January 21, 2011

A Stuttering Stream

Australian Open, Third Round

Djokovic d. Troicki, 6/2 ret.

Roddick d. Haase, 2/6 7/6 6/2 6/2

It was really brought home to me today what a lottery buying tickets to the tennis is. At a shade under fifty bucks, a day in a roasting Hisense Arena appeared to be the hottest deal in town. First up Novak Djokovic vs. Viktor Troicki. Second, Andy Roddick vs. Robin Haase. Some enticing third round prospects: mouths were watering, palms tingling, backs sweating. Stomach muscles were tearing. Unfortunately this last was Troicki, and at a set down he was obliged to give it away. Djokovic now joins Nadal and Murray in enjoying an early-round gimme. Federer zealots are livid. The fix is on! Their ire (which is infinite) is evenly apportioned between Craig Tiley, Uncle Toni, and the cosmos.

Spare some regard for the poor buggers baking in Hisense, whose coveted tickets had lost some cachet. Then Roddick and Haase strode from the tunnel. Dutch fans speak highly of Haase – whose professed hobbies include tennis and knee surgery – as do aficionados of ‘tremendous ball striking’. At 0/1, he seemed to roll his ankle, and limped to his chair. The Hisense crowd was less sympathetic than it might have been. Then my stuttering internet stream expired.

I turned to my television, curious to hear its thoughts. Not much: commercial break, after which Channel 7 brought up that split court graphic they’re currently so proud of, the one where they display all courts simultaneously, in real time. It lets you feel like you’re manning the security station at a shopping mall, which is exactly what one looks for in tennis coverage. It does have the advantage of showing you just how much interesting stuff is going on outside of Rod Laver Arena, while inside it Caroline Wozniaki was grinding down some diminutive hacker from the Eastern Bloc. Over on Hisense, Haase had expanded his breather into a full-blown medical time out. Sadly, the coverage stayed with Laver, which is a shame since I’ll take a tight shot of a physio strapping an ankle over Wozniacki any day. Luckily, the stream reconnected, so I could.

Haase ambled gingerly back onto court, held, then broke Roddick twice, which you might have missed while Jim Courier argued at soporific length that the American is the greatest server in the universe. A clear disconnect between words and images, but blame the Dutchman. I was reminded that, once upon a time, big guys like this used sometimes to rip through a slam draw, unheralded and unstoppable. It wasn’t to be. Stuff like that doesn’t happen any more. Roddick is too professional, and the unheralded titans of this age are all basketcases.

Back on Rod Laver, and Justine Henin and Svetlana Kuznetsova were providing another reason to be thankful for the invention of the tiebreak: it means two players can only concede flaccid service breaks for so long before someone is forced to win the set, whether they like it or not. Despite her best efforts, Kuznetsova took the second. Luckily for her, she’d won the first, too. Henin is out. The torrent of audacious winners had almost entirely dried up on Hisense; only a trickle continued unchecked from Roddick’s racquet. The whole thing had devolved into the kind of dour penance that Roddick insists he thrives on, and that his fans must by necessity tolerate. He’s through. The draw now lacks Dutch men. Roger Federer and Xavier Malisse were not far off; a very tough afternoon for the Low Countries.

Federer d. Malisse, 6/3 6/3 6/1

Federer and Malisse sauntered out onto court, a ‘sliding doors’ moment. They’ve been playing each other since they were 12. Now they’re ancient. It has been about eight years since they’ve had much else in common, back when they were the next big things. There was a fork in the road, but only one of them turned right.

I wonder, does Federer ever see Malisse and think ‘There but for the grace of God go I?’ It’s difficult to imagine. It’s easier to imagine Xavier Malisse in a dodgy bar somewhere, conspiring with Tommy Haas to do Federer in.

