The Next Point

Houston, Final

Murray / Peers d. (1) Bryan / Bryan, 1/6 7/6 12-10

(5) Isner d. (1) Almagro, 6/3 7/5

‘Jamie Murray, by far the less heralded of the Murray brothers, helps upset the most heralded brothers in the sport – the Bryans.’

It is entirely forgivable when lumpen phrases emerge half-formed in the heat of the play – spontaneity trumps sonority – but the delayed timing and measured delivery of this one suggested the commentator had been chiselling away at it for a while. Intoned after the Houston doubles final in that plodding myth-making metre favoured by American sports-callers, such lines grant easy ammunition to those who dismiss English as an ugly language. Certainly it’s a language that doesn’t yield up its music casually. The same phrase in Italian would no doubt sing, and by the time Verdi was through with it, it’d probably make you sing along. But coming from an ambitious yet tone-deaf English-speaker with no sense of cadence, it merely makes you sigh.

Still, I cannot fault its content. Jamie Murray, ably assisted by the even less heralded John Peers, had indeed defeated the resplendent Bryan brothers, recovering from a first set hiding and saving a championship point before triumphing 12-10 in the deciding match tiebreak. Their recovery in the second set tiebreak was particularly stirring, as they came back from 0-3 to win seven consecutive points.

It was certainly the most exciting tennis match I saw this week, although for sheer drama it was narrowly topped by the US Masters play-off at Augusta. Adam Scott – if anything, too heralded – has therefore eclipsed Peers as the Australian sporting story of the week. For his troubles Scott was hustled to an anachronistic log cabin and draped in a spiffy green crested blazer, whereas Peers and Murray were obliged to dive-bomb into a pool. Horses for courses, I suppose.

A day later John Isner was elegantly gliding into that same pool, having defeated Nicolas Almagro in the Houston singles final. It’s one of the nicer rituals at the US Men’s Claycourt Championships: having toiled away for a week on a court that looks like it has been sluiced with used dishwater, the victor is permitted to cleanse and cool his worn body. Although it wasn’t a long final, it had been a warm and sunny day in Houston, and the giant American was cramping such that he hadn’t been able to sit down during the press conference. A sudden plunge into cold water was surely just the thing. It always makes for a slightly awkward moment once the players are actually in the water, with the pool ringed around by tournament staff and media. Should one swim around for a bit? Perhaps crack some jokes? Or just get straight out? Isner got straight out.

Even if he’d wanted to dog-paddle about languorously, there wasn’t time. He and Almagro are even now slumbering miles above the Atlantic Ocean, en route to Monte Carlo. Their heralds have preceded them, trumpets a-blast. Isner belatedly requested a wildcard to the Masters, which was duly awarded. He was roundly criticised for skipping the event last year, with many pointing out that the undoubted glory of being named the US Men’s Claycourt Champion was worth less in the long term than maintaining crucial momentum in Europe. Some felt he might legitimately challenge the best players in Madrid, Rome and Paris, but that by returning to the United States so soon he would achieve little besides distracting himself. In the end Isner lost in the Houston final, pronounced himself exhausted, and didn’t return to Europe until Madrid, where he lost in the first round. His results hardly picked up from there, and by the time he crashed out of Wimbledon no one regarded him as a challenger anywhere. It’s probably a stretch to say skipping Monte Carlo brought about his terrible summer, but this season he’s taking no chances. The Monte Carlo tournament is already under way, and he’ll be compelled to hit the ground at a full loping run. But as he himself said, he might be tired, but he’s also coming in on a five match claycourt winning streak.

Interviewed after the final, Almagro was decidedly less upbeat about his prospects in Europe, and about his form in general. I wonder how much of that reflects disappointing results through the so-called Golden Swing, the part of the season in which he traditionally thrives. The Spaniard certainly wasn’t at his best in Houston; although he’d hardly been pressed after his tough opening match with Gael Monfils, he’d remained peevish and distracted through the week. Even today he appeared beset. (Meanwhile Isner ambled around with typical languor, at one point earning a time violation warning, whereupon he took the unprecedented step of not going bananas at the umpire.)

Almagro commenced impatiently, and grabbed the early lead by breaking in the third game, which is usually enough to guarantee the set against Isner. He made it to 3/1, yet from there lost five straight games, broken twice. The first of these was especially poor, and seemed to galvanise the American. It’s more or less a given that Isner will serve well and move badly, but this was the most assertively he has struck his groundstrokes in some time. The slowness of the surface enabled him gradually to manoeuvre his feet into position, whereupon he’d anchor them and lean into his forehand. Light balls and a hot day didn’t hurt, and nor did an Almagro too content with crosscourt patterns.

Like everyone else, I have no idea why Isner doesn’t play like this all the time, even when he’s short on form, especially because his form-slumps seem to affect his back-up game just as profoundly as his primary one. Even if nothing goes in, the result will be the same either way, and he won’t be tired. Despite being eight-foot-whatever and the boasting the capacity to kick serves into a second storey window, there seems to be a cautious soul trapped somewhere inside Isner. After he defeated Roger Federer in Fribourg last year, following Jim Courier’s insistence that he remain recklessly first-strike at all costs, Isner conceded that he is supposed to play like that all the time. This week he has said several times that he has finally turned a corner. Hopefully that means he’ll go back to playing like he should all the time, all the time.

Almagro was finally broken again in the eleventh game of the second set, in which he heroically saved four match points, before bringing up a fifth with a forehand error, and losing it with another off the backhand. He summarily dispatched a ball over the stands, and watched on with the rest of us as Isner served it out. The American fell down 0-30, but then recalled his fabled ability to smash serves very hard into the corners of the box. This wasn’t quite as impressive as sinking an eight metre putt in a Masters play-off, but it did the trick.

 Miami Masters, Final

(2) Murray d. (3) Ferrer, 2/6 6/4 7/6

Andy Murray has won the Miami Masters 1000 title, in the process claiming his first trophy at this level in about eighteen months, reclaiming the number two spot from Roger Federer, and taking a hacksaw to David Ferrer’s enduring soul.The score tells us only that there was a third-set tiebreaker, which Murray won easily. It emphatically fails to mention that getting there required fifteen breaks of serve, wounded backs, cramped legs and crampier brains, almost five-score unforced errors, high drama and the most ill-advised challenge in the short history of Hawkeye. Murray happened to be the man standing at the end, although they’d both spent some time sprawled on the court earlier.

There’s a view that Ferrer, whatever his ranking, is clearly the fifth best player in the world. It’s an uncontroversial view, and heavily supported statistically and anecdotally. The iconoclast in me would love to say it’s nonetheless wrong, and that I have found irrefutable proof that Fabio Fognini is actually mankind’s great hope. But I can’t – the evidence for Ferrer keeps piling up. Consider this: at the last four Masters level events where only two of the Big Four turned up, Ferrer has reached the final at three of them (Shanghai 2011, Paris 2012, Miami 2013) while at the fourth one he himself didn’t play (Montreal 2012). Then again, he subsequently reached those finals after the higher ranked player was knocked out by someone besides himself: he has never defeated an elite player in a semifinal or a final, at any level. Today he at least came within an inch or two.

Shanghai 2011 is well-worth bringing up, since it marks the only other time Ferrer and Murray have contested a final, and because, over all, this edition of the Miami tournament has closely reproduced the contours of that earlier event. In both cases, as mentioned, only two of the sport’s four best players turned up: here Federer and Rafael Nadal are absent, whereas in Shanghai it was Federer and Novak Djokovic.  In both cases there were a pair of unlikely semifinalists: Richard Gasquet and Tommy Haas this week, Feliciano Lopez and Kei Nishikori in Shanghai. And in both events the top seed fell early to a plucky German (Haas now; Florian Mayer then).

Haas of course fell to Ferrer in the semifinals in Miami, thereby kicking off the theme of the day, which was for the mercurial stylish player to establish an early lead, and then to see it ground inexorably to nothing. Haas is doubtless kicking himself for not holding his nerve better in that semifinal, since he would have fancied his chances against Murray today. Haas winning a Masters event at his age and with his history of injury, knocking off Djokovic en route, would have been the story of the year. Alas, he didn’t, so it is merely the story of the week. He led by a break in the third set, but couldn’t maintain it for long, thereby establishing another fascinating theme, which Murray and Ferrer today developed to its fullest extent, consequently exhausting its possibilities for later generations.

Of the fifteen breaks in today’s final, fully eight of them came in the final set. Most of them were sealed with errors, although a few of these errors at least came quickly, sparing viewers another interminable three-quarter pace rally. Murray’s back, which had seemed tight to open the match, became more of a factor as the third set wore on, especially on his serve. Meanwhile Ferrer was succumbing to cramps, and began scheduling a massage for each change of ends. Robbie Koenig and Jason Goodall, excellent as ever on the world feed, joined Murray in questioning the strict legitimacy of this. Astute fans might recall Stan Wawrinka employing a similar tactic at the Australian Open against Djokovic, although that at least had the benefit of ensuring a superb match wasn’t decided by a fatal cramp. For today’s final to have ended that way might have been a mercy killing.

Murray served for the title at 5/4, but the added tension, unsurprisingly, did not inspire him to elevate his level. He was far too passive, nursing his serve – his vertebra had by now fused – and duffing a couple of makeable passes. He was broken to 30. It was the last break of the afternoon. ‘It’s a different kind of drama to spectacular shotmaking,’ exclaimed Koenig, securing this week’s understatement award. Ferrer then held, availed himself of another leg-rub, and almost won the match.

Much has and will be written about the next game. Murray moved to 40-15, but then lost three points to fall down championship point. Another rally ensued. Murray went after a rare forehand, which Ferrer got back. Ferrer then halted play to challenge, apparently believing the ball had gone long. Hawkeye showed the ball catching the line, Ferrer lost the point, and with it the game and the match. My immediately response was that Ferrer’s reply to Murray’s forehand had been so feeble and short that Murray was probably going to knock off the next ball anyway, and that Ferrer had challenged because why not? Of course, both guys had just spent two and a half hours demonstrating their inability to put anything away, so perhaps there’s no reason to believe Ferrer was entirely out of the point.

Two further moments from earlier in this game should be noted, since they probably had some influence over Ferrer’s split-second decision to yank at his ripcord. Firstly, he’d tried to challenge at 15-15, but was told he’d taken too long, whereupon he and Cedric Mourier altercated briefly. (The television replay showed that Murray’s shot landed flush on the line.) Secondly, at 40-30 Murray went after a forehand to almost precisely the same spot, hit it long, then challenged unsuccessfully (and also bought himself time to change his sweatbands). I do wonder to what extent these points pushed Ferrer to his crucial challenge, and even whether it mattered. Afterwards Ferrer made it clear how much it did matter, precisely by emphatically refusing to talk about it. Murray held.

At this point CBS, the American network holding the rights to the last weekend of the Miami event, cut away to the NCAA basketball. The Miami coverage switched to the Tennis Channel, who were relaying the world feed. This was great news for those who subscribe to the Tennis Channel, but bad news for those who didn’t but remained curious to watch this final play out. Those of us labouring away in the rest of the world were left to wonder again at the weird American obsession with university-level sports. (I’ve had it explained to me, and I still don’t really understand it. I’m not aware of many other countries where such interest occurs. Having represented one of Australia’s largest universities at sport, I can personally attest that no one here cares at all.)

Anyway, in order to ensure this situation doesn’t recur, the Miami Masters final will next year commence earlier in the day. To put it another way, the top tennis players in the world are obliged to play a morning final in order to accommodate a university-level event. I could understand if it was the NBA play-offs. I also understand that tennis is a marginal sport in the States. But given this status, why CBS is interested in the first place? Perhaps they just like to feel involved. After all, they’ve resourcefully fucked up the US Open schedule for years.

Truth be told, those who missed the end didn’t miss much. That botched challenge accomplished something even Ferrer’s near-complete evisceration in the Acapulco final hadn’t – it broke something deep within him. Whether it was physical, mental or spiritual, I won’t speculate, but he mustered no further resistance. He collapsed to the court heavily after the sixth point of the tiebreaker, and two points later looked about as despondent as I ever seen him.

Murray, having romped through the tiebreak 7-1, looked almost apologetic, though not very much and not for long. After all, it’s hardly every day you win a Masters title, and it’s rare indeed to win one playing like that. Praise be for small mercies.

Miami Masters, Quarterfinals

(2) Murray d. (9) Cilic, 6/4 6/3

(8) Gasquet d. (4) Berdych, 6/3 6/3

The fourth and last quarterfinal at the Miami Masters 1000 was, for non-partisan interests, undoubtedly the most anticipated of the lot. Tomas Berdych is ranked number six, and seeded four. Richard Gasquet is ranked ten and seeded eight. Their head-to-head sat at four apiece. It was therefore disappointing that it commenced in a nearly-empty stadium. As primetime night matches go, it wasn’t a compelling advertisement for the sport or for the event.

By the time Gasquet flashed yet another backhand winner up the line to hold for 3/0 in the second set, capping a sequence of seven straight games, the stands had filled encouragingly. But the mood remained subdued, the noise rarely rose above a dull murmur, and the murmur only rose to fitfulness for the dead net-cord winners. All crowds love those. Kiss Cam strove but failed to enliven proceedings; many attending didn’t note the cue to snog their neighbour. This left us with the unusual spectacle of American sports fans appearing on a Jumbotron yet not instantly succumbing to capering lunacy.

Gasquet’s decisive run of games had begun when he trailed 2/3 in the first set, having narrowly eked out a pair of holds to get there. Berdych was holding easily, and his superior power off the ground was exposing Gasquet’s tactical shortcomings: the commentators had already commenced their usual dirge about the Frenchman’s remote court positioning. (In fact the Frenchman was only halfway towards the backboard, which for him qualifies as attack mode.) This tallied nicely with the strong pre-match sentiment that Berdych would win, although no one could say how comfortably he’d manage it. His form had been poor earlier in the week – barely surviving initial rounds against renowned hardcourt giants Daniel Gimeno-Traver and Alejandro Falla – but he seemed to be back nearer his imposing best, having dealt with Sam Querrey for the loss of just two games.  He’d also defeated Gasquet quite comfortably just a fortnight ago in Indian Wells.

That sixth game proved to be Gasquet’s toughest hold yet, as he fended off a pair of break points. Berdych was spraying errors all over the place (except inside the court, obviously), but he was also hitting plenty of winners. The prediction in commentary was unanimous that he would overcome the former habit before the latter, and inevitably surge ahead. Then he was broken, and Gasquet entered that fey state he can only locate once or twice each year, when he anticipates everything, transitions seamlessly, regulates the depth and pace on his forehand properly, and generally can’t miss the court. Berdych continued portioning out errors and winners at a ratio of about two-to-one, was shut out entirely by Gasquet sliding serve to the ad court, and dropped his serve again to lose the set.

He looked numb at the sit-down, eyes unblinkingly intent on his own private horizon. Barry Cowan mentioned that Berdych had been seeing a mental coach, but was at pains to make clear that this wasn’t a sports psychologist. Sadly Cowan added no more, and I was left to ponder precisely what a mental coach is, and whether Berdych’s fixed stare reflected an esoteric focussing technique or merely shell-shock. Perhaps he’d established a telepathic link to his mental coach, although any advice he received over that link turned out not to be especially useful. He was broken again at Gasquet’s earliest convenience, in the second game of the next set. From there the Frenchman’s level never sagged and Berdych never stopped haemorrhaging errors (or indeed hitting winners). He was bellowing out his frustration by the later stages, surely in defiance of accepted mental coaching techniques.

The crowd had swelled to a more substantial level by the time Gasquet finally served it out. Given that a match I’d anticipated being close wasn’t, it could be argued that the crowd knew something I didn’t. In a way, perhaps they did. They knew that the match that truly interested them – the one involving Serena Williams – wasn’t due to start before 9pm local time, and that it was a relatively frigid evening in Miami. Why risk a chill for two guys you’ve barely heard of, even if they are in the top ten? I admit I have not personally verified this with each person there, but it’s a theory. It’s also a shame. Few could quibble at the desire to see the world number one (Williams) thrash the defending champion (Agnieszka Radwanska), but you’d think given the price of the tickets more fans would make the effort to see the earlier match as well, even if it wasn’t as sternly contested as we’d hoped.

Gasquet will face Andy Murray in the semifinals. Murray earlier defeated Marin Cilic, proving so dominant that he was broken twice yet still won easily. The only real interest came in the final games, when Cilic saved a half-dozen match points, but he was already down a set and several breaks by this time, so there was no cause for alarm anywhere but in the Sky Sports studio.

The head-to-head between Murray and Cilic is now 8-1 in the Scot’s favour. That lone upset occurred four years ago at the US Open, and it was predictably this match that was exhumed for our delectation, