The Next Point

Davis Cup, Quarterfinals

Having narrowly survived the treacherous eddies and rips of its opening two rounds, the 2013 Davis Cup  has finally entered clear water down the home straight. The World Group semifinal line-up can now be made out, gathering detail as it drifts nearer. Serbia will host Canada, and Argentina, as they did last year, will face the Czech Republic, although this time they’ll likely face them on the banks of the Vltava. The World Group qualifying nations have also been decided, although until the draw occurs we can only guess at their configuration. Every nation assumes they will draw Spain, even as they hope they’ll meet Israel.

My hope that the quarterfinals would provide a more coherent viewing experience than the first round has been revealed as naïve. Canada only finished off Italy a few minutes ago, and already the weekend’s finer points are submerging themselves in the dark waters of general forgetting. I’ll try to note a few as their needle-like spires fitfully burst through the surging surface, before they recede astern and slip below forever, to be revisited only in nightmares, therapy or under hypnosis.

Argentina’s victory came at the expense of France, in the very stadium where they saw off Germany back in February. I feel like there’s a complicated point to be made there – something to do with World War Two – but I can’t quite grasp it. Carlos Berlocq was the hero of that earlier tie, a status he earned by claiming the opening rubber, and then advertised by tearing his t-shirt off in what has become a wearisomely common practice. Other than Hulk-like brawn and a surfeit of testosterone, I’m not entirely sure what this is supposed to signify. Given that Berlocq’s opponent, Philipp Kohlschreiber, had retired injured, and that it was merely the first match of the tie, some felt the Argentine’s reaction to be excessive. The delirious crowd at the Parque Roca felt otherwise.

Today was a different matter, though the venue was the same. This time Berlocq defeated Gilles Simon in a live fifth rubber, completing a dismal weekend for the Frenchman, who was reduced to tears by the end. Berlocq’s shirt never stood a chance. The locals, already losing their collective nut, immediately evaporated in a haze of pure ecstasy.

Jo Wilfried Tsonga was left in an unenviable position, having won both his matches yet not won the tie. Disappointment at his country’s capitulation must therefore be layered with satisfaction at his own fine performance on his least preferred surface in a hostile environment. He did everything he could, but they still lost. It’s no doubt a familiar sensation for star players in losing sports teams, but unusual for tennis players. David Ferrer knows how it feels, and probably has some useful tips on how to cope. A good night’s sleep on a bed made of money probably helps.

A 3-2 victory can be dissected any number of ways. At some level it’s unfair to say that Simon’s poor form placed undue pressure on the doubles team. If nothing else, it placed doubles right in the position where it should be in Davis Cup, which is that of the fulcrum around which the entire weekend pivots. Michael Llodra and Julien Benneteau surely fancied their chances, even on clay and away, but they were rightly wary of David Nalbandian, and whoever his plus one happened to be. If blame is to be apportioned – and it always is – I’d say Llodra and Benneteau deserve a fatter slice of it than Simon, although he could probably use the calories.

The Bryan Brothers, on the other hand, surely felt as surprised as I did when Nenad Zimonjic’s plus one turned out to be world No.1,150 Ilija Bozoljac. The USA – Serbia tie was locked at a rubber apiece, and the easy choice was to go with Novak Djokovic, who even after two matches would surely remain a lock to win the first of the reverse singles. But the Serbian captain Bogdan Obradovic insisted he’d never felt a moment’s doubt – it was to be Bozoljac all the way.

I’d never suggest the Bryans are anything less than consummately professional in their match preparation – as opposed to nauseating in their music – but they are the most successful doubles pairing in history, and currently ranked number one. While they’d fallen to Brazil in the opening round, that had been a shocking upset – which are by definition rare – in a near-empty barn in Jacksonville, in which the South American team appeared to have more support than the hosts. By contrast, the dense crowd within Boise’s Taco Bell Arena was a credit to the organisers, and supplied precisely the kind of febrile ambiance in which the twins typically thrive. (This has been statistically demonstrated; the volume of the home crowd has been indexed to the elevation at which the Bryans bump chests. In Boise, as the match entered its fifth hour, there was a real chance they’d hit the roof.)

But, somehow, it was the Serbian team that prevailed. Zimonjic was superb, especially on serve, but Bozoljac proved to be the real surprise. Insofar as many people have heard of him at all, he is known for losing his way on court, usually comprehensively, often histrionically, and occasionally hilariously. Yet on Saturday he remained utterly unflappable, even as the fifth set saw each team accumulate a dozen games each. Faced with the best doubles combination ever, knowing that a doubles loss would place his country in the unattractive position of relying on Viktor Troicki to win the deciding fifth rubber, Bozoljac actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Afterwards he insisted his faith in victory had never wavered. It was one of those moments that defines Davis Cup, in which a journeyman ranked outside the top thousand (in doubles) holds his place on court with three of the best doubles exponents on the planet, and achieves an outrageous victory for his nation.

One wonders whether Bernard Tomic’s excellent adventure in Uzbekistan will help to define him a little more generously, at least in the merciless gaze of the Australian media. As the great hope of a proud tennis nation fallen on hard times, Tomic is forced to endure more than his share of ecstasy and opprobrium from one day to the next. Last year when Australia failed to qualify for the World Group, falling to Germany, Tomic was the only man to win a rubber, yet it was upon him that the most lavish selection of ordure was heaped. He’ll probably never be well-loved, but those who seek to legitimise their antipathy by dubbing him ‘un-Australian‘ deserve to be reminded that he is now 10-2 in Davis Cup. This weekend Tomic won both his singles rubbers, including the clinching point against Denis Istomin. The other point was claimed by Lleyton Hewitt – whose every loss is merely a testament to his indomitable warrior spirit in the eyes of his nation – and Matthew Ebden. Once again the doubles was pivotal.

Some other quick notes: Milos Raonic is apparently unbeatable on Indoor Hardcourt Premier – the surface the Spanish federation once attempted to have declared illegal, before they won a tie on it – and by claiming both his singles matches has helped put Canada through to their first Davis Cup semifinal in history. They’ll face Serbia in Serbia, and it probably won’t be on an Indoor Premier court. It is supremely unlikely the Canadians will progress to their first ever final. But you never know – Djokovic could be injured.

Then again, it will hardly matter if he is. Today he rolled his ankle badly in the first set against Sam Querrey, came back to win it, lost the close second set in a tiebreaker, then took twelve of the next thirteen games to seal the tie. By all accounts – especially Djokovic’s own – the injury looks to be serious, and there’s a strong chance he’ll miss Monte Carlo next week. On the other hand, I’m not sure Querrey has any excuse. I’m sure he wasn’t as uninterested as he looked, but it was still a dispiriting way for a home tie to end.

Lukas Rosol won both singles matches in securing victory for the Czech Republic – there seems to have been a lot of that this weekend – who are of course the defending Davis Cup champions. Although on paper Kazakhstan was the most benign of potential quarterfinal opponents, even in Astana, things grew complicated when Tomas Berdych ruled himself out, and Radek Stepanek opted not to play singles. It only grew more complicated when Czechs lost the doubles (the only victorious team in the World Group to manage this rare feat). Also, the last time they played, in Prague, Kazakhstan was victorious, with Andrei Golubev playing as only he can, or can’t, as the case now is.

Which brings me to arguably the most stirring result of the weekend: Great Britain’s recovery from two rubbers down to defeat Russia. It was, of course, a Russia whose best players are aging, woefully short on form, and didn’t actually turn up. On the other hand, given the British squad lacked precisely one Andy Murray, Russia still began as the overwhelming favourites. Dimitry Tursonov and Evgeny Donskoy are both ranked in the top hundred, while Britain’s best available singles prospects – James Ward and Dan Evans – have rankings only expressible with scientific notation. Results did not defy expectations through the opening two days. Russia won both opening singles matches – although Donskoy, on debut, was compelled to recover a two set deficit – and Britain’s more accomplished pair made short work of Saturday’s doubles. Some have questioned Shamil Tarpichev’s decision to play young Victor Baluda, but it’s hard to see who else he might have picked that would have made a difference. Tarpichev is notorious for his occasional wily masterstrokes, but I suspect this was more a case of conceding the doubles and giving a young prospect valuable experience.

He should know better. The doubles – and I might have mentioned this before – is crucial. Suddenly, with their easy win, the Brits had momentum. Ward might have been crippled after blowing a two set lead on Friday, yet he opened the final day by recovering from two sets to one down to upset Tursonov. The tie was now locked at two rubbers apiece. The fifth rubber was between Donskoy, ranked No.80 and in his first Davis Cup tie, and Evans, ranked outside the top three hundred, and a five-tie veteran with an imposing record of 2-7. It wasn’t even close, which is fortunate, since Donskoy’s Davis Cup history is entirely composed of heroic two set recoveries, and Evans is not noted for maintaining form under pressure. The Russians were understandably despondent. The Brits were bouncing around in a vaguely amoebic cluster on the court. The British sporting public would have undoubtedly shared their team’s triumph, had they only known about it. Apparently it didn’t merit television coverage in Britain, or even a mention on the news.

Now Britain will get its shot at returning to the World Group, presumably with Murray available. I really hope they draw Spain; not because I’m mean-spirited, of course, or Australian, but because that would ensure it will be televised. I’m only interested in the good of the sport, and its profile in its land of origin. Trust me.

Davis Cup, First Round

There is little that has transpired over the first Davis Cup weekend of the 2013 season that hasn’t been seen before, but I cannot recall that I’ve ever seen it happen everywhere all at once. In just three and a half days, we’ve nearly had the lot: predictable and unfathomable blow-outs, desperate saves, impossible and obvious upsets, injuries, sprints and marathons, heaving sobs and beaming grins, packed stadiums in Buenos Aires and soulless barns in Jacksonville, forty-six game final sets in Geneva, dodgy clay, slick hardcourts, the greatest day of doubles in living memory, and Marcel Granollers copping a hiding in Vancouver. This first round has been a concentration of what makes the format great, distilled to a proof sufficient to render any viewer insensate.

After such a prolonged, globe-straddling bender, I presume I’m not alone in feeling mentally despoiled by the Davis Cup. By the time Sam Querrey eventually saw off Thiago Alves in Florida, some seventy-six hours after play had commenced in Auckland, I was barely coherent. Like a drinking game designed by Brecht, it’s interesting to discover whether the brain or liver gives up first. I confess I was unprepared. It is rare for the competition to get going this early in the year, at least in its uppermost tier. The zonal ties are often fraught and lurching affairs, but the World Group rarely attains a full stride before the quarterfinals. But, for whatever reason, this has been a first round we won’t forget, even if the general fog of inebriation makes it impossible to remember.

Italy d. Croatia, 3-2

Speaking of fog, the most stirring result was surely Italy’s victory against Croatia, secured by Fabio Fognini over Ivan Dodig in a fifth rubber so live it fairly twanged and hummed, as nervous energy heightened the sense of theatre even as it depressed the standard of play. This was Fognini in his preferred element, and at his histrionic best, mocking the very gods before a thunderously punch-drunk crowd in Turin. Italy returns to the quarterfinal stage for the first time since 1998.

Marin Cilic was earlier superb in levelling the tie, defeating Andreas Seppi in reasonably straight sets (the Italian served for the third, but not well). The Croat had already contested the opening singles and the doubles, recalling the doomed heroics of weekends past. The Czech Republic proved last year (and this weekend) that a two-man team can go all the way. The Croatian squad was, sadly, a man short.

Canada d. Spain, 3-2

The tie between Canada and Spain generated the most acute historical angles. To start with, Canada has progressed to the quarterfinals for the first time in the competition’s history. In 1992 they narrowly failed to do so against Sweden, when victory had depended on just one more hold of serve. The man who failed to secure that singles rubber twenty-one years ago was Daniel Nestor, who this weekend represented his nation in doubles (he is currently ranked No.4 in that discipline). Nestor thus represents a historical angle all on his own. Nestor’s younger version was understandably distraught after that Swedish tie, though he would presumably have found solace from knowing that the man who would finally push his nation past the first round was at present a Montenegrin infant named Milos. If only there’d been a prophet on hand to let him know. As it happened, the doubles was the only live rubber Canada lost this weekend (of course in five sets). Nestor’s compatriot Alanis Morissette might term this ironic, but probably not within his earshot.

In the quarterfinals, Canada will host Italy, a tie that both nations must believe is eminently winnable. Seppi has won titles on every surface, while Fognini has given characteristically whimsical runner-up efforts on both clay and indoor hardcourt, which is presumably the surface the Canadians will stick with. It’s the same hardcourt Premier surface used in San Jose, meaning that Raonic is apparently invincible on it. Nevertheless, the whole thing might yet hinge on Nestor.

Meanwhile, Spain’s loss relegates them to the play-off round for the first time in well over a decade. This creates a problem for whoever they meet in that round, since it is unlikely that the premiere tennis nation on earth will spearhead another assault with Albert Ramos and Granollers. For those nations who this weekend won their Group 1 zone tie, the feeling is akin to that of the toiling qualifiers who know that one of their number has been drawn to meet Novak Djokovic in the first round of a Major. There are excellent reasons to fight on, tempered by a lurking dread that the reward might be a trip to the abattoir.

Australia d. Chinese Taipei, 5-0

Here in Australia the mordant assumption is that, having seen off Chinese Taipei in the weekend’s least intriguing tie, our local heroes have done little more than shuffle onto a conveyor belt leading to Rafael Nadal and David Ferrer. Australia’s bid to re-enter the world group has met with repeated frustration in recent times. Some blame bad draws. The realistic response to this is that any team mostly comprised of players outside the top hundred will find generous draws hard to come by.

Australia last year played-off against Germany in Hamburg. It was a German team lacking its putatively best players, although I doubt whether anyone could have performed better than Florian Mayer did. Australia lost, and the whole tie predictably devolved into an excuse to lay the boot into Bernard Tomic, notwithstanding that he, unlike Lleyton Hewitt, actually won a singles rubber. Tomic did not travel to Taipei this weekend, having been disciplined by Pat Rafter. Tomic stayed home, and Australia won 5-0 without dropping a set. I’m sure everyone learned a lesson.

In order to progress to their inevitable and fatal pas de deux with Spain, Australia will have to overcome Denis Istomin, who with some assistance beat China 4-1. The odds are that Australia, even if it gets by Uzbekistan, won’t face Spain at all. Indeed, they might well play Germany again. If so, neither prophecy nor sobriety is required to tell you they’ll need Tomic for that.

Davis Cup, First Round

It has been a long week, and it isn’t over yet.

The Australian Open concluded last Sunday, as ever seen out with considerable pomp by a 200-piece brass band performing a vexatious medley of tunes by John Philip Sousa, arranged by Erik Satie. On Wednesday I released The Next Point’s 2012 Annual to considerably less fanfare: a lone hobo with a decrepit sousaphone attempting the Baby Elephant Walk. Having resolved to take an extended break from writing, watching and thinking about tennis, my reaction upon realising that the Davis Cup first round would begin in only two days was thus mixed. I was dismayed to learn that drinking heavily only made the time go faster. Still, it helped. If by Friday my mood hadn’t quite lightened into ecstasy, at least my resignation had shed its bitter weight.

The singles began on Friday, but precisely what this meant within a global context was unclear. At no time is the transcontinental nature of tennis more evident than in the first round of the Davis Cup, when ties are spread across nearly every continent on Earth, besides Antarctica, whose bid to host South Africa’s home tie at McMurdo Station fell through at the last moment. For determined tennis fans camped on the prime meridian, Friday began at about ten o’clock the night before, when New Zealand and Lebanon kicked off their tie in Auckland. Friday finished as Canada and Spain completed an intriguing day’s play Vancouver at about three o’clock Saturday morning.

The first day of play, in other words, went on without a break for about twenty-nine hours, and by the time it ended the second day’s play was already under way across the date line. By the time Frank Dancevic had engaged fully with the task of thrashing Marcel Granollers, New Zealand’s doubles pair were already well on their way towards securing the home tie. It turns it’s possible to watch David Cup almost continuously over its first weekend, assuming you have an internet connection capable of simultaneous streams, a ready supply of amphetamines, and no loved ones to talk you out of it.

I won’t pretend I have any intention of doing that. I fear I lack the means and the fortitude. As a rule I don’t sleep much, but that only causes me to covet the little I do get. For the Australian tennis fan, the sadness that accompanies the conclusion of the Australian Open is heightened by the awareness that following the sport and adequate rest will be mutually exclusive until at least October, during the tour’s brief return to Asia. Most of the results that truly matter occur in the middle of my night. So do the results that don’t matter much at all, such as Novak Djokovic’s bold (and not-at-all fearful) romp over Oliver Rochus in the first match of the Belgium-Serbia tie. By the time the plucky David Goffin had established a two set lead over Viktor Troicki, I felt at once enervated and energised. I had never felt so alive; if the dead do yearn, it isn’t for their beds. Nothing much matters when you feel like that. Or like Jurgen Melzer, who’d just lost to Evgeny Korolev.

I rose in time to see Granollers collapse to an inspired Dancevic, thereby frog-marching the Spanish squad to the edge of elimination. The last time Spain contested a Davis Cup tie without Rafael Nadal, David Ferrer, Nicholas Almagro or Fernando Verdasco was long before any of those men had attained the top ten or even world fame, back when Juan Carlos Ferrero and Carlos Moya were national heroes, as opposed to national treasures. Alex Corretja probably would’ve preferred to bring either or both of those guys back. We marvel endlessly at Spain’s depth – and I suppose there are of nations competing this weekend who would struggle to field a team at all without their top five players – but it isn’t infinite, and they’re one lost rubber away from a first round exit.

Meanwhile France’s best pair was available for the tie in Rouen, where they had little difficulty in seeing off Israel’s best pair. Amir Weintraub is something of a Davis Cup warrior, but he’d yet to face anyone of Jo-Wilfried Tsonga’s quality. He acquitted himself very well in taking a set, and seemed like the better player for passages in the fourth, with the difference being the Frenchman’s superior serve. It ended badly for the Israeli, in a flurry of silly errors. I hope that isn’t the part of his performance that stays with him, although it was clearly the part he was dwelling on in the immediate aftermath. It was the last thing I saw before sleep pulled me under.

My dreams were troubled, but at least they were dreams. Alas, they were too brief, and featured a terrifying hobo with a sousaphone.

It didn’t take long for my innocent intention to write about the best tennis matches of 2012 to be revealed as dewy-eyed naivety. It was supposed to be simple, but rapidly came to feel reductive, if not intrinsically dishonest. The more I looked at it, the less I could see, and the less worthwhile the task became. All the same, if you are interested in seeing the list I did eventually arrive at, you can skip to the end. But if you’re more interested in why the Australian Open final isn’t on it, please read on.

To say that one’s choice of the match of the year is fundamentally subjective is to say barely anything at all. Presumably no one believes such opinions are earthed in hard science, especially since attempts at a scientific method usually yield results that are either laughable or useless, if not both. To add that a subjective choice still relies upon commonly accepted criteria is to say only a little more. After all, ‘subjective’ doesn’t mean ‘arbitrary’. There are particular characteristics that most good matches share – context, quality, and drama – and all must be present for any match to be adjudged ‘great’. It’s hardly a coincidence that each season sees broad consensus on what the ‘match of the year’ actually was. On the other hand, to insist that this season featured no truly great matches is to say a lot.

I realise I am courting controversy here. There were certainly great moments, and there were some very long matches, but only a die-hard Wagnerian would insist that these constitute the primary ingredients for immortality. And I realise such an assertion risks dampening the post-seasonal mood, which is one of ecstatic retrospection. Even as the season progressed certain orthodoxies emerged as to which matches were or were not great. Regardless of one’s innermost proclivities it grew hard to deviate from this orthodoxy without appearing wilful, not to say perverse.

The Australian Open final is an excellent example of this. The view was aired even as the match was grinding to its eventual end that we were all witnessing the greatest tennis match ever played. Within the hour – and for those of us sharing a time zone with the players this hour was very late – that view was revised to the greatest Major final ever played. Certainly it was the longest, and probably the most disabling for its participants. Bobbing fitfully amongst the inevitable flood of military metaphors was the term ‘epic’.

However, in the days following the match simple calculations revealed that the match wasn’t merely epic, it was considerably more epic than it needed to be, and that had the players confined themselves to the allotted time between points the match would have concluded almost an hour earlier. Beyond that, the tenor of the match was cautious rather than audacious. It was an encounter in which two of the supreme athletes in our sport trusted their legs more than their shot-making. Indeed, it mostly felt uncannily like the first three sets of their US Open final the year before, until Djokovic’s injury had caused him to go after his shots, which in turn inspired the happy discovery that a point could end with a winner even before it reached thirty-five strokes. Sadly by Melbourne this lesson had been forgotten.

Nevertheless, the view persists that this is the match of the year, which leads me to wonder just how of the people who’ve ranked it so highly have bothered to watch it a second time. I have gone back and watched it, and I can attest that it is indeed very long, but that until about halfway through the fifth hour, barely anything notable happens, kind of like Einstein On The Beach, only more martial and twice the length. In that sense it was an epic. It was downright Wagnerian, although by sitting through it twice I’ve done better than Rossini managed with Lohengrin.† If my match of the year list was to be entirely of my own choosing, I don’t think this final would make it into the top ten.

I suspect that most who write about tennis maintain two discrete lists. The first is an official match of the year list, which is heavily lacquered and decorated with all the trimmings of objectivity. Notwithstanding the odd quirky pick to establish the writer’s credentials as free spirit, these official lists are largely interchangeable with each other. This is the list that I’d set out to compile but eventually gave up on. I would have felt obliged to rank the Australian Open final somewhere near the top. The second, less visible list outlines one’s favourite matches played each year. In both cases it is never possible to expunge all trace of favouritism, but it is still worth the effort to try. I like to think you can get close, which makes it hard for me to include, say, James Blake thrashing Marcel Granollers at the US Open, even though I’d love to.

For myself, I generally favour attacking tennis, although I am more than partial to desperate and virtuosic defence when the situation calls for it. This in turns means that, all else being equal, I will appreciate a match of contrasting styles more than one whose texture remains constant throughout. The structural advantage of attacking tennis is that the attacking player forces his opponent to defend, and thus generates a stylistic contrast. I would therefore rank Nadal’s excellent Australian Open quarterfinal victory over Tomas Berdych higher than his loss to Novak Djokovic in the final. The final arguably has it covered for atmosphere, but the quarterfinal featured far more interesting and enterprising tennis from both men. Nadal’s defence in the semifinal against Roger Federer was also unworldly, especially on his forehand, which was lethally unapproachable. Consequently, I’d also rank that match over the final.

Context also counts for a lot. The unabashed Andy Murray cheer squad that Sky Sports persists in calling a commentary team were even quicker to anoint the US Open final as the greatest match ever played. I think they first delivered this judgement about four games in. Given the moment, their enthusiasm was hard to begrudge even as it was easy to mock, especially when it was replaced by a consuming dread as Djokovic recovered the two set deficit. Without question it was a dramatic match, and for historical value it’s hard to top. But the weather was truly horrible, and at best we can say that the standard was exceptional given the prevailing conditions. It’s definitely high on my list of matches played in a cyclone. But Murray and Djokovic proved the following month in Shanghai just how fine their tennis can be when it isn’t tempest tossed. They’d already proved it back in Melbourne, in what probably was the match of the year, but then disproved it in Dubai and Miami. It’s a confusing rivalry, as these things go.

Anyway, here is a list of my favourite matches from 2012, in a very approximate order. There are at least a dozen other matches I could add, including, of course, the Australian Open final. The more I think about it, the more matches I think merit inclusion, and the more I’d like to reshuffle those that are already there. There were plenty that were good in 2012, even if none were truly great.

13. Berdych d. Almagro, Davis Cup Final, 6/3 3/6 6/3 6/7 6/3

Berdych puts his tennis where is mouth is, barely, but a gallant Almagro somehow never loses faith.

12. Murray d. Djokovic, US Open Final, 7/6 7/5 2/6 3/6 6/2

Excellent tennis given the appalling conditions, and a resonant and momentous result.

11. Nadal d. Berdych, Australian Open Quarterfinals, 6/7 7/6 6/4 6/3

Nadal barely saves the second set, then lifts to trample Berdych.

10. Kohlschreiber d. Paire, US Open, 6/7 6/3 3/6 6/2 7/6

High drama, absurd shot-making, and a pair of headcases.

9. Seppi d. Wawrinka, Rome Third Round, 6/7 7/6 7/6

Seppi saves six match points, breaks Wawrinka’s heart, and sends the home fans into a prolonged swoon.

8. Djokovic d. Tsonga, French Open Quarterfinals, 6/1 5/7 5/7 7/6 6/1

Heartbreak for Tsonga, failing to take any of his many match points. Djokovic’s courage when on the brink is unparalleled.

7. Ferrer d. Tipsarevic, US Open Quarterfinals, 6/3 6/7 2/6 6/3 7/6

Outstanding offence and defence from both, as the indefatigable Ferrer recovers from a break in the fifth.

6. Federer d. Berdych, Madrid Final, 3/6 7/5 7/5

All-out assault on the slick blue clay. Federer narrowly prevails over a rampant Berdych.

5. Rosol d. Nadal, Wimbledon Second Round, 6/7 6/4 6/4 2/6 6/4

A combined winner to unforced error count of 106-45, as the lowly Rosol continues blasting, and somehow doesn’t miss.

4. Djokovic d. Murray, Shanghai Final, 5/7 7/6 6/3

Two sets of immense quality, with Djokovic saving match points, then running over the tiring Murray.

3. Haas d. Nalbandian, Cincinnati First Round, 6/7 7/6 6/3

Outstanding all-court play and drama from two veterans who are proven masters at both.

2. Federer d. Del Potro, Olympic Games Semifinals, 3/6 7/6 19/17

Del Potro’s finest effort on grass, defying predictions of a Federer cakewalk. Utterly absorbing from start to finish.

1. Djokovic d. Murray, Australian Open Semifinal, 6/3 3/6 6/7 6/1 7/5

Probably the best match of the year. Murray’s desperate fight in the fifth almost rectifies his tactical tank in the fourth.

 

† ‘One cannot judge Lohengrin after a first hearing, and I certainly don’t intend to hear it a second time.’ - Gioachino Rossini, displaying a Churchillian gift for pithy insult.

Davis Cup Final, Day Three

Ferrer d. Berdych, 6/2 6/3 7/5

Stepanek d. Almagro, 6/4 7/6 3/6 6/3

The Czech Republic has defeated Spain in the one hundredth final of the Davis Cup. Astute historical observers might note that the event actually began in 1900, while those with a particular gift for arithmetic will hopefully spot the numerical discrepancy. The answer is that, as in so many fields of human endeavour, two world wars proved terribly inconvenient.† The Cold War, on the other hand, provided almost no hindrance at all. Indeed, the last time the Czechs tasted Davis Cup glory was in 1980, and they were obliged to share it with any interested Slovakians. This time, for the first time, they have it all to themselves. Meanwhile, this is only the second time Spain has lost a Davis Cup final since the Soviet tanks rolled into Prague. Their latest squad included a world No.5 in career-best form, and a doubles team that had just claimed the World Tour Finals. It was almost enough to guarantee victory. But, as any engineer will tell you, a chain is only ever as strong as its Nicolas Almagro.

In the end, but only in the end, Tomas Berdych was proved right. Despite his many accomplishments, Almagro was indeed the fatally weak point through which the Czech Republic funnelled its assault, and thereby achieved a famous victory. They had to try something.  When you’re faced with the most impregnable tennis nation of the era, which has claimed more Davis Cups in recent years than nearly every other country combined, you take what you can get, even if it is the assertion that the world No.11 is somehow a liability. The Czechs took what they could get.

Presumably no one was more relieved to see Berdych’s astute prediction come to pass than the man himself, for all that such comments are intended to be partly self-fulfilling. Berdych’s aim was certainly to seed doubt in any existing cracks in Almagro’s mind, and consequently widen them. The belief, which is widely subscribed to even by the Spaniard’s admirers, is that Almagro’s ranking around the edge of the top ten represents the upper limit of his abilities, which is restricted not by raw ability but by the near-certainly of his mental collapse in important matches.

Of course, this tactic nearly backfired when the Spaniard acquitted himself superbly on the opening day, and almost force-fed Berdych the healthiest slice of humble pie since Yevgeny Kafelnikov promised Lleyton Hewitt a stern tennis lesson, and then promptly lost. In a hostile environment, on an indoor hardcourt, Almagro pushed Berdych to the limit for four hours, leaving the Czech with a victory that might well turn out to be Pyrrhic given the heroic quantity of tennis still ahead of him. Suddenly the doubts were all Czech. What would this Almagro do to a tired Stepanek in a live fifth rubber, if it came to it? These abstract musings took on a practical urgency after Berdych’s consummate flogging at the hands of David Ferrer in this morning’s fourth rubber.

The loss to Ferrer was Berdych’s first loss in Davis Cup in 2012, which ensured that one of the most successful such years in history ended on a slightly down note, at least personally. He had become just the second player to win at least ten live rubbers in a season, but he might have lost the one that mattered most, and badly. Meanwhile, it was Ferrer’s eighteenth singles win in a live rubber, for only three losses, and he has been unbeaten this year, winning six matches for the loss of two sets. This was the rubber that many had expected to be pivotal.

Desperate to resuscitate Spain’s chances, Ferrer emerged as though unbowed by the slightest concern in the world. He was, from the opening point (an ace), operating on a stratospherically higher plane than Berdych. Ferrer’s defence was predictably impeccable, and Berdych completed few trips to the net that weren’t laced with peril. All too often the Czech barely attained the service line before spinning to watch Ferrer’s passing winner streak by. But mostly it was Ferrer darting forward and compelling his larger opponent to yield up the baseline, and to run, subjecting Berdych to an unending selection of vicious high-speed geometric puzzle that he proved ill-equipped to deal with. It was the most accomplished match I have seen from Ferrer since he so surgically dismembered Juan Martin del Potro at Wimbledon.

But would it all be for nothing? Just last week Ferrer managed to win two matches in the round robin phase in London’s O2 Arena but was cruelly denied a place in the semifinals. Now in Prague’s O2 he had flogged both Czech singles players, but was faced with the possibility that he might still lose the Davis Cup final. It had all come down to Almagro and Stepanek.

Either represented a vanishingly slender thread from which to suspend national hopes. Stepanek was in Prague on his preferred surface, but was also playing his third best-of-five match in three days, and he was almost thirty-four years old. Indeed, no man over thirty had won a decisive fifth rubber in a final exactly one hundred years. Meanwhile Almagro’s capacity to under-perform in crucial matches had been the endlessly-iterated theme of the weak. The fifth rubber of a Davis Cup final is a crucible and the man who wins is invariably the man who can retain his shape the longest. Could he somehow replicate Viktor Troicki’s unlikely feat from 2010, and stand firm in the face of an experienced opponent who wouldn’t stop coming at him?