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January 20, 2011

The Tomic Test

Australian Open, Second Round

Tomic d. Lopez, 7/6 7/6 6/3

31st seed Feliciano Lopez today lost in straight sets to Bernard Tomic, who is ranked No.199 in the world. The Australian press has commemorated this result with characteristic composure. The Age dubbed the win ‘A-Tomic’, a headline that is at once obvious considering his surname, and misleading considering his pedestrian playstyle. The Sydney Morning Herald has opted for ‘Weekend for Bernie: Giant-killer Tomic sets up clash with Nadal’. Cringe-worthy clumsiness aside, it’s also not very accurate. Who realistically believes Lopez to be a giant? Whoever it is, they’re hopefully revising their estimation downwards. Everyone else is.*

If men’s tennis boasts a hierarchy independent from simple rankings – and it assuredly does – then it has received a minor shake-up, although it isn’t the one the Australian press fondly imagines. Tomic has earned the right to act like he belongs (but no more). Certain kinds of player should now be wary when they see him ahead in the draw (but no more). For Lopez, however, the damage is profound. Surely it is hard to show your face after a loss like this, which is a cruel blow for a guy like Lopez. Along with the bunched muscles in his thighs, his face is the thing he likes to show off most. He seems quite taken with it. After today’s performance, you have to wonder if a pretty face is all he has. Lopez has now qualified for membership of that exclusive but growing club of men who have failed the Tomic Test.

There is a simple written test in which participants are instructed to read all the way to the end before answering anything. Many people ignore the initial instruction, and begin answering the laughably basic questions as they go, only to reach the end and discover that you aren’t meant to answer anything at all. The point is to discover who is playing attention, and capable of following simple instructions. The only people who aren’t caught out are those who take due care, or those who are too stupid not to.

I’ve touched before on the role that stupidity can play in the outcome of tennis matches, on how more consideration needs to be paid to idiocy as determining factor. The Tomic Test is a basic task designed to see who is really paying attention, or who is just smart enough to fall into the trap of playing his game, but not smart enough to think their way out. Like an IQ test, failure can feel crushingly irrefutable. It isn’t like you’ve lost to an inspired journeyman playing their heart out. No, it’s exactly what it looks like: you’ve lost to some lumbering kid pointlessly noodling the ball around.

The next player to undergo the Tomic Test will be Rafael Nadal, who always pays careful attention. For his last match, the world No.1 was backed in at $1.01, odds that were overly generous to his opponent, a qualifier who played his heart out to grab four games. Hopefully not too many of my compatriots have had their brains scrambled by audacious headlines: patriotism standing revealed as fantasy. The only thing more foolish than losing to Tomic would be backing him against Nadal.

* The Herald Sun, which is to newspapers what Fox News is to sanity, was for a wonder the most circumspect in their headline: ‘Bernard Tomic on road to redemption’. I was really hoping for something more like ‘Day-Glo F-Lo Dealt Tomo Death-Blow’.

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January 19, 2011

More Hardscrabbling

Just a quick update to the continuing exploits of Israel’s No.2 tennis player Amir Weintraub, whose escapades I first covered here. The second installment of his adventures has been translated and posted in the original forum thread (it’s on page 4).

It covers his recent experiences at the Australian Open, where he competed in the Qualifying tournament. It is a fascinating read, and valuable precisely for details such as this: ‘I go to the giant dining room. After a few moments I notice the noisy room with the 250 players in it goes totally silent and everyone looks toward the door. Rafa Nadal just walked in.’

There is a pecking order on the ATP. Weintraub may be the bottom, but his candour and determination make him an ideal guide.

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January 18, 2011

The Jingos

Australian Open, First Round

Youzhny d. Ilhan, 6/2 6/3 7/6

Armed with the day’s schedule, a map of the grounds, and some marker pens, the family beside me – I dubbed them the Jingos – were laboriously charting their course through Day 2 of the Australian Open. No Australian was too obscure to make the itinerary. (Marinko Matosevic? Check. Matthew Ebden? Bring it on.) No one else was too famous to be cut from it. (Andy Murray? Gone.) I stole a glance at the completed diagram, criss-crossed with arrows. It would be tight, but so long as they didn’t stop to either relieve or enjoy themselves, they might just pull it off. Mother Jingo handed out a sheet of Australian flag decals for the children to adorn themselves with. Drill-sergeant Dad Jingo gave them the once-over, securing the youngest girl’s cape more securely.

The official television broadcaster Channel 7 has come to the patriotic party. Amongst abundant promos highlighting the heroic role they’ve played in filming other people in adversity, they’re not opposed to showing the odd tennis match. Their latest initiative is to display a little Australian flag next to the name of every Australian player, so that viewers may better forge a connection with people they might not otherwise recognise. Few can forget the mayhem at last year’s Australian Open, when some fans started booing Bernard Tomic, thinking him a foreigner, or a prat. At least this year we can be sure they’re booing him for the right reasons. In case you’re wondering, the nationalities of other players are not displayed. Where they hail from is not important. It is enough to know they aren’t from here.

I left the Jingos constructing some jolly placards – ‘GO AUSSIE ACE IT FOR QUEENSLAND!’ – and made my way to the back-lot, where the world’s tenth best tennis player was plying his trade on a remote court. Mikhail Youzhny’s last Grand Slam match was a semifinal on a packed Arthur Ashe stadium. Here on Court 13, rail-lines adjacent, it seems the tournament was penalising him for not choosing the country of his birth more carefully. His opponent was Marsel Ilhan, Turkey’s finest. As with many Mediterranean players, Ilhan has a vast and vocal Melbourne following, who enjoy nothing more than tightly-rehearsed slogans and beating their fists against resonant objects. They comprised about half of those present.

Aiming for parity, I seated myself in the Russian support section, which consisted of two old men, one in shiny trackpants, the other in a shinier suit. They seemed friendly, and while the exhortations they bellowed at ‘Misha’ lacked the close harmony of their Turkish counterparts, it was heart-felt. Youzhny clearly appreciated it, and before long was directing his fist-pumps and roars our way. Watching Youzhny live is always a treat, especially from up close. He is a player’s player. Lacking extravagant weaponry, you can see him actually thinking on court, carefully considering each point. That said, he was slow to exploit Ilhan’s obvious deficiency, which is a weird and cumbersome forehand preparation, one that sees him yield the baseline so as not to be rushed. Youzhny should have rushed it more, but he got there eventually.

Lopez d. Falla, 6/3 7/6 6/3

Bellucci d. Mello, 7/5 7/5 4/6 3/6 6/3

From there I swung by Feliciano Lopez and Alejandro Falla, who is the swarthiest man I’ve ever seen. It was as though he’d been dipped in it. As always, I was struck by the woodenness of Lopez’ movement. Up close, he is not a natural, though he might just be dreamy enough to warrant the female attention he was receiving. Even prettier was the Brazilian 30th seed Thomaz Bellucci, who was battling compatriot Ricardo Mello on Court 19. Their country has been beset by floods, too. So far over 600 have lost their lives, and tens of thousands have been displaced. Unfortunately none of them have little Australian flags next to their names, and probably won’t have a tennis benefit organised on their behalf. While Matthew Ebden failed to do it for Queensland or the Jingos on Margaret Court Arena, Bellucci fought through in five.

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January 17, 2011

He Snap In The Head

Australian Open, First Round

Monfils d. de Bakker, 6/7 2/6 7/5 6/2 6/1

I switched on the TV at a seemingly opportune moment, as the coverage cut from a yawnfest on Rod Laver Arena to an intriguing men’s match on Hisense. Serving at 5/6 in the first set, desperate to force a tiebreak, Thiemo de Bakker sealed the hold with a terrific forehand up the line past a stranded Gael Monfils, punctuating it with a roar of self-appreciation. Tiebreak time! This was naturally the broadcaster’s cue to return to the ‘action’ on Rod Laver, where Maria Sharapova was going to terrific lengths to squander a commanding lead. ‘She’s really pulling off on a lot of balls here,’ remarked Kerryn Pratt, evocatively. The issue, primarily, was double-faults: ‘As a professional athlete, she needs to be aware that these serves aren’t clearing the net’.

Back on Hisense, de Bakker went on to take that first set, and the second for good measure. For even better measure, he broke in the third, and stepped up to serve it out at 5/3. Monfils was in so much trouble that even he was aware of it. In case we at home weren’t: ‘Monfils is in real trouble here.’ I’d like to claim it was dry British understatement, but it was just homegrown Aussie silence-filler. In any case, it turned out the Frenchman was in rather less trouble than we’d thought, as de Bakker produced the worst service game since Sharapova about twenty minutes earlier. Monfils broke back, then broke again to take the set. He won the last couple going away.

The Dutchman’s mental lacerations were severe, and, based on the pronounced limp he suddenly developed, apparently gouged out part of his motor cortex. It is the first time Monfils has recovered from a two set deficit. Asked about it afterwards, he remarked of his opponent: ‘I know Thiemo a bit. I know sometime he snap in the head. So this is like a strong belief. We know like he can snap. It’s a weakness for him. So you play with that.’ It turns out Gael Monfils does have an inner game, and a penchant for calling kettles black.

Dimitrov d. Golubev, 6/1 6/4 6/2

The latest man to be burdened with the epithet ‘Baby Federer’ – it’s worked out so well for Richard Gasquet – Grigor Dimitrov today proved the adage that surviving a tough Qualifying draw builds character. We could also say that a brutal Qualifying draw can be brutalising in its turn, which might better explain the rough hiding he duly inflicted on poor Andrey Golubev, who’d had every right to be relieved at drawing a qualifier first up.

As this match took place on an outer paddock court, it was not televised. Dimitrov next meets Stanislas Wawrinka, which will almost certainly occur on a show court. The Swiss No.2 is made of sterner stuff, but he will find little consolation in the ‘Q’ next to his opponent’s name. Even if he loses, Dimitrov should now move into the top 100, and at just 19 will become the highest ranked Bulgarian male player in history.

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January 15, 2011

Ratcheting Up The Aggro

Australian Open Qualifying, Second Round

Jones d. Bozoljac, 7/6 6/7 10/8

It would be inaccurate to say today’s second round Qualifying match between Australia’s Greg Jones and Serbia’s Ilija Bozoljac had zero atmosphere. It had some, although whatever vibe it did scrounge up was in spite of Bozoljac, who for three long sets only ever stopped glowering at the crowd long enough to remonstrate with the umpire. It was a warmish day, and some in attendance were inclined to shift in their seats from time to time, or partake of a sip of water. These, it transpires, are glarable offences. One poor kid had a balloon. You can imagine the ire this provoked. In between compiling a mental catalogue of how he’d like to deal with each and every one of those in attendance, Bozoljac also had stern words for a medical timeout, and grew increasingly outraged that none of his opponent’s shots landing near the baseline were called long. To be fair, some of the balls were probably almost out.

I’ve only seen Bozoljac play once before, when he took a set from Roger Federer in the second round of last year’s Wimbledon. I don’t recall him carrying on the same way back then, even though Centre Court at the All England Club boasts considerably more spectators to get offended at. It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that his behaviour today stemmed from a lack of respect, for his opponent and for his situation. Strange behaviour for someone who primarily earns his crusts on the Challenger circuit, where there is no Hawkeye and often no crowd. It was exasperating to watch, and several times I was on the verge of descending wrathfully to the court and doling out a piece of my mind, but propriety stopped me. Propriety, and the fact that Bozoljac is 6’4’’ and looked mad as a cut snake.

In the circumstances, Greg Jones’s composure was impressive. He paid his opponent no heed whatsoever. If he had, and if he was that kind of person, he might have tried ratcheting up the aggro a little. A delay here, a rambunctious outburst there. He’s clearly not that kind of person, though he did manage a measured ‘C’mon’ when he broke back as Bozoljac served for it. The crowd promptly summoned a belligerent cheer, our numbers now sufficient to feel confident that we would overcome Bozoljac if it came to blows. Nine games later, serving at 8/9, and 0-40, he submitted with a petulant double fault.

Jones narrowly eked out his first match 9/7 in the final set, and has now earned weary passage to the third round. There he’ll discover top seed Blaz Kavcic, rested and waiting. I don’t fancy the Australian’s chances.

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January 14, 2011

More Sizzle

Heineken Open, Auckland

Nalbandian d. Isner, 6/4 7/6

Insofar as disparate gatherings of strangers can boast anything – beyond a tendency to wildly applaud any celebrity pledging self-reform – tennis crowds often boast distinct personalities. It is frequently remarked upon during the US and French Opens, but almost never at lesser events. The crowd at the ASB Tennis Centre in Auckland is an excitable one. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary – dead net cord, miss-hit, stray seagull – is guaranteed to elicit an ooh or an ahh. Aces are met with gasps, even when it is John Isner serving. As an Australian, it is easy for me to sound condescending about this, but I don’t mean to. In thrall to the tyranny of geography, New Zealand is pretty starved for top-shelf sport, even in cosmopolitan Auckland. The venue itself is intimate, leafy and atmospheric; the pricey seats at one end are laid out around tables, and there is a constant chink of glassware. ‘A Horse With No Name’ played at one change of ends. The coverage owes a debt to Terry Gilliam.

The stream I watched had no commentary, which is generally no bad thing, though I did vaguely yearn for someone to buttress my belief that David Nalbandian is the worst great tennis player I have ever seen. Given the relative ease with which he was returning Isner’s serve – he should be one of the great returners, but usually isn’t – there was no facet of the game in which Nalbandian should not have been dominant. Yet the scoreline was what it was. Of course, Isner’s efforts to shore up his ground game have been laudable. His forehand is a fearsome weapon. But this is Nalbandian, for god’s sake, who can trade blows with the greats at their greatest. His strokes are so compact, so fluid. His movement is so efficient. It all looks so functional. I am reminded of Mark Twain’s assertion that Wagner’s music is better than it sounds, if only the formulation. David Nalbandian’s tennis is worse than it looks. Still, he won. Tomorrow’s semifinal against Nicolas Almagro should feature, to quote a word-smith not quite on par with Twain, some ‘tremendous ball striking’.

Medibank International, Sydney

Troicki d. Gasquet, 6/4 6/4

The last time I featured Richard Gasquet and Nalbandian in the same post, it was on a day when the Frenchman went down to Viktor Troicki. Now it has happened again. It’s curious how that happens, how the orbiting bodies in the tennis cosmos will occasionally clump together in strange configurations. It is most noticeable when players who have hitherto collided only rarely suddenly run afoul of each other every week. (Last May, Roger Federer hadn’t encountered Alejandro Falla since the 2006 French Open. Then, randomly, there he was three tournaments running. Given that he knew precisely what to expect, it was little wonder Federer looked so complacent on the first morning of Wimbledon.)

This was Troicki’s 100th ATP victory, and his 11th since almost toppling Rafael Nadal in the Tokyo semifinal last October. Since then he has improved his ranking 24 places to No.30 (it will climb higher again after this week), bagged his first title (Moscow) and clinched the deciding rubber in the Davis Cup final. Throughout that period his only losses have been to Federer, Novak Djokovic, and Rainer Schuettler (which we can safely explain away as the not uncommon let-down many suffer upon capturing their first title). The capacity to beat those you should beat is a key way of determining whether your ranking is a correct reflection of your ability, and not merely the result of sporadic inspiration or luck. He isn’t particularly flashy, and he has a weird serve and the eyes of a lunatic, but Troicki deserves to be where he is.

Matches from the Auckland tournament can be downloaded here. As ever, please avoid highlights.

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January 12, 2011

Hardscrabblers

In the course of researching up-and-coming Australian players for an upcoming article, I stumbled across some resources that are too valuable not to pass on immediately.

The first is Challenger Tennis, a website whose mission is the chronicling of men’s tennis at those levels directly below the regular ATP tour. This is achieved with such seemingly effortless class that I could not help but be impressed. I’d wondered if anyone was actually covering this material; now I wonder that someone is doing it so well.

By limiting its scope, the site has freed itself from the obligation to get everything in, which in any case is a foolish obligation to feel. Even with all the resources in the world, a panoramic view inevitably leads to a diffusion of gaze. You just can’t get everything in, and it is a kind of conceit to try. Challenger Tennis is the internet at its best, because it represents the furtherance of human knowledge at its most selfless. Indeed, I am struck by the extent to which it reflects the near-thankless toil of the Challenger and Futures tours themselves. From that perspective, the effort is heroic. That it is done with engaging charm is a bonus, but not an incidental one. A truly literary style is a hard thing to gainsay, even when it is placed at the service of ephemera:

“Throughout the second, Greg saved BP’s with brave net ventures and big serves, sometimes combining them in a little something I like to call serve and volley (I hope that catches on).”

Proof, if more is needed, that it is always better to say things well.

The second link is an intriguing thread from Mens Tennis Forums, making it something of a diamond in a morass. The poster has taken it upon themselves to translate (from Hebrew) the continuing adventures of Amir Weintraub, who as of this writing is Israel’s second highest ranked male player (No.270). Though only the first instalment, it makes for some evocative reading, and provides an important counterpoint to the prevailing view that the life of a tennis pro is all sunshine and dazzling splendour. Of course, those who follow the sport know it to be otherwise, but it is always valuable to hear a human being say it.

It is poignant to juxtapose Roger Federer’s earnest remark following his victory in the Tour Finals (‘I need holidays. Time is money these days.’), with Weintraub’s wry concluding line: ‘. . . what’s money in comparison to the chance to earn a few more ranking points?’ Naturally, the gap between Federer and Israel’s second best tennis player is vast, but these lines suggest it is a chasm. After four days transit to make about $500 in Noumea, all Weintraub has is time, even if, at 24, he can probably already feel it draining away.

Incidentally, Weintraub did make the qualifying cut for the Australian Open, but fell in the first round to Ivan Sergeyev in three tough sets.

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January 10, 2011

Overload

Qatar Open

Any hope that Doha might provide a clear form-guide ahead of the Australian Open was frustrated by Rafael Nadal’s illness. The tribal zealots are of course over-analysing it, which is a kind way of saying they’re incapable of any analysis at all. When you hold a hammer, so the saying goes, all you see are nails. With brains of iron, the outlook is basically the same. Faceless chumps who actively wish bodily harm on their forum-peers presume to condemn a slightly tepid handshake following Nadal’s semifinal loss. Unquestionably he was unwell. The real question will be how profoundly it affects this most meticulously prepared of athletes.

Otherwise, we discovered that Roger Federer is a better player than Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, although the Frenchman is coming back from injury, having severely ruptured whichever ligament enables him to return serve. Federer’s awkward win over boyhood chum Marco Chiudinelli proved that even the great man can be temporarily handicapped by ‘feelings’. We found out that Nikolay Davydenko can overwhelm an ailing Nadal. The way he was connecting – very hard and very early – suggested he might overwhelm a healthy Nadal, but we just can’t know for sure. Nonetheless, it’s fair to say Davydenko was back to his old self, which meant he was no match for Federer in full flight. On this surface, who is? The Swiss now has his 67th career title, and his fourth from the past five tournaments. He certainly has momentum heading to Melbourne, unlike last year when he lost in the Doha semifinals, then blitzed his way to a 16th major.

Brisbane International

There is apparently some debate about whether the Pat Rafter Arena is an indoor or outdoor venue. Insofar as it matters either way, surely this issue can now be put to rest. Indoor arenas tend not to allow the outside in. Pat Rafter Arena kept letting the Queensland monsoon in at the sides, which seems fairly conclusive to me. It also provided Andy Roddick with the excuse to blow his top in the final. Down a set, looking out-muscled, it was almost on cue. The squeamish thing about Roddick’s increasingly predictable dummy-spits is not their severity, nor even their length. It’s their pettiness; the way he quibbles. The latest installment saw him take issue with umpire Fergus Murphy’s technique for testing the slipperiness of the court surface. A worldwide television audience was treated to a lengthy disquisition on the matter. Even Robin Soderling – with as vested an interest as anyone – gave up on it, and buried his head in a towel.

The most important result of the indoor-outdoor debate (as it will be whisperingly dubbed by later generations), was that this is Soderling’s first outdoor title. The rangy Swede is now world No.4, meaning he’ll receive a slightly better draw in Melbourne. The corollary is that Murray at No.5 will have a slightly worse one, as will the poor sod that draws him in the quarterfinals. There’s no telling what will happen. Last year it was Nadal, and his knee exploded.

Lessons learned: Smug entitlement does not a committed Bernard Tomic make. He’s since fought through qualifying in Sydney, and looks ten times more imposing. Fernando Verdasco taught us that a change is not as good as a haircut, especially a goddamn awful haircut. For Radek Stepanek, purple is the new kak.

