herculean effort to keep Phelps in the hunt for his Olympic-record eight gold medals, edging out boastful Frenchman Bernard in the final, freestyle leg of the 400 meter team medley. Making the turn at 50-meters, Lezak trailed the world-record holder by almost a full body length. But with his teammate’s historic quest in jeopardy, Lezak did the seemingly impossible, pulling even with Bernard with less than a meter to go and touching the wall first—by a mere eight one-hundredths of a second.
And what to make of 41-year-old Dara Torres, swimming in her fifth Olympic Games, having missed the 1996 and 2004 Games? She swam in spectacular form, missing the gold medal in the 50 meter freestyle by one one-hundredth of a second. The clock cannot measure it any closer than that. A real trooper and team player, even in defeat, Torres immediately went back in the water to lead the U.S. to a silver medal in the 400 meter freestyle relay. In all, she swam in three events, earning silver in each. Incredible.
However, when it comes to the Olympic Games, the very fact that it occurs only once every four years lends a larger-than-life element to each event and to each competitor. There is a suspense that pervades the site and hangs in the air before each crack of the starting gun or blow of the whistle. It is this suspense and the grandeur of the moment that can produce a cathartic experience for me. And I am rarely moved to the way I was watching the women’s individual all-around gymnastics event. Only four such moments come to mind in all the years I’ve watched professional tennis.
The 1975 Wimbledon final, when Arthur Ashe defeated the heavily favored Jimmy Connors with a brilliant strategy and near-flawless tactics. The French Open final, 1983. Yannick Noah wins his nation’s title and Grand Slam, beating the heavily favored Mats Wilander, and then weeps openly. The 1995 Davis Cup final in Moscow. Pete Sampras collapses on the red-clay court after defeating Andrei Chesnokov and winning all three matches he played to give the U.S. a 3-2 win over hometown favorite, Russia. The U.S. Open quarterfinals, the following year. Pete Sampras’ overcomes the effects of dehydration, vomiting on court, and a match point against him to win a five-set thriller over Spain’s Alex Corretja in what would be one of his most famous career-defining warrior moments.
Truth is, very few sporting events offer the level of suspense and drama that gymnastics’ all-around does. No other sporting event, save perhaps the decathlon, asks so much of its competitors. No other event demands that the athlete demonstrate such a diverse array of skills in such a short time. The floor exercise couldn’t be more different than the uneven bars, the balance beam than the vault. And the athletes must go from one directly to the other, with very little time to recover, reflect, regroup or retool. The pressure simply accumulates, greater and greater with each successive routine or apparatus.
Watching the U.S.’s Nastia Liukin seize the gold medal from favored compatriot, Shawn Johnson, was a moment to behold and to treasure. Forget for a moment that Miss Johnson was the 2007 world champion and was the U.S.’s best hope for a medal. Forget that the flexible young Yang Lilin, from China, would make all of her routines look easy. Or that the U.S. had never placed more than one female gymnast upon the medal podium. Forget that a poised and matured Mary Lou Retton, the 1984 Olympic gold medalist in the all-around, gazed on from the stands.
What made this moment extraordinary was the way in which Miss Liukin went about her business. Throughout the evening she had a look of calm that yet betrayed her determination and strength of mind. She didn’t look or act like an underdog. After the uneven bars, she trailed Yang. Moments later, she stuck her landing on the vault, showing she was a serious contender. Then Liukin performed a near-perfect balance beam routine, culminating in a picture-perfect dismount that was identical to her vault landing, putting her in the lead. In the final apparatus, the floor exercise, with the pressure on and now leading the reigning world champion in the floor exercise, Shawn Johnson, by a slim margin, she performed with the grace and self-assurance of an Olympic champion. Johnson followed with a brilliant performance of her own, a more muscular acrobatic performance that brought her the silver medal.
Standing on the medal platform together, it was evident that both young women felt overwhelming emotion. Pride in themselves, though visible, was momentarily overshadowed by pride for their country and for each other. What really got to me, though, was observing Liukin passing through a series of competing emotions, each fully capable of bringing her to her knees in a heap of spent energy. I could see in her eyes and on her face the years of exertion, of disciplined training, of dreaming and hoping and waiting for this moment, all washing over her like baptismal water, both cleansing and freeing her. The weight that she had borne for more than four years was now lifted from her shoulders, yet instead of relief there was a kind of sadness that lingered there, as in experiencing a great loss.
It was too much to handle, and as she trembled with the effort to remain poised, to keep from weeping openly, I felt a welling up inside me. I would bare, in the safety and privacy of my living room, what in that moment she could not.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Fading Light
As Rafael Nadal readied to serve to Roger Federer for the 2008 Wimbledon title at 8-7 in the fifth set, the light finally faded to the point of no return. Nadal would serve into the void. Roger Federer would stab at a barely visible blur. This is what it came to: the greatest men’s Grand Slam final match since the 1980 Borg v. McEnroe classic, decided on account of darkness.
The man who had been swathed in the warm light of fan and peer adulation for going on five years was no longer stage-center. His rival for the past three years emerged from behind the curtain and was suddenly bathed in the bright white light of flashbulbs bursting like celebratory fireworks. A new world champion had taken his place at center stage.
The fade and flash of light was a fitting portent to this marked milestone in the careers of two of the greatest players ever to step onto the grass at Centre Court—symbolic of each man’s evolution. Exiting the stage was Federer, five-time Wimbledon champion and owner of 12 Grand Slam titles—the undisputed world #1 for more than four consecutive years. In his place a proud new champion who had stood in the wings for three years, biding his time and biting the neck of every trophy he collected in a gesture that underscored his insatiable hunger.
Federer’s rise is an example of organic evolution. A world champion in the juniors, as a young pro he displayed virtuoso talent as well as a diva-like quality, which showed in his frustration over his own less-than-perfect performances. Once he learned to quell the perfectionist within, his talent allowed him to blossom into a rare star—colorful yet traditional, shy yet confident, powerful yet controlled, graceful yet wildly ambitious. Seventeen Grand Slam starts after turning pro, he finally “emerged” one month shy of 22 with his first Wimbledon crown, a rather long draught for such a promising player.
Another 17 Slams later, Federer had amassed 12 titles—three times winning three Slams in one calendar year—a dominance not seen among the men in the Open era, and not seen at all since Steffi Graf won eight of nine Slam titles between the 1988 and 1990 Australian Opens and 10 of 11 Slams between the 1993 French Open and 1996 U.S. Open.
Federer’s descent from the pinnacle of greatness has been like that of a falling star, which catches our gaze and keeps us transfixed. It arguably began with his back-to-back losses in 2007 to Argentine Guillermo Canas, who had just returned to the tour from a two-year doping suspension. Those two losses exposed Federer’s Achilles heel. His next notable loss would come in the semifinal of the 2008 Australian Open to Novak Djokovic, the Serbian player who often comes across as too full of himself. There’s never been any love lost between these two, and that loss took its toll.
Andy Roddick was next up to bat, and he defeated Federer at the Miami masters event in the quarterfinals, Federer’s first meaningful loss to Roddick in 12 matches. The way Federer lost was so uncharacteristic that it made one wonder whether he had lost something else beside his invincibility, his magic. With a chance to hold at 3-4 in the third set, Federer hit four first serves in play and shanked or buried four straight groundstrokes to hand the balls over to Andy to serve it out, which he gladly obliged.
It was discovered that Federer may have been suffering from mononucleosis in Melbourne. He took on Jose Higueras, who coached Jim Courier to two French Open titles, to help him gear-up for a run at Roland Garros, and he spent a good part of the spring season battling the lingering effects of the mono to build his strength for that run—a strategy many questioned.
Nadal’s ascendancy, and despite the computer rankings still showing Federer hanging on at the top he has clearly ascended, has been a long time coming also, but with three straight years as the world #2 it is more of a breakout than a coming out. Just the way in which he has assumed the mantel is impressive.
After defending his titles in Barcelona and Hamburg in the European clay-court run-up to Roland Garros, Nadal put the hammer down on the competition in Paris, not dropping a set on his way to the highly anticipated final against Federer. From the first game with Federer serving, Nadal got his rival in a vise and never let up, beating him for the third straight year, this time convincingly. It was the second most lopsided score in a Slam final in the Open era—6-1, 6-3, 6-0.
That drubbing of the world #1 was the match that propelled Nadal to the top of the tour, in the eyes of his peers and those in the know, if not by the logic of the ATP computer. He went into the Wimbledon tune-ups brimming with confidence, and took the title at Queen’s Club in three tiebreak sets, despite being aced 35 times by big-serving Croatian, Ivo Karlovic.
By mid-June, the storyline heard most was that Federer would prevail on what had virtually become his “home court” for a sixth straight crown, surpassing Bjorn Borg’s record. The story heard almost as often was that Nadal would seize this one from his friend and rival, also putting him in legion with Borg, who is the last man to win the French and Wimbledon back to back. Borg himself was one of those who picked Nadal to win. There couldn’t have been a more highly anticipated event in tennis, if not in all of sport.
So there they were, with the light fading fast, two warriors battling it out for ultimate bragging rights, for the record books, and for personal pride. The match should have been called due to darkness. But there’s no chance it would have been, not with a full house and millions of viewers tuning in late in the evening on the final Sunday to see the best in men’s tennis duel in the dying sun. To suspend play would have been the worst way to end the day and the championships. There would be no escape hatch, no exit.
And at that pivotal juncture in the match, serving at 7-7 after having rebounded from two-sets down by winning the next two sets in tiebreaks, Federer faltered. Perhaps he had a moment of doubt, or as we like to say, the yips. But he lost his nerve and his serve, and Nadal would serve for the match in the dark. Facing a nearly insurmountable task, and knowing that the referee and tournament director were not inclined to suspend play, Federer seemed to merely fade away, as an actor on a stage might back away from the dimming spotlight, ghostlike. His joie de vivre had finally left him, there on the court that had brought him his glory and fulfilled his potential as the most gifted tennis player the sport has seen. It was a sad moment.
So, perhaps it is fitting that on the last day of July in the sweltering heat of Cincinnati, home of the Bengals and Reds, the champion of cool and control went down in defeat to a player he’d never lost to before, the big man who brings the heat on serve after serve, 6’10” Karlovic—the same man whose 35 aces could not pierce the armor of Nadal just a month earlier on grass. Federer’s loss to Karlovic symbolically ushers in the august of this champion’s Hall of Fame career.
A champion’s time is limited in sport, and in tennis that window is becoming increasingly narrow. It is no longer a given, as it was just a few short months ago, that Federer will surpass Pete Sampras’s Grand Slam title count. Federer won his first Slam title just shy of 22; and at 27 he may have won his last.
It is the natural order of things: the guiding light from a star fades as the searing heat of the sun ascends to take its place. Nadal’s sun has risen. The question is: how long will it burn?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
The man who had been swathed in the warm light of fan and peer adulation for going on five years was no longer stage-center. His rival for the past three years emerged from behind the curtain and was suddenly bathed in the bright white light of flashbulbs bursting like celebratory fireworks. A new world champion had taken his place at center stage.
The fade and flash of light was a fitting portent to this marked milestone in the careers of two of the greatest players ever to step onto the grass at Centre Court—symbolic of each man’s evolution. Exiting the stage was Federer, five-time Wimbledon champion and owner of 12 Grand Slam titles—the undisputed world #1 for more than four consecutive years. In his place a proud new champion who had stood in the wings for three years, biding his time and biting the neck of every trophy he collected in a gesture that underscored his insatiable hunger.
Federer’s rise is an example of organic evolution. A world champion in the juniors, as a young pro he displayed virtuoso talent as well as a diva-like quality, which showed in his frustration over his own less-than-perfect performances. Once he learned to quell the perfectionist within, his talent allowed him to blossom into a rare star—colorful yet traditional, shy yet confident, powerful yet controlled, graceful yet wildly ambitious. Seventeen Grand Slam starts after turning pro, he finally “emerged” one month shy of 22 with his first Wimbledon crown, a rather long draught for such a promising player.
Another 17 Slams later, Federer had amassed 12 titles—three times winning three Slams in one calendar year—a dominance not seen among the men in the Open era, and not seen at all since Steffi Graf won eight of nine Slam titles between the 1988 and 1990 Australian Opens and 10 of 11 Slams between the 1993 French Open and 1996 U.S. Open.
Federer’s descent from the pinnacle of greatness has been like that of a falling star, which catches our gaze and keeps us transfixed. It arguably began with his back-to-back losses in 2007 to Argentine Guillermo Canas, who had just returned to the tour from a two-year doping suspension. Those two losses exposed Federer’s Achilles heel. His next notable loss would come in the semifinal of the 2008 Australian Open to Novak Djokovic, the Serbian player who often comes across as too full of himself. There’s never been any love lost between these two, and that loss took its toll.
Andy Roddick was next up to bat, and he defeated Federer at the Miami masters event in the quarterfinals, Federer’s first meaningful loss to Roddick in 12 matches. The way Federer lost was so uncharacteristic that it made one wonder whether he had lost something else beside his invincibility, his magic. With a chance to hold at 3-4 in the third set, Federer hit four first serves in play and shanked or buried four straight groundstrokes to hand the balls over to Andy to serve it out, which he gladly obliged.
It was discovered that Federer may have been suffering from mononucleosis in Melbourne. He took on Jose Higueras, who coached Jim Courier to two French Open titles, to help him gear-up for a run at Roland Garros, and he spent a good part of the spring season battling the lingering effects of the mono to build his strength for that run—a strategy many questioned.
Nadal’s ascendancy, and despite the computer rankings still showing Federer hanging on at the top he has clearly ascended, has been a long time coming also, but with three straight years as the world #2 it is more of a breakout than a coming out. Just the way in which he has assumed the mantel is impressive.
After defending his titles in Barcelona and Hamburg in the European clay-court run-up to Roland Garros, Nadal put the hammer down on the competition in Paris, not dropping a set on his way to the highly anticipated final against Federer. From the first game with Federer serving, Nadal got his rival in a vise and never let up, beating him for the third straight year, this time convincingly. It was the second most lopsided score in a Slam final in the Open era—6-1, 6-3, 6-0.
That drubbing of the world #1 was the match that propelled Nadal to the top of the tour, in the eyes of his peers and those in the know, if not by the logic of the ATP computer. He went into the Wimbledon tune-ups brimming with confidence, and took the title at Queen’s Club in three tiebreak sets, despite being aced 35 times by big-serving Croatian, Ivo Karlovic.
By mid-June, the storyline heard most was that Federer would prevail on what had virtually become his “home court” for a sixth straight crown, surpassing Bjorn Borg’s record. The story heard almost as often was that Nadal would seize this one from his friend and rival, also putting him in legion with Borg, who is the last man to win the French and Wimbledon back to back. Borg himself was one of those who picked Nadal to win. There couldn’t have been a more highly anticipated event in tennis, if not in all of sport.
So there they were, with the light fading fast, two warriors battling it out for ultimate bragging rights, for the record books, and for personal pride. The match should have been called due to darkness. But there’s no chance it would have been, not with a full house and millions of viewers tuning in late in the evening on the final Sunday to see the best in men’s tennis duel in the dying sun. To suspend play would have been the worst way to end the day and the championships. There would be no escape hatch, no exit.
And at that pivotal juncture in the match, serving at 7-7 after having rebounded from two-sets down by winning the next two sets in tiebreaks, Federer faltered. Perhaps he had a moment of doubt, or as we like to say, the yips. But he lost his nerve and his serve, and Nadal would serve for the match in the dark. Facing a nearly insurmountable task, and knowing that the referee and tournament director were not inclined to suspend play, Federer seemed to merely fade away, as an actor on a stage might back away from the dimming spotlight, ghostlike. His joie de vivre had finally left him, there on the court that had brought him his glory and fulfilled his potential as the most gifted tennis player the sport has seen. It was a sad moment.
So, perhaps it is fitting that on the last day of July in the sweltering heat of Cincinnati, home of the Bengals and Reds, the champion of cool and control went down in defeat to a player he’d never lost to before, the big man who brings the heat on serve after serve, 6’10” Karlovic—the same man whose 35 aces could not pierce the armor of Nadal just a month earlier on grass. Federer’s loss to Karlovic symbolically ushers in the august of this champion’s Hall of Fame career.
A champion’s time is limited in sport, and in tennis that window is becoming increasingly narrow. It is no longer a given, as it was just a few short months ago, that Federer will surpass Pete Sampras’s Grand Slam title count. Federer won his first Slam title just shy of 22; and at 27 he may have won his last.
It is the natural order of things: the guiding light from a star fades as the searing heat of the sun ascends to take its place. Nadal’s sun has risen. The question is: how long will it burn?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
By the Content of Their Characters
The 2008 Wimbledon men’s final, pitting the world’s top two players in a 4-hour, 48-minute rain-delayed marathon that was completed under the threat of darkness, had all the elements of an instant classic—a pageantry of athleticism on a field of grass colored by incredible shotmaking and momentum swings from two rivals who have played more Grand Slam finals (6) than any of the other notable rivalries in the Open era.
Like the great rivalries of the past 40 years, the Federer-Nadal match-up was as much a demonstration of contrasting personalities as it was a display of opposing playing styles. Looking back at the epic Open-era match-ups, the differences in their styles of play were equaled or surpassed by the contrasts in their character. And these contrasts in character are what make great drama—elevating an athletic contest to the level of operatic theatre, complete with villains and heroes, inborn character flaws and personal redemption.
In Laver v. Rosewall, we had the self-assured risk-taker against the even-keeled rock of patience and precision. In that historic 1975 Wimbledon final between the veteran Arthur Ashe and Jimmy Connors, who was at the height of his powers, we witnessed intelligence and wisdom facing off against youthful overconfidence. In Connors v. Borg the swaggering street fighter went toe-to-toe with the steely Swede of unbending will and unerring defense. Borg and McEnroe opened a lens into the breaking of that will under the constant pressure of the quick-thrusting touches of the temperamental red-head with the acid tongue. McEnroe and Lendl was nitroglycerin meeting oxygen; the off-court animosity between them as great as the on-court pyrotechnics. Sampras v. Agassi demonstrated how power can be blunted but never fully denied when the will exists to overcome those insuppressible moments of self-doubt.
In Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, we have two of the most distinctive personalities ever to play the game.
Federer is metro-man, the worldly Swiss who is fluent in three or four languages and who cuts as dashing a figure in his cardigan or gold-embroidered jacket as in an Armani suit. But behind that polished, poised exterior is a man driven by passion and ambition. He is Clark Kent, the mild-mannered reporter for The Daily Planet who swiftly transforms into a superhero by donning his tennis sneakers.
Nadal is less refined, a simple man from a small island village in Spain, an earthly savage with a halting gait who speaks, when he is prodded, in clipped sentences. His is the more imposing physique, with thick thighs and bursting biceps. He is the beast that lies beneath the surface of this modern-day Bruce Banner, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest provocation—like a raging Hulk. Yet his outward appearance belies an innate intelligence and a gentle wit.
Propelling these two warriors is the unspoken truth of Nadal’s ambition to unseat Federer, which is matched only by Federer’s desire to remain there. So it was that this year’s Wimbledon final would answer the question of who reigns supreme as the world’s best player. Nevermind the points race; with his fourth straight French Open trophy already perched on a shelf in his Mallorcan villa, Nadal has momentarily wrested the title of World #1 from the five-time and defending Wimbledon champion.
We watch their Grand Slam rivalry to learn what each man is made of, what is at the core of their characters.
This much we know: Nadal has shown repeatedly that he is incapable of losing. Like Borg before him, he can come from behind to snatch victory out of the hands of a stunned opponent or break his foe’s will in the early going, rendering the outcome a foregone conclusion. Yes, he can be beaten, he can be bested. But he has yet to succumb to the yips, to shrink out of fear or self-doubt. He seems hard-wired for the psychologically charged one-on-one battle, as if the only thought to enter his head is to fight and to keep fighting until the last ball has been struck. This is a most rare and special gift among tennis players.
Federer’s gift is found in his unique skills—his talents. He has grace and speed, agility and balance, out-of-sight hand-eye coordination and other-worldly racquet skills. He can win against nearly all odds. He is rarely if ever beaten. But he can lose. He occasionally gets the yips, and sometimes appears to unravel at the seams.
Despite Nadal’s winning the French Open and Wimbledon back to back, there are questions that remain unanswered.
Are there built-in character flaws that will keep Nadal from seizing hold of this opportunity to finish the year as the number one player in the world? Or will his Wimbledon win boost his confidence and propel him to new heights? What about Federer? Can he rebound from two huge defeats at the hands of the same man—the first a complete and utter knockout and the latter an epic battle of wills, of character, that may or may not have revealed a chink in his armor?
Did the mononucleosis that hampered Federer through the first few months of the year have an affect on his will to compete? Or did he overcome it in time to get his game in tune for the hard court season? Will he bounce back from his Wimbledon loss to take the U.S. Open and put to rest any doubts about who is still the best player on all surfaces, day in and day out? Will Nadal’s knees be able to withstand the hard court grind? And if so, would winning a shootout with his rival in the U.S. Open final settle things for once and for all, or would it merely enhance the already legendary status of this rivalry?
Whatever the outcome of the hard court season, we an be sure of one thing: it will test these men’s characters. Two men now carry targets on their backs, and each will be faced with unprecedented pressures, from themselves, their opposition and the media. We will learn what makes each man tick, and what chinks their characters may contain.
So, we’ll watch wide-eyed as the weeks unfold and the tension builds, in hopes of learning which man can summon the inner beast or superhero when all the chips are on the table and the last hand is dealt. It’s a rivalry for the history books, yet like those others before it is compelling because of the personalities and the characters of the two men entwined.
Characters welcome.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Like the great rivalries of the past 40 years, the Federer-Nadal match-up was as much a demonstration of contrasting personalities as it was a display of opposing playing styles. Looking back at the epic Open-era match-ups, the differences in their styles of play were equaled or surpassed by the contrasts in their character. And these contrasts in character are what make great drama—elevating an athletic contest to the level of operatic theatre, complete with villains and heroes, inborn character flaws and personal redemption.
In Laver v. Rosewall, we had the self-assured risk-taker against the even-keeled rock of patience and precision. In that historic 1975 Wimbledon final between the veteran Arthur Ashe and Jimmy Connors, who was at the height of his powers, we witnessed intelligence and wisdom facing off against youthful overconfidence. In Connors v. Borg the swaggering street fighter went toe-to-toe with the steely Swede of unbending will and unerring defense. Borg and McEnroe opened a lens into the breaking of that will under the constant pressure of the quick-thrusting touches of the temperamental red-head with the acid tongue. McEnroe and Lendl was nitroglycerin meeting oxygen; the off-court animosity between them as great as the on-court pyrotechnics. Sampras v. Agassi demonstrated how power can be blunted but never fully denied when the will exists to overcome those insuppressible moments of self-doubt.
In Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, we have two of the most distinctive personalities ever to play the game.
Federer is metro-man, the worldly Swiss who is fluent in three or four languages and who cuts as dashing a figure in his cardigan or gold-embroidered jacket as in an Armani suit. But behind that polished, poised exterior is a man driven by passion and ambition. He is Clark Kent, the mild-mannered reporter for The Daily Planet who swiftly transforms into a superhero by donning his tennis sneakers.
Nadal is less refined, a simple man from a small island village in Spain, an earthly savage with a halting gait who speaks, when he is prodded, in clipped sentences. His is the more imposing physique, with thick thighs and bursting biceps. He is the beast that lies beneath the surface of this modern-day Bruce Banner, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest provocation—like a raging Hulk. Yet his outward appearance belies an innate intelligence and a gentle wit.
Propelling these two warriors is the unspoken truth of Nadal’s ambition to unseat Federer, which is matched only by Federer’s desire to remain there. So it was that this year’s Wimbledon final would answer the question of who reigns supreme as the world’s best player. Nevermind the points race; with his fourth straight French Open trophy already perched on a shelf in his Mallorcan villa, Nadal has momentarily wrested the title of World #1 from the five-time and defending Wimbledon champion.
We watch their Grand Slam rivalry to learn what each man is made of, what is at the core of their characters.
This much we know: Nadal has shown repeatedly that he is incapable of losing. Like Borg before him, he can come from behind to snatch victory out of the hands of a stunned opponent or break his foe’s will in the early going, rendering the outcome a foregone conclusion. Yes, he can be beaten, he can be bested. But he has yet to succumb to the yips, to shrink out of fear or self-doubt. He seems hard-wired for the psychologically charged one-on-one battle, as if the only thought to enter his head is to fight and to keep fighting until the last ball has been struck. This is a most rare and special gift among tennis players.
Federer’s gift is found in his unique skills—his talents. He has grace and speed, agility and balance, out-of-sight hand-eye coordination and other-worldly racquet skills. He can win against nearly all odds. He is rarely if ever beaten. But he can lose. He occasionally gets the yips, and sometimes appears to unravel at the seams.
Despite Nadal’s winning the French Open and Wimbledon back to back, there are questions that remain unanswered.
Are there built-in character flaws that will keep Nadal from seizing hold of this opportunity to finish the year as the number one player in the world? Or will his Wimbledon win boost his confidence and propel him to new heights? What about Federer? Can he rebound from two huge defeats at the hands of the same man—the first a complete and utter knockout and the latter an epic battle of wills, of character, that may or may not have revealed a chink in his armor?
Did the mononucleosis that hampered Federer through the first few months of the year have an affect on his will to compete? Or did he overcome it in time to get his game in tune for the hard court season? Will he bounce back from his Wimbledon loss to take the U.S. Open and put to rest any doubts about who is still the best player on all surfaces, day in and day out? Will Nadal’s knees be able to withstand the hard court grind? And if so, would winning a shootout with his rival in the U.S. Open final settle things for once and for all, or would it merely enhance the already legendary status of this rivalry?
Whatever the outcome of the hard court season, we an be sure of one thing: it will test these men’s characters. Two men now carry targets on their backs, and each will be faced with unprecedented pressures, from themselves, their opposition and the media. We will learn what makes each man tick, and what chinks their characters may contain.
So, we’ll watch wide-eyed as the weeks unfold and the tension builds, in hopes of learning which man can summon the inner beast or superhero when all the chips are on the table and the last hand is dealt. It’s a rivalry for the history books, yet like those others before it is compelling because of the personalities and the characters of the two men entwined.
Characters welcome.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
String Theory
In A Briefer History of Time, Stephen Hawking discusses developments in theoretical physics. In his introduction to string theory, we meet some unusual particles that behave as though “left-handed.” So now, alongside gravity, strong, weak and electromagnetic forces comes left-handedness! Lately, this left-handedness, or “Lefty Spin” for short, has been wreaking havoc on the natural order of things and rendering even the world’s best tennis player hapless.
Surface Tensions
Today’s top players rely on topspin hooks for their offensive shots. The balls dip, dive, kick, explode, curve and carve up court-space like gravity bends light. Things have not always been this way. Just over 30 years ago, three of four Grand Slams were held on grass, Roland Garros the lone dissenter. On grass, the low slice followed by a net rush was the ticket. Jimmy Connors’ and Bjorn Borg’s achievements are remarkable for their unorthodox style of play—Connors blasting flat balls and Borg carving out angles with topspin, both men planted at the baseline. Connors was a throw-back; Borg a revolutionary.
Topspin has become the norm for two reasons. First, it is less risky and rewards the faster, more powerful athletes of today. It can be hit higher and harder yet stay in play. Net clearance and swing speed can be increased. Second, the predominant surfaces of today are harder and produce a higher bounce. Generally, harder surfaces reward topspin shots.
In 2008, hard court tournaments comprise 37 of the 66 ATP events scheduled, while 23 of 66 are on clay. Of the total, 91% are on surfaces that yield a high bounce, which favors topspin.
There are exceptions to today’s standard style. Fabrice Santoro is a top-100 player who uses slice liberally. But he is a rarity on today’s tour. The Santoroes are found mostly on the public courts.
What’s So Unique about Lefty Spin?
Lefty Spin is unique because it’s rare: there are fewer left-handed people in pro tennis. When a lefty like Rafael Nadal is playing a righty like Roger Federer, Nadal has an immediate advantage because he is more likely to have competed against other righties than Federer is to have played against other lefties. Meetings between lefties are rare.
Why Does Lefty Spin Provide an Advantage?
Observe how Lefty Spin matches up against Righty’s backhand. When Lefty Spin goes cross court to Righty’s backhand, Lefty Spin instantly seizes the advantage. Why? Because of the inherent strength differential between a forehand and a backhand, whether one-handed or two. If Righty is using a two-handed backhand, when Lefty Spin hooks the ball away from Righty’s outstretched arms it stretches him wide, and may even force Righty to drop his left hand to slice or block the return. This is what John McEnroe did to Bjorn Borg, using Lefty Spin to extend Borg and force a weak reply.
The strength differential between a two-handed backhand and a one-handed backhand is plain, but it is true that Righty can reach farther to his left with the one-handed backhand. Still, a reach across his body means he cannot reach as far to his left to hit a backhand as he can to his right for a forehand. These built-in imbalances in strength and reach provide the second advantage to Lefty Spin.
There’s a more powerful advantage. Splitting the court into two “sides”—a Deuce court and an Ad court—coupled with convention yields a third benefit to Lefty Spin. A majority of games are decided in the Ad court. There are only four scenarios in which to end a game in the Deuce court. Moreover, all closely contested games are decided in the Ad court. Every one of them. This is a simple by-product of the rules of play and the scoring system.
When Righty plays Lefty Spin, he is likely to have to defend and/or win most of his receiving games from the Ad court, where he has a distinct disadvantage. Lefty Spin can use his powerful hook serve away from Righty’s backhand to force a weak reply. We saw this again and again when McEnroe served his famous “can opener” to Borg’s two-handed backhand in the Ad court. There is little a Righty can do save take the ball early, a risky play leaving him vulnerable to the serve up the middle or to Lefty Spin’s next shot.
Naturally, because the majority of games are decided in the Ad court, Righty’s advantage in the Deuce court eventually gives way to Lefty Spin’s. It’s physics and anatomy coupled with geometry.
Overcoming Lefty Spin
There simply is no one-handed backhand reply from the Ad court receiving position that can fully neutralize Lefty Spin’s advantage. Righty’s two-handed backhand is stronger on the high-bouncing balls, but the reach limitation cancels out any strength advantage two hands give him.
The best way to counter Lefty Spin is to win the receiving games at 15-40. Once the game reaches 30-40, Lefty Spin will likely prevail and bring the game to Deuce. From there the game will be decided in the Ad court, where Lefty Spin has the clear advantage.
Thinking Outside the Box
There are two possible ways to negate the Lefty Spin advantage.
First, require Lefty Spin to begin his service games from the Ad court, so that all closely contested games will be decided in the Deuce court, where his advantage is less profound.
Alternatively, use the Van Allen Simplified Scoring System. In this system, there is no Deuce or Ad; when a game reaches three-points apiece, the seventh point is played to the service box of the receiver’s choice. VASSS is being used in collegiate matches today, and it goes a long way in putting Righties and Lefties on equal footing.
A sport so steeped in tradition is loath to make radical changes, and no one wants to be seen as picking on a minority group. Lefties are certainly in the minority. At least for now. But if Uncle Toni has his way….
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Surface Tensions
Today’s top players rely on topspin hooks for their offensive shots. The balls dip, dive, kick, explode, curve and carve up court-space like gravity bends light. Things have not always been this way. Just over 30 years ago, three of four Grand Slams were held on grass, Roland Garros the lone dissenter. On grass, the low slice followed by a net rush was the ticket. Jimmy Connors’ and Bjorn Borg’s achievements are remarkable for their unorthodox style of play—Connors blasting flat balls and Borg carving out angles with topspin, both men planted at the baseline. Connors was a throw-back; Borg a revolutionary.
Topspin has become the norm for two reasons. First, it is less risky and rewards the faster, more powerful athletes of today. It can be hit higher and harder yet stay in play. Net clearance and swing speed can be increased. Second, the predominant surfaces of today are harder and produce a higher bounce. Generally, harder surfaces reward topspin shots.
In 2008, hard court tournaments comprise 37 of the 66 ATP events scheduled, while 23 of 66 are on clay. Of the total, 91% are on surfaces that yield a high bounce, which favors topspin.
There are exceptions to today’s standard style. Fabrice Santoro is a top-100 player who uses slice liberally. But he is a rarity on today’s tour. The Santoroes are found mostly on the public courts.
What’s So Unique about Lefty Spin?
Lefty Spin is unique because it’s rare: there are fewer left-handed people in pro tennis. When a lefty like Rafael Nadal is playing a righty like Roger Federer, Nadal has an immediate advantage because he is more likely to have competed against other righties than Federer is to have played against other lefties. Meetings between lefties are rare.
Why Does Lefty Spin Provide an Advantage?
Observe how Lefty Spin matches up against Righty’s backhand. When Lefty Spin goes cross court to Righty’s backhand, Lefty Spin instantly seizes the advantage. Why? Because of the inherent strength differential between a forehand and a backhand, whether one-handed or two. If Righty is using a two-handed backhand, when Lefty Spin hooks the ball away from Righty’s outstretched arms it stretches him wide, and may even force Righty to drop his left hand to slice or block the return. This is what John McEnroe did to Bjorn Borg, using Lefty Spin to extend Borg and force a weak reply.
The strength differential between a two-handed backhand and a one-handed backhand is plain, but it is true that Righty can reach farther to his left with the one-handed backhand. Still, a reach across his body means he cannot reach as far to his left to hit a backhand as he can to his right for a forehand. These built-in imbalances in strength and reach provide the second advantage to Lefty Spin.
There’s a more powerful advantage. Splitting the court into two “sides”—a Deuce court and an Ad court—coupled with convention yields a third benefit to Lefty Spin. A majority of games are decided in the Ad court. There are only four scenarios in which to end a game in the Deuce court. Moreover, all closely contested games are decided in the Ad court. Every one of them. This is a simple by-product of the rules of play and the scoring system.
When Righty plays Lefty Spin, he is likely to have to defend and/or win most of his receiving games from the Ad court, where he has a distinct disadvantage. Lefty Spin can use his powerful hook serve away from Righty’s backhand to force a weak reply. We saw this again and again when McEnroe served his famous “can opener” to Borg’s two-handed backhand in the Ad court. There is little a Righty can do save take the ball early, a risky play leaving him vulnerable to the serve up the middle or to Lefty Spin’s next shot.
Naturally, because the majority of games are decided in the Ad court, Righty’s advantage in the Deuce court eventually gives way to Lefty Spin’s. It’s physics and anatomy coupled with geometry.
Overcoming Lefty Spin
There simply is no one-handed backhand reply from the Ad court receiving position that can fully neutralize Lefty Spin’s advantage. Righty’s two-handed backhand is stronger on the high-bouncing balls, but the reach limitation cancels out any strength advantage two hands give him.
The best way to counter Lefty Spin is to win the receiving games at 15-40. Once the game reaches 30-40, Lefty Spin will likely prevail and bring the game to Deuce. From there the game will be decided in the Ad court, where Lefty Spin has the clear advantage.
Thinking Outside the Box
There are two possible ways to negate the Lefty Spin advantage.
First, require Lefty Spin to begin his service games from the Ad court, so that all closely contested games will be decided in the Deuce court, where his advantage is less profound.
Alternatively, use the Van Allen Simplified Scoring System. In this system, there is no Deuce or Ad; when a game reaches three-points apiece, the seventh point is played to the service box of the receiver’s choice. VASSS is being used in collegiate matches today, and it goes a long way in putting Righties and Lefties on equal footing.
A sport so steeped in tradition is loath to make radical changes, and no one wants to be seen as picking on a minority group. Lefties are certainly in the minority. At least for now. But if Uncle Toni has his way….
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Monday, April 14, 2008
The French Have Their Wine... We've Got James Blake!
I anticipated the coming of the Davis Cup tie to North Carolina with great excitement this year, as Team France looked to be a very formidable opponent, at least on paper. With Richard Gasquet currently at No. 10, the much improved Jo-Wilfried Tsonga at No. 13, Paul-Henri Mathieu at No. 12, and a host of accomplished doubles players, including Michael Llodra, Julien Benneteau, Arnaud Clement, and Fabrice Santoro, this was not a team to be taken lightly. In fact, this was a team that we might not even be able to take. Throw the wildly athletic Guy Monfils in there, and you've got all the elements of a high-wire carnival act.
So, I went online at 10:00am Eastern Time on March 17, as did thousands of others, to purchase my tickets for me and my older brother, Tom, who would be flying in to RDU International in Raleigh on Friday at around noon from his business trip in Kansas City. My first attempt to purchase the tickets through TicketMaster came up empty: I used the drop-down menus to select the "Best Available" seats "At Any Price" (big mistake!) and the Web application came back with $500 tickets. Great seats, I'm sure. But 500 bucks?! Try again.... So I tried the $190 option, but couldn't get two tickets together. Finally, fearing I'd never get anything, I tried the $90-per-seat option, and was successful. Unfortunately, I'd be in the Upper Section again, same as last year.
The good news is there really isn't a poor seat in the house—the Lawrence Joel Veterans Memorial Coliseum, also known as the Winston-Salem Entertainment-Sports Arena, home to the Wake Forest men's basketball team, the Demon Deacons. Steely Dan even wrote a song about them in the 70s. Check it out sometime. "They call me Deacon Blue...".
Anyway, I was getting seriously pumped up for some prime-time tennis with Andy Roddick, James Blake, and the twin towers, Bob and Mike Bryan. Then the bad news trickled in. First, Tsonga pulled out. Then a few days later, Gasquet is sidelined. Holy crap! What just happened? Thankfully I didn't put down 1,000 smackeroos or I'd be one angry baboon.
It's a testament to the depth and heart of the French team that they came out and played some awesome tennis without their two top guns. (Even though Mathieu is ranked one spot above Tsonga, most feel that Tsonga would be a stronger pick on the fast surface.)
On Friday, Mathieu nearly upset No. 8 Blake in a riveting, electrifying five-setter that, in the end, showcased Blake's defensive skills and fearless shotmaking. Down 5-4, 40-15 in the fifth set, Blake made a remarkable return off Mathieu's wide slice serve to the deuce court, which completely opened the court for a winner that was nullified when Blake flew across the baseline and knifed a backhand slice as fine as any I've ever seen in my forty years watching tennis. That save sent the crowd roaring with approval and chants of "U-S-A... U-S-A" and Blake seemed to puff up with confidence as he reeled off huge return after huge return to break Mathieu and get himself back in the match. From that point on, he was a monster, although it still did not come easy, as Mathieu clawed and fought as gamely as any competitor ever has on foreign soil in front of a boisterous home crowd. I don't think there's any argument that on that day Gasquet could not have fought any more gamely than his countryman Mathieu did.
Then, on Saturday, the French team of Llodra and Clement played tactically smart, heads-up tennis to take down the No. 1 doubles team in the world in four sets with the tie on the line. The Bryan brothers came into that match 14-1 in Davis Cup competition, and the doubles point was considered about as "automatic" as in the days of McEnroe-Fleming. That would be John McEnroe, of course. But those of you who know and follow tennis recall that Llodra-Clement had taken down the Bryans in the 2007 Wimbledon final. And Llodra-Benneteau had upset the Bryans in the Las Vegas final earlier this year. What's more, Llodra has captured two titles this year already. This would be anything but automatic.
Here's the way it unfolded, in a nutshell. Bob (the lefty) and Mike (the righty) lined up with their forehands in the center of the court when receiving. Llodra (the lefty) and Clement (the righty) lined up in the traditional formation (a la McEnroe-Fleming), with the lefty wing on the outside of the court covering the ad-court sideline and returning the wide serves with that big hook forehand. I turned to my brother and said that I thought the Bryans would try to serve down the middle and blanket the center, while Llodra and Clement would serve more wide slices and kickers to pull the Bryans off the court and force them to return from their relatively weaker wings, their backhands. As it turned out, this was mostly true, at least when Llodra and Clement were serving.
One factor that no one could have predicted is how well Clement served. Putting in 70% of his first deliveries was huge. As Clement told Justin Gimelstob in his post-match on court interview (and I paraphrase here): "I don't serve so big, so it's important for me to get a good percentage." It began with Clement serving at 3-4 in the first set, as the balls were changed and he served up new ones. With new balls in hand, he hit two aces and held at Love. From there on out, he never looked even remotely vulnerable on his serve. (Perhaps all the talk from partner Llodra about drinking expensive wines after the match kept him loose.) If there was another factor, it was that Clement and Llodra stepped up the power and aggression on their returns, starting in the third set. At one set apiece, they clearly and visibly made an adjustment, deciding to go for bigger returns and take more chances around the net, poaching and feigning whenever possible. In essence, they began looking a lot more like the Bryans than the Bryans. And it paid of in a mighty big way, as we all know.
It was extremely disappointing, though understandable, that the Bryan brothers did not stick around to speak with Gimelstob, whose interview style has gotten a lot more polished, despite the fact that he still looks a little goofy in a suit.
I sold my Sunday tickets to a good friend on the cheap, so that brother Tom and I could play tennis and hang out with my seven-year-old before we had to get to the airport, so I cannot comment on the Sunday matches. You can read the blog of TENNIS Magazine's Peter Bodo (TennisWorld) if you want a more complete breakdown of the weekend's matches.
Let me sign off by sharing this last nugget. I've seen three Davis Cup ties now (2001 versus India, 2007 versus Spain, and 2008 versus France, all in Winston-Salem), and one thing remains constant: expect the unexpected. Look for Andy Roddick and James Blake to each win once, and for the Bryans to tie the winning record of McEnroe and Fleming, on the crushed red brick in Spain.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
So, I went online at 10:00am Eastern Time on March 17, as did thousands of others, to purchase my tickets for me and my older brother, Tom, who would be flying in to RDU International in Raleigh on Friday at around noon from his business trip in Kansas City. My first attempt to purchase the tickets through TicketMaster came up empty: I used the drop-down menus to select the "Best Available" seats "At Any Price" (big mistake!) and the Web application came back with $500 tickets. Great seats, I'm sure. But 500 bucks?! Try again.... So I tried the $190 option, but couldn't get two tickets together. Finally, fearing I'd never get anything, I tried the $90-per-seat option, and was successful. Unfortunately, I'd be in the Upper Section again, same as last year.
The good news is there really isn't a poor seat in the house—the Lawrence Joel Veterans Memorial Coliseum, also known as the Winston-Salem Entertainment-Sports Arena, home to the Wake Forest men's basketball team, the Demon Deacons. Steely Dan even wrote a song about them in the 70s. Check it out sometime. "They call me Deacon Blue...".
Anyway, I was getting seriously pumped up for some prime-time tennis with Andy Roddick, James Blake, and the twin towers, Bob and Mike Bryan. Then the bad news trickled in. First, Tsonga pulled out. Then a few days later, Gasquet is sidelined. Holy crap! What just happened? Thankfully I didn't put down 1,000 smackeroos or I'd be one angry baboon.
It's a testament to the depth and heart of the French team that they came out and played some awesome tennis without their two top guns. (Even though Mathieu is ranked one spot above Tsonga, most feel that Tsonga would be a stronger pick on the fast surface.)
On Friday, Mathieu nearly upset No. 8 Blake in a riveting, electrifying five-setter that, in the end, showcased Blake's defensive skills and fearless shotmaking. Down 5-4, 40-15 in the fifth set, Blake made a remarkable return off Mathieu's wide slice serve to the deuce court, which completely opened the court for a winner that was nullified when Blake flew across the baseline and knifed a backhand slice as fine as any I've ever seen in my forty years watching tennis. That save sent the crowd roaring with approval and chants of "U-S-A... U-S-A" and Blake seemed to puff up with confidence as he reeled off huge return after huge return to break Mathieu and get himself back in the match. From that point on, he was a monster, although it still did not come easy, as Mathieu clawed and fought as gamely as any competitor ever has on foreign soil in front of a boisterous home crowd. I don't think there's any argument that on that day Gasquet could not have fought any more gamely than his countryman Mathieu did.
Then, on Saturday, the French team of Llodra and Clement played tactically smart, heads-up tennis to take down the No. 1 doubles team in the world in four sets with the tie on the line. The Bryan brothers came into that match 14-1 in Davis Cup competition, and the doubles point was considered about as "automatic" as in the days of McEnroe-Fleming. That would be John McEnroe, of course. But those of you who know and follow tennis recall that Llodra-Clement had taken down the Bryans in the 2007 Wimbledon final. And Llodra-Benneteau had upset the Bryans in the Las Vegas final earlier this year. What's more, Llodra has captured two titles this year already. This would be anything but automatic.
Here's the way it unfolded, in a nutshell. Bob (the lefty) and Mike (the righty) lined up with their forehands in the center of the court when receiving. Llodra (the lefty) and Clement (the righty) lined up in the traditional formation (a la McEnroe-Fleming), with the lefty wing on the outside of the court covering the ad-court sideline and returning the wide serves with that big hook forehand. I turned to my brother and said that I thought the Bryans would try to serve down the middle and blanket the center, while Llodra and Clement would serve more wide slices and kickers to pull the Bryans off the court and force them to return from their relatively weaker wings, their backhands. As it turned out, this was mostly true, at least when Llodra and Clement were serving.
One factor that no one could have predicted is how well Clement served. Putting in 70% of his first deliveries was huge. As Clement told Justin Gimelstob in his post-match on court interview (and I paraphrase here): "I don't serve so big, so it's important for me to get a good percentage." It began with Clement serving at 3-4 in the first set, as the balls were changed and he served up new ones. With new balls in hand, he hit two aces and held at Love. From there on out, he never looked even remotely vulnerable on his serve. (Perhaps all the talk from partner Llodra about drinking expensive wines after the match kept him loose.) If there was another factor, it was that Clement and Llodra stepped up the power and aggression on their returns, starting in the third set. At one set apiece, they clearly and visibly made an adjustment, deciding to go for bigger returns and take more chances around the net, poaching and feigning whenever possible. In essence, they began looking a lot more like the Bryans than the Bryans. And it paid of in a mighty big way, as we all know.
It was extremely disappointing, though understandable, that the Bryan brothers did not stick around to speak with Gimelstob, whose interview style has gotten a lot more polished, despite the fact that he still looks a little goofy in a suit.
I sold my Sunday tickets to a good friend on the cheap, so that brother Tom and I could play tennis and hang out with my seven-year-old before we had to get to the airport, so I cannot comment on the Sunday matches. You can read the blog of TENNIS Magazine's Peter Bodo (TennisWorld) if you want a more complete breakdown of the weekend's matches.
Let me sign off by sharing this last nugget. I've seen three Davis Cup ties now (2001 versus India, 2007 versus Spain, and 2008 versus France, all in Winston-Salem), and one thing remains constant: expect the unexpected. Look for Andy Roddick and James Blake to each win once, and for the Bryans to tie the winning record of McEnroe and Fleming, on the crushed red brick in Spain.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
From the land Down Under
There's something about the Australian Open tennis championships at Melbourne Park that inspires me to put digit to keypad, as it were, and hunt-n-peck my way to some sort of resolution. Fitting, then, that it is held in January. In spite of my misgivings about the placement of the season's first Grand Slam on the ATP and WTA calendars, the event never fails to quicken my pulse and give clarity to my thinking.
Perhaps the installation of the Plexicushion surface and the rule changes regarding when the retractable roof over Rod Laver Arena would be closed had an impact, but I was pleasantly surprised to note a reduction in withdrawals, injuries, and retirements due to heat exhaustion or fatigue. Still, I believe the tennis community as a whole — including the pros who compete for this first of the year's major titles — would be better served if the tournament committee would move the Aussie Open out four or five weeks the the last week in February. Holding the AO at that time would have a two-fold positive effect: it would delay the event until early fall, when temperatures wouldn't be so oppressive; and it would open a six- to seven-week window of opportunity for a Pacific Rim or Asia-Pacific Series, taking a page from the highly successful U.S. Open Series notebook.
This latter point should not be so easily dismissed. The U.S. Open Series has clearly generated interest in the hard-court run-ups to the U.S. Open at the end of August. ATP events in Los Angeles, Washington, Toronto/Montreal, Cincinnati and elsewhere have seen record attendance, as well as commitments from most of the top players. It's not too much of a stretch to say that the record-breaking attendance numbers at the U.S. Open in 2006 and 2007 were a byproduct of the Series and its marketing. USTA past president Arlen Kantarian and current president Jane Brown Grimes thinks so, anyway.
And the Australian Open was at one time played in December; it was the last Grand Slam of the season, not the first that it is today. If you'll recall, that was one of the main reasons that Bjorn Borg stopped making the trek to the land Down Under, having failed time and again to win the U.S. Open, thereby making a calendar-year Grand Slam impossible. So, this blind allegiance to the January schedule is not a long-standing tradition. There is precedent for it to be otherwise.
All this being true, the tournament committee and Tennis Australia's governing body have a few good arguments to support keeping things the way they are. Attendance for this year's Aussie Open exceeded that of all others previous, reaching more than 600,000 for the fortnight and rivaling the U.S. Open numbers. In addition, holding the Aussie open in the summer months when schools are not in session allows more yong fans and families to attend the matches at Melbourne Park. Australia's version of Labor Day even falls on the last weekend of the tournament.
Still, I cannot help but think that pushing the major to late February has overwhelming merit. It would allow Tennis Australia to truly capitalize on the "Grand Slam of the Asia-Pacific" slogan and maximize the marketing value of this great event. It would provide a meaningful context for other large-venue Tier 1 and Tier 2 events in Japan, China and throughout Southeast Asia and Indonesia, and give the Australian Open the added import of being a culminating event. I'm quite sure that with what the Aussie Open has going for it — its rich history, its importance as the year's first Slam, the beauty of the venue and region, and the intelligence of its marketing and planning committees, fans will continue to flock there for years to come.
Or, at least until its current contract expires or its major sponsor, Kia Motors, redirects its entertainment dollars.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
Perhaps the installation of the Plexicushion surface and the rule changes regarding when the retractable roof over Rod Laver Arena would be closed had an impact, but I was pleasantly surprised to note a reduction in withdrawals, injuries, and retirements due to heat exhaustion or fatigue. Still, I believe the tennis community as a whole — including the pros who compete for this first of the year's major titles — would be better served if the tournament committee would move the Aussie Open out four or five weeks the the last week in February. Holding the AO at that time would have a two-fold positive effect: it would delay the event until early fall, when temperatures wouldn't be so oppressive; and it would open a six- to seven-week window of opportunity for a Pacific Rim or Asia-Pacific Series, taking a page from the highly successful U.S. Open Series notebook.
This latter point should not be so easily dismissed. The U.S. Open Series has clearly generated interest in the hard-court run-ups to the U.S. Open at the end of August. ATP events in Los Angeles, Washington, Toronto/Montreal, Cincinnati and elsewhere have seen record attendance, as well as commitments from most of the top players. It's not too much of a stretch to say that the record-breaking attendance numbers at the U.S. Open in 2006 and 2007 were a byproduct of the Series and its marketing. USTA past president Arlen Kantarian and current president Jane Brown Grimes thinks so, anyway.
And the Australian Open was at one time played in December; it was the last Grand Slam of the season, not the first that it is today. If you'll recall, that was one of the main reasons that Bjorn Borg stopped making the trek to the land Down Under, having failed time and again to win the U.S. Open, thereby making a calendar-year Grand Slam impossible. So, this blind allegiance to the January schedule is not a long-standing tradition. There is precedent for it to be otherwise.
All this being true, the tournament committee and Tennis Australia's governing body have a few good arguments to support keeping things the way they are. Attendance for this year's Aussie Open exceeded that of all others previous, reaching more than 600,000 for the fortnight and rivaling the U.S. Open numbers. In addition, holding the Aussie open in the summer months when schools are not in session allows more yong fans and families to attend the matches at Melbourne Park. Australia's version of Labor Day even falls on the last weekend of the tournament.
Still, I cannot help but think that pushing the major to late February has overwhelming merit. It would allow Tennis Australia to truly capitalize on the "Grand Slam of the Asia-Pacific" slogan and maximize the marketing value of this great event. It would provide a meaningful context for other large-venue Tier 1 and Tier 2 events in Japan, China and throughout Southeast Asia and Indonesia, and give the Australian Open the added import of being a culminating event. I'm quite sure that with what the Aussie Open has going for it — its rich history, its importance as the year's first Slam, the beauty of the venue and region, and the intelligence of its marketing and planning committees, fans will continue to flock there for years to come.
Or, at least until its current contract expires or its major sponsor, Kia Motors, redirects its entertainment dollars.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This material is copyrighted and may not be reprinted or reproduced without the express written or verbal consent of the author. Thank you for your cooperation.
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