Visually, neither man could realistically claim the honours. Almagro’s pink shirt had long since shed its España patch, which only the congenitally unpoetic failed to read as symbolic, while his shoes looked like he’d forded a shallow stream of salmon dip. Meanwhile Stepanek’s blue shirt sustained the rich Czech tradition of producing history’s most hideous tennis wear, a tradition that stretches back at least to Ivan Lendl. (Lendl was there, incidentally, and looked on approvingly.) With its extravagant leonine heraldry, it scored highly for patriotism even as it uneasily reminded us that sanity is only ever contingent.

The match got off to a shaky start, but before too long settled into a steady pattern of Stepanek attacking and Almagro barely holding on. It is hard to think that, as predicted, the occasion hadn’t gotten to Almagro. Character is indeed destiny. He was unusually passive, but then part of his make-up is that despite being a gifted shotmaker he can stop going for his shots when the going grows tight, unlike, say, Marcos Baghdatis, who keeps going for them but misses. Given the wave of support that Stepanek was bodysurfing – he was relentless – it was in a way admirable that Almagro held on as long as he did, until, at crucial times, he didn’t. The second set provides a particularly good example. After they’d traded early breaks, Almagro finally forced his way a tiebreaker with his best tennis of the match so far. From there he disappeared almost entirely, and failed to trouble the scorer, although the stats guy in charge of unforced errors was kept busy.

The third set was certainly Almagro’s boldest passage of play, and hope or dread kindled at the prospect of an audacious comeback from two sets down, depending on your proclivities. Surely Stepanek was now tiring. It was hard to tell. He was certainly endeavouring to shorten the points, but he’s been doing that for years on nearly every point. His work around the net remained consistently excellent, and this consistency began to wear his opponent down to nothing in the fourth, although Almagro, with feathery irony, did save one match point with an angled backhand volley of his own. He couldn’t save the second. The Davis Cup was sealed with one last Almagro error, his 56th of the afternoon, and Stepanek collapsed to the court. The captain Jaroslav Navrotil arrived to crush him shortly after, followed immediately by the mullet he has cultivated since the Czechs last won the Davis Cup. Before long the rest of the squad were there, and piled atop each other in the approved manner.

Speaking of irony, it was a quite delicious moment when Berdych of all people, amidst the team celebrations that were gaining a fearsome internal momentum, interrupted Stepanek – who’d taken to vaulting the net – and reminded him to go and shake the hands of the assembled Spanish team. Both the Czech players have had a memorable year when it comes to handshakes. That will definitely be what they remember 2012 for. Stepanek then shredded his special lion shirt, providing an image fated to remain with the rest of us for some years to come.

I won’t pretend to have seen all hundred Davis Cup finals that have so far been contested, but I’ll submit that this one would not look out of place beside the best of them. It featured  just about everything one might have hoped for (unless you are Spanish, in which case you would feasibly have hoped for more Rafael Nadal, without whom the Spaniards are merely very good, as opposed to unbeatable). The heroic Ferrer did a lot, but he couldn’t do everything. He might have even done enough to stop pedestrian commentators telling us how underrated he is, despite the fact that they’re only ones saying it.

Nor should we forget the central doubles rubber, in which Stepanek and Berdych defeated the reigning Tour Finals champions in Marc Lopez and Marcel Granollers, proving once more that the top doubles players aren’t necessarily the best doubles players. This in turn reminds us that the Czech Republic won the 2012 Davis Cup with only two players. Berdych and Stepanek contested every live rubber in 2012, in singles and doubles. It also fittingly caps the most successful possible year for Czech team tennis. In 2012 they have won the Davis Cup, the Federation Cup, and the Hopman Cup. It’s a lot to bear in mind, and it’s conceivable that 2012 won’t be remembered for missed handshakes after all.

† I note with some interest that Australia defeated the USA in the Davis Cup finals of both 1914 and 1939, an outcome that might well have precipitated unprecedented global carnage. Of course, there’s a slim chance that it’s just a coincidence, but can we take that chance? It’s probably for the best that my country remains mired outside the World Group.

Davis Cup Final, Day One

Ferrer d. Stepanek, 6/3 6/4 6/4

Berdych d. Almagro, 6/3 3/6 6/3 6/7 6/3

The first day of the 2012 Davis Cup final has been completed, with the Czech Republic and the constitutional monarchy of Spain locked at one rubber all. If one was feeling overly wilful or mischievous this could be spun as a political tussle between the old world and the new, between tradition and progress. It’s something for Tomas Berdych to consider, lest he grows short on Spaniard-baiting material, which admittedly seems unlikely to happen. There’s also a chance he is too tired and wary, having narrowly avoided gagging on the heroic portion of humble pie he’d prepared earlier. Perhaps he’s learned a lesson. Part of me hopes not. Still, even if he hasn’t, the rest of us certainly have.

For example, we now know that the Prague crowd expresses its disapproval by whistling, and that what they lack in virtuosity they make up for in raw stamina. Expressing ire through whistling, you may be sure, is a distance event. This was eagerly illustrated when Carlos Ramos failed to correctly award a point to Berdych after the Czech player had successfully challenged a winner called out. Ramos was certainly wrong; the point should have gone to Berdych. For a good twenty minutes the locals pursed their lips and made their feelings known with undiminished gusto, which would swell ominously like the Sirens of Jericho whenever Nicolas Almagro commenced his service motion.

Despite sounding like the stadium was rapidly deflating, it ironically pumped Berdych up. Having appeared flat throughout the second set, he fair bounded through the third. Whistling clearly has its advantages, especially as it proved sufficiently loud to drown out the vuvuzela section. (I don’t know who invented the vuvuzela, but I do kind of wish it was me. I could make a fortune charging people $10 each to punch me in the face.) Before too long it subsided, leaving Berdych so diminished that he first surrendered his lead in the fourth, and then the set itself in a tiebreaker.

It went without saying that an Almagro victory would have put Spain in an overwhelming position, given that they’d already won the opening rubber. Or so I thought. Greg Rusedski did not agree: ‘If Almagro wins, then Spain is in the driver’s seat.’ In the end Berdych did eke out the fifth set, thus technically proving Almagro to be the weaker link, since it’s doubtful whether Berdych on this form would have troubled Ferrer for long. But even so, I’m sure it was a closer run thing than Berdych had envisaged, and it’s hard to think that this hadn’t contributed to the nerves that for a time threatened to paralyse him. Almagro acquitted himself well, in every sense, from his superior serving and aggressive ground game, up to and including his gracious handshake afterwards. It was a lesson in classy behaviour, or at least an example of how politeness can be weaponised. We learned that Reebok has nothing in its current range that comes closer to bandera roja than pink.

We also learned that there’s really not much to say about David Ferrer beating Radek Stepanek in straight sets, but that in the hands of a master analyst like Rusedski this little can be made to go a long way, or at least for a long time. The actual Eurosport commentary during the match had been provided by Frew McMillan and Chris Bradnam, and was thus quite good, although they only referred to Ferrer as ‘underrated’ a handful of times. This was well short of the crushing quota achieved over on the Tennis Channel, whose experts rate him so highly that they struggle to come up with much else to say. Almost everything about him, by their estimation, is not accorded the respect it merits from the broader public.

Keen to verify this for myself, I took to the streets. There weren’t many people around at that hour in Melbourne, but those seedy revellers I did corner eventually confessed that they didn’t rate Ferrer very highly at all, even when I showed them a photo and explained who he was. Some appeared shocked to learn that he has such competent volleys, and that he defends his second serve so well. (None of them hung around long after that, except for one charming transient who insisted he could smell my heartbeat.)

Notwithstanding the scientific validity of my vox pop survey, I still think Ferrer’s underratedness is mostly overrated. He was the clear favourite today, and played like it, despite a minor hitch in the second set when Stepanek came back hard at him. He won in quick time, serving, passing and running remarkably like you’d imagine a world No.5 would, regardless of rating.

Although the result itself clearly thrilled the Spanish team – even yielding them temporary control of that cherished driver’s seat – its brevity won’t have troubled the Czech team too much. Stepanek probably wasn’t going to win anyway, so it’s best he was spared unnecessary toil before the pivotal doubles tomorrow. Whether he’ll partner the weary Berdych could be a dicey question, though, and the Czech team has some thinking to do. I suspect he’ll play, if only to see his devious plan bear fruit. All this Almagro ‘weak link’ talk has been a red herring. It’s really Marcel Granollers they’re after.

World Group Semifinals

Czech Republic d. Argentina, 3-2

Spain d. USA, 3-1

Spain will face the Czech Republic in the 2012 Davis Cup final, which I fervently hope is more engaging than either of this weekend’s two semifinals turned out to be. It is often the case that the Davis Cup semifinals are disappointingly lopsided. Mostly this owes to the fact that most nations don’t have anything like a full roster of available players, and that only for Spain is this not an issue. This deep into the tennis season, and following on so close after the US Open, there are always going to be issues with injuries, and these will almost always prove decisive one way or another.

Of the four teams competing in the semifinals this weekend, only the Czechs were at full strength, although even this is a relative assessment, given that the Czech Republic essentially fields a two man squad (I use the word ‘man’ here in its broadest sense, given that Radek Stepanek is a kind of sentient golem, while Tomas Berdych is lucky Rick Deckard never made it to Ostrava). These two are ably supported by a shadowy cast of extras who only ever leave the bench when dead rubbers need to be deprived of further oxygen. Today that task fell to Ivo Minar, who lost comfortably to Juan Monaco in the meaningless fifth match.

Prior to that gripping encounter, Berdych clinched the tie by defeating Carlos Berloqc in a match that was easier than those who’d say it was closer than it looked insisted. I suppose I should untangle that grammatical snarl. It was a straightforward win for Berdych, but it was the kind of win in which a gallant but over-matched player acquits himself admirably, but cannot take whatever chances he had to make it closer. There was never much danger of Berdych losing to Berlocq, unless he rediscovered the execrable form he’d shown between Roland Garros and the US Open, when he proved capable of and willing to lose to just about anyone. Admittedly he’d appeared willing enough to lose to Monaco on Friday, but had been fortunate to discover an opponent able to head him off at every turn. There were no depths to which Berdych might sink that he wouldn’t discover Monaco already setting up camp. It was very demoralising for Berdych. It was a long match – somewhere over four hours – but it wasn’t a very good one.

The other match played on Friday was shorter, although for Argentinean fans the ramifications turned out to be far more long-reaching. Juan Martin del Potro saw off Stepanek pretty handily, but in doing so managed seriously to injure whatever tendons were still holding his left wrist in place. He has been instructed not to use the wrist for ten days, although he’d also been advised not to play the tie at all. He has therefore entered himself into a high-stakes celebrity arm-wresting tournament for the weekend. In any case, del Potro’s wrist explained Berlocq’s debut in the first of the reverse singles, which in turn put the tie rather beyond doubt even in the event that Argentina snuck out a win in the doubles, which they didn’t.

The USA did manage a win in the doubles, thanks to those fabulously reliable and frighteningly up-tempo Bryan twins, but that was the only rubber they could find against Spain. Again, it wasn’t taxing to see how this one would play out. Isner today provided a momentary thrill by taking the first set from Ferrer, but after that he couldn’t convince the Spaniard to stop breaking his serve. Sam Querrey was equally unpersuasive on the opening day. On clay, in Spain, Ferrer has so far proved to be unbeatable. But I suspect that the hosts would have won this tie even without him, and even had the American squad included Roddick and Fish, who were out for various reasons, including but not limited to retirement and an intrinsic aversion to the European mainland.

World Group Play-Offs

As is often the case, the best of the year’s third weekend of Davis Cup was found in the World Group play-offs being staged at various flashpoints across the globe, and in one instance within a super-villain hideout in a hollowed-out volcano, cunningly set-dressed to look like the Rothenbaum. Roger Federer led Switzerland to a comfortable win over The Netherlands, winning both singles matches. Meanwhile Brazil effortlessly accounted for a spectacularly weak Russian team, dropping one set for the entire weekend. At least Alex Bogomolov Jr is realising his Davis Cup dream, assuming that dream is to lose dead rubbers in straight sets.

Israel travelled to Japan, but has since left. Whilst there it defeated the host nation, thanks mainly to Amir Weintraub, who won both of his singles matches over vastly higher ranked players (Tatsuma Ito and Go Soeda). Davis Cup brings something to Weintraub’s game that he lacks in regular tournament play (his ranking has fallen back beyond the top 200). I think it would be worth his while finding out what that thing is. It would be a start. His backhand was, as ever, lovely. That could be part of it. The highlight of this tie was Kei Nishikori nursing his damaged shoulder through a five set victory over Dudi Sela to keep Japan’s chances alive on the final morning. For Nishikori the low-light was presumably when it all came to nought. For everyone else it was Soeda’s questionable decision to call for the trainer while Weintraub served for the tie.

Meanwhile in Hamburg’s ‘Rothenbaum’ a second-string German squad – Florian Mayer as spearhead in the absence of Philipp Kohlschreiber and Tommy Haas – saw off a full strength Australia. Again, these are relative terms. It is wrong to say that Australian men’s tennis lacks depth at the moment, since that’s really all it has. Most of its players are ranked very deep indeed. What Australia needs is someone up on the surface, making waves. Instead we had Bernard Tomic, who contrived to look all at sea, even on red dirt. He fought back well to defeat Cedrik-Marcel Stebe on the opening day, and therefore won Australia’s only singles rubber. This is important to bear in mind as we get down to the business of lynching him for his supposedly lack-lustre efforts, even as we honour Lleyton Hewitt for toiling on into his twilight years.

The tie was dominated by Mayer, who was at his unorthodox best. He didn’t drop a set, and for vast swathes of both his singles matches he had both Australians at his mercy, jerking and prodding their unwilling frames around the court. That leaping double-fisted backhand dropshot that he hits deserves to be named in his honour. It most certainly isn’t a thing of beauty, but it is his and it is utterly effective. Nevertheless, the visitors won the doubles – Chris Guccione has a stellar record in Davis Cup doubles – and entered the final weekend with a 2-1 advantage. Tomic was rapidly outfoxed by Mayer, which allowed John Fitzgerald ample opportunity to rehearse his tone of paternal disappointment in the young Australian, which he only interrupted in order to point out that Tony Roche was doing the same more vehemently from extreme close range. Pat Rafter was having a go, too. Everyone was in Tomic’s ear, but it did no good.

There was a momentary possibility that Philipp Petzschner would replace Stebe to face Hewitt in the deciding rubber, but to the consternation of the home crowd he was ruled out with injury. Then, for the second time in two years, Australia’s most capped Davis Cup veteran was upset in the fifth and deciding rubber, miring his country for yet another year in the zonal play-offs. It was over in straight sets. Stebe was ecstatic. In commentary, Fitzgerald’s recurring trope for this match was ‘the tank’, and just how little Hewitt had remaining in his, after three days of play, and fifteen years grinding away on the tour. He remarked on this so frequently that I began to suspect some sort of wager was involved. Fitzgerald served as Davis Cup captain before Rafter, and it was clear he was shattered, by the loss of the tie, but also by the comprehensiveness with which Hewitt had been outplayed by Stebe, a player he would have once dispatched without trouble, on any surface. It wasn’t just that Stebe had outhit Hewitt. He’d hit through him. The end feels close.

I switched the channel. Downfall was showing on another channel, hopefully by coincidence. It was a useful reminder that even worse fates can befall a country than losing a Davis Cup tie. On my computer and in Parque Roca Berdych and Berlocq were already going at it.

Davis Cup, Quarterfinals, Day Three

Czech Rep. d. Serbia, 4-1

Berdych d. Tipsarevic, 7/6 7/6 7/6

In twenty years’ time, someone poring over old tennis scores might chance upon today’s Davis Cup results, and might make certain assumptions – entirely erroneous – as to how the matches played out. (Positing this theoretical future ‘historian’ entails a simultaneously bleak and optimistic view of the future, in which poor lonely bastards are permitted to pursue their pointless whimsies freely, and aren’t simply harvested for their organs. This suggests that at some point in the next two decades the west might enjoy a break in conservative governance. But I digress.)

Of course, a score line of 7/6 7/6 7/6 is an easy one to draw the wrong conclusions from. Being straight sets, one might assume it was straight forward. With every set ascending to a tiebreak, one might also, as with the famous US Open quarterfinal between Sampras and Agassi, assume it was tight. But you know what they say about assumptions: ‘they have an established tendency to make you and I look foolish.’ (They don’t say what happens in the case of pre-existing idiots, but assumptions probably don’t help.) Janko Tipsarevic, however, doesn’t need to assume anything in order to look foolish. He just needs a tennis ball in his hand, and the opportunity to serve for a set.

Tipsarevic served for both the first and second sets, and both times he was broken back by Tomas Berdych without achieving set point (although he did find one in the second set tiebreak, and promptly discarded it). However, the most telling moment came at 5/3 in the first set tiebreak, as Tipsarevic left a ball that landed in, a moment that told us that in lieu of genuine belief, he had only haggard, desperate hope.

Having established his credentials for gagging a lead, Tipsarevic essayed a different approach in the third set. Figuring that serving for a set was a doomed enterprise, he instead saved his big push for the inevitable breaker, although not before blowing a couple more set points on Berdych’s serve at 6/5. The Serb established a commanding lead in the tiebreak, and at 6/3 held three set points. Belief might have won him one, but, as I say, he had none. Berdych saved them all, and took the set, and the match, and the tie. The Czech Republic moves through to the Davis Cup semifinals.

It would be foolish to suggest this match was ever going to be a simple affair. Keen disciples of The Tipsarevic will recall his urgent, and painful, loss to Berdych in the Tour Finals last year, when the Serb wasted a match point in the second set tiebreaker. Or how about two weeks earlier, at the Paris Indoors, where Tipsarevic led 5/1 in the first set, only to lose it 5/7, and 4/2 in the second, only to go down 6/4? The point is he has form.

But nor should we pretend that Berdych has been amazing of late. He hasn’t. This is only his second top-ten victory of 2012, the other being the infamously feisty win over Almagro at the Australian Open, in which we discovered that while the Tin Man may not have a heart, he does have a certain flair for melodrama, as he collapsed as though pole-axed upon sustaining a ball to the arm. Nevertheless, Berdych clinched all three wins this weekend (he paired with Stepanek in the doubles), and there is some hope that recent upgrades will see him prove competitive through the clay and grass seasons to come.

USA d. France, 3-2

Isner d. Tsonga, 6/3 7/6 5/7 6/4

Comical scenes in Prague had earlier taken over from emotional ones in Monte Carlo, where the USA had completed a strong victory over France. Guy Forget announced his retirement from the captaincy on court afterwards, thereby reducing the French players to open weeping. Llodra and Benneteau took it particularly hard, perhaps because their doubles loss yesterday proved instrumental in accelerating Forget’s departure. For Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, this news merely compounded his disappointment at losing the decisive rubber to John Isner.

He was right to feel disappointment, but he’d be fooling himself to feel shame. Tsonga played well under immense pressure to keep the tie alive, but few men could have withstood Isner today, who is now clearly the No.1 American player in all but ranking, and who wears the responsibility lightly and calmly. Tsonga is a categorically better player than Gilles Simon, but Isner handled him comprehensively, remaining crushingly assertive on all but one of the key points, and only rarely allowing the Frenchman to set his feet. There is always a constricting pressure when facing a titanic server, even one like Ivo Karlovic who doesn’t exceed mere adequacy in any other of the game’s facets. However, Isner has fashioned himself into an imposing all-court figure. The forehand is notorious, but today it was outrageous. He seemed to go whole sets without missing one, which was particularly impressive given the demands he was imposing on it. I can barely recall a forehand that was played safely, and every time he lashed one, Tsonga began running. He was solid on backhand, reckless on passing shots, and imposing at the net, winning 37/49.

Before Forget took the microphone, there was a wonderfully genial moment as Isner went over to the opposition bench and shook hands or embraced each member of the French team. The local crowd applauded warmly. Time will of course tell, but there is a real sense that a weekend such as this might be the making of Isner. If he can go on to achieve a result commensurate with his frame and his game – such as winning a major – he is sufficiently charming that he might achieve a truly trans-national popularity, of the type that Fish lacks, and that Roddick is systematically eroding. Speaking of which, it was heartening to see Novak Djokovic out supporting the Davis Cup players, even if he wasn’t playing, and even if the players weren’t his compatriots (who were hundreds of miles away proving they simply cannot do without him).

The Americans have now won consecutive ties away from home, on European clay; in a gloomy barn in Fribourg, and at the most picturesque tennis club in the world; on stodgy Catholic dirt and hedonistic Mediterranean silt. The choice of surface when facing the USA has been a no-brainer for years. Assuming your players are at least half-decent on it, you always go with clay. Now, with the US flourishing under Jim Courier’s captaincy and spearheaded by Isner, the decision has become rather more fraught. Unless, of course, you’re Spain. As coincidence would have it, it will be Spain, in Spain. Almost certainly, it will be clay. Without question, it will be interesting.

Argentina d. Croatia, 4-1

Del Potro d. Cilic, 6/1 6/2 6/1

Our future lonely historian will look back at this one, and will feel sure that this was not a particularly close match. He or she will be entirely correct, and can be permitted their smug glow of satisfaction, since they probably don’t have much else going on. Juan Martin del Potro won 95 points to Marin Cilic’s 52, although Cilic if pressed could point to some impressive numbers of his own: before today’s match he had already spent over ten hours on court this weekend. On clay, in Argentina, there was sadly no way this one was going to be competitive. It was just baseline slugging – del Potro won 0/0 points at the net – scored to wildly catchy patriotic chanting, mostly between points. For del Potro, his elation contrasted nicely with the desolation following last year’s final.

Still, it provided interest in that it sustained one of the key themes of the weekend, which was that the doubles rubber is pivotal in close ties. Spain, whose tie wasn’t close, is the exception, and has appeared content to sacrifice the middle Saturday for a while now, without discernible impact on their overwhelming success. But hard-fought victories in the doubles provided clear momentum for the Czechs, Americans and Argentineans, and they all wrapped up their respective ties in the first of the reverse singles.

Argentina will play the Czech Republic in the semifinals.

Davis Cup, Quarterfinals, Day One

The first day of the 2012 Davis Cup World Group quarterfinals has concluded, and three of the four ties are balanced intriguingly at a rubber each. The other tie, involving Spain at home, has hardly intrigued at all, although Alex Corretja’s remarks afterwards – essentially: ‘Well, that went even easier than we thought it would’ – were refreshingly frank.

Of the other six matches, two were ostensibly upsets, although one of these – Isner d. Simon – was largely just a failure of the bookmaker’s art. The other upset – Cilic d. Nalbandian – was a soul-lacerating carnival of suck played out in an atmosphere of rambunctious and virulent machismo, prompting one to wonder just how poor a crowd has to behave before it no longer merits an indulgent chuckle: ‘Well, that’s Davis Cup for you . . .’

Serbia v Czech Rep., Prague, 1-1

Berdych d. Troicki, 6/2 6/1 6/2

Tipsarevic d. Stepanek, 5/7 6/4 6/4 4/6 9/7

The centrepiece of today’s spread was undoubtedly the second match between Serbia and the Czech Republic, an improbably sustained, highly dramatic and technically uninspiring dust-up between Janko Tipsarevic and Radek Stepanek, which concluded in a flurry of ill-will, and almost a flurry of blows. Being controversial, this is the moment destined to survive.

Tipsarevic had battled the partisan crowd and, periodically, the umpire on his way to a five hour victory, saving three match points along the way. I had seen nothing untoward between him and his opponent, and there had been at least one example of good sportsmanship. (There was by some accounts an issue with a disputed double-bounce in the second set, though I confess I did not see it.) Tipsarevic claimed the match with a final backhand pass up the line, whereupon he commenced the required sequence of bellows at his support bench. Stepanek marched sourly to the net, and offered the Serb a weak handshake, and they exchanged some words. Tipsarevic paused, visibly gob smacked, and began to remonstrate furiously at Stepanek’s back, and was restrained by both the Serbian and Czech captains. It wasn’t immediately clear what had happened. Interviewed afterwards, Tipsarevic revealed that Stepanek had in fact given him the finger during the handshake, and had summarily pronounced him to be a stinking vagina, or words to that effect. His comments were in Serbian, and every effort at translating them via Google has turned out to be a) contradictory, and b) hilarious (‘He told me I was smelling something like a natural woman’). Nevertheless, it was clear from his tone that giving someone the finger and comparing them to malodorous genitalia is no more complimentary in Eastern Europe than here in Australia, where it is frowned upon.

Inevitably, the incident has received plenty of airtime, and unfortunately overshadowed Stepanek’s greater transgression, which was the public unveiling of a t-shirt that was eye-wrenchingly foul even by his lofty standards. It appears to be some variety of obese leonine creature, over which is draped the Czech coat of arms. Tomas Berdych, whose otherwise similar outfit mercifully lacked mutant lions, had earlier thrashed the hapless Viktor Troicki. The doubles tomorrow should be fun, and the reverse singles even funner.

Argentina v Croatia, Buenos Aires, 1-1

Cilic d. Nalbandian, 5/7 6/4 4/6 7/6 6/3

Del Potro d. Karlovic, 6/2 7/6 6/1

Meanwhile David Nalbandian, if not Argentina’s greatest Davis Cup player then certainly its most famously committed, lost to Marin Cilic in a staggeringly uneven five set match. At the extremes of quality, statistics usually tell the story, and this match bears that out. The two men produced a combined 241 unforced errors (128 to Nalbandian). Both players served under 50%, and attained an aggregate 10/40 on break points conversion. What the stats don’t tell you is how it actually felt to endure the match. As a viewer I certainly had a better time of it than the participants, since the miasma of hopeless ennui dissipated quite quickly, whereas each player must also overcome physical exhaustion. Their wealth and fame probably helps to make up the difference, though.

The issue was raised in last year’s Davis Cup final of why Nalbandian wasn’t selected to play singles on the opening day, instead of either Juan Martin del Potro or Juan Monaco. The issue now, apparently, is why Monaco wasn’t playing in place of Nalbandian. The lesson, presumably, is how when you lose the strategy was always the wrong one. Del Potro then demolished Ivo Karlovic, who might have taken the second set had he played smarter on any of his four set points, but never looked much like winning the match.

USA v France, Monte Carlo, 1-1

Tsonga d. Harrison, 7/5 6/2 2/6 6/2

Isner d. Simon, 6/3 6/2 7/5

John Isner recorded his second ‘upset’ on clay in as many matches, although beating Gilles Simon is not quite comparable to beating Federer. Nonetheless, it was a masterpiece of sustained aggression from Isner, which is hardly surprising, since he seems physically and temperamentally incapable of playing any other way. These two met several weeks ago in Indian Wells, with Isner narrowly prevailing on his way to the final. Grit, luck and crowd support got him through that one. None of those factors proved relevant today, because he was playing in France, and because performances this complete never require one to display their true mettle.

I suggested a few days ago that Isner needs to learn how to win quickly, although I didn’t have Simon in mind, against whom even Federer prevails only gradually, if at all. In all, it was a masterful performance from the giant American, who suggested earlier in the week that he wasn’t just a serve and a forehand. By his standards, he wasn’t even a serve today, but his forehand was potent enough to achieve the twin miracles of cutting through the Monte Carlo surface and of getting past Simon, time and again.

Speaking of sustained aggression, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga earlier defeated Ryan Harrison in fine style but for a third set let-down, smacking winners all over the place. As expected, the Frenchman moves up to No.5 in the world, supplanting David Ferrer. There was also a cockerel, signifying, er . . . Well, that’s Davis Cup for you.

Davis Cup, First Round

Croatia d. Japan 3-2

Karlovic d. Soeda, 7/6 6/1 6/4

It wasn’t the only story to emerge from the first Davis Cup weekend of the year, but the big story was of big men playing big man tennis. The steady, throbbing thud of monstered first serves striking canvas backstops was like an ostinato for the weekend, although the variations that unfolded above it were of considerable variety and surprising invention.

John Isner’s four set victory over Roger Federer on Friday in Fribourg proved to be merely the most rousing elaboration of a theme that had already been established by Ivo Karlovic in Hyogo, at the poetically-named and gastronomically-irresistible Bourbon Beans Dome. Milos Raonic later chimed in, in Vancouver. The most feared servers in the sport – many contend that a serve is all they have – were winning matches comfortably, with barely any recourse to tiebreaks. Unless they had somehow discovered how to break their opponent’s serve using their own, this meant they were actually makign returns, as many as four per game. As fantastical as this sounds, various eyewitness reports have borne it out. It turns out the more derisive pundits knew less than they thought they did, which the rest of us knew anyway.

To my regret, I have occasionally numbered among them. I once joked that Karlovic should embroider ‘7/6’ on his shirts, in much the same way other (unnamed) players do with ‘RF’ or ‘Nole’. In my defence, Karlovic is a sufficiently sardonic guy that I could see him going for it. And yet, throughout a heroic weekend in Japan – the details of which I am gradually coming to – he only once had recourse to a breaker. He outplayed Kei Nishikori from the ground, on Decoturf, at the fabled Bourbon Beans Dome. This proved merely a prelude to beating everyone else. He won all three points in Croatia’s victory, although he might conceivably have had a partner in the doubles. Indeed, we can blame that partner – the perpetually rumpled Ivan Dodig – for a single dropped set, marring Karlovic’s otherwise perfect record.

Sadly, since he doesn’t play for the United States or Spain or France, Karlovic’s performance in Japan will go largely overlooked. This is unfortunate, since on those special occasions when he can find the court, his ground game is a delight. Beyond that, the act of leading his nation in the absence of Ljubicic or Cilic was a colossal achievement for a veteran nearing 33, still making his way back from injury.

And he did it almost unaided. Dodig can usually be relied upon for maniacal commitment if not transcendent ability, yet his efforts in both singles rubbers lacked his characteristic grit. Against Nishikori, this can be forgiven readily, since Nishikori outranks him handily, and will periodically grow unplayable. Against Go Soeda, however, forgiveness was more provisional, carefully withheld until Karlovic had casually claimed the fifth and deciding rubber. Last year, in the midst of an especially disastrous personal effort, Janko Tipsarevic remarked that it was nice to have teammates to cover for him: ‘Even when you feel and play like crap, your team mates are there to fix the problem. 2:1 Serbia … Idemoooo!;)’ He was not wrong. It is nice, especially when the teammate is either Novak Djokovic, or Viktor Troicki (for whom Djokovic will blithely substitute himself given the chance). Who could have imagined that Dodig might feel that same security in Karlovic?

The best thing about these weekends is that there is always at least one performance to inspire a bellowed rendition of that hackneyed show-tune This Is What Davis Cup Is All About. The worst thing is that there is so often only one. This last weekend, there were plenty, and Ivo Karlovic had us singing the loudest of all.