Hopman Cup

The thing the Hopman Cup does better than any other event is make the players seem like human beings. This is not an inconsiderable achievement, and those involved are rightly proud. As an invitation event it has the luxury of a small draw. Scheduling allows it to welcome the players with a grand New Year’s Eve ball. There’s a pro-am golf thing, and a welter of TV fluff-pieces (treating us to, say, Tommy Robredo knocking up a paella). Amidst all this bonhomie, there is the odd tennis match, though these too evince an infectious joie de vivre, even the men’s singles. Nicolas Mahut saw to that.

The great disappointment was that the hoped for encounter between Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray never materialised. There’s is a rivalry that has never been, two high-quality players whose trajectories are restricted to near-perfect parallel by the greats above them. That might change in Melbourne. The other disappointment, if only for the promoters and idiots, was that the anticipated Isner-Mahut rematch proved rather shorter than their last run-in.

Lesson learned: The only thing that can upstage Bethanie Mattek-Sands in full get-out is Nicolas Mahut in a snug frock. It would be easy to be snide about this – drag isn’t my bag – but it was pulled off with such dead-pan Gallic aplomb that I couldn’t help but be amused.

Chennai Open

Chennai was won by a gradually-improving Stanislas Wawrinka, which tells you something about how he’s bounced back from divorce. In the final he overcame world No.60 Xavier Malisse, whose No.7 seeding tells you plenty about the depth of the Chennai field. Tomas Berdych – the thirtieth best player in the world who is somehow ranked No.6 – was top seed.

In a week with four tournaments running concurrently, it was probably inevitable that one of them would be a dud, and that Chennai would be it. Notwithstanding all the work the ATP is putting into China, it seems obvious that there’s a vital market going untapped in India. The country deserves a higher profile event, one less overshadowed by Qatari petro-dollars or the Hopman Cup love-in.

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January 8, 2011

Tactically Sound

Brisbane International

Soderling d. Stepanek, 6/3 7/5

Whichever media genius came up with the idea of accosting players as they’re heading out on to court has a lot to answer for. The intention, apparently, is to help the viewers identify better with the players. In order for this to happen, the broadcasters have striven mightily to create a situation in which nothing of interest will ever be said, except by accident, and even then only by the woefully under-qualified interviewer. Observe today’s probing effort, as Robin Soderling was about to go out on court for his semifinal with Radek Stepanek: “Now, you’ve been serving extremely well, and haven’t been broken so far this week. Do you plan on using that tactically in your match today?” It’s the kind of fatuity that drinking games are constructed around. The gales of laughter that erupted in our lounge room unfortunately drowned out Soderling’s patiently distracted reply. It is a testament to his softly-spoken professionalism that he didn’t collapse into a mirthful heap himself.

Elite sportspeople are mostly inured to stupidity. The fluff piece aired by Channel 7 directly before the match demonstrated why it’s important that they are. After a cringe-inducing intro – “I haven’t picked up a tennis racquet since high school! Who better to give me some lessons than world No.5 Robin Soderling and his coach?!”  – we were treated to the world No.5 feeding balls (left-handed) to the vivacious reporter, while his coach Claudio Pistolesi quoted da Vinci at her.

Once the semifinal commenced, it wasn’t long before the probing question was answered. Soderling seemed to be tactically deploying that serve of his with startling regularity, about every second game in fact. He essayed various approaches with it, but personally I thought the serves that went in were the best. He clearly thought so, too, and mostly stuck with that. Then Geoff Masters – commentating with John Fitzgerald – went and blew my mind by offering an insightful analysis of Soderling’s serve. Focusing on the Swede’s unusual grip, he demonstrated how it limits the Swede’s capacity to deliver effective sliding serves. His slider doesn’t slide. Graphics proved useful – another first for tennis coverage – proving that Soderling’s deliveries to the right-hander’s forehand lack both curve and placement, and that what effectiveness they boast is due to raw power.

As it happened, raw power was enough to get by Radek Stepanek in a match that only came alive in its final minutes, when the Czech finally broke back as Soderling served for it. He successfully whipped the Queensland crowd into some kind of frenzy – no mean feat in itself – although the effect was rather undone when he was immediately broken again. Having learned from his mistake, Soderling returned to serving tactically (i.e. hard and in), and held to love.

Soderling meets defending champion Andy Roddick in tomorrow’s final. If he wins he’ll move up to No.4. This would relegate Andy Murray to No.5, a brutal quarterfinal prospect for someone in Melbourne.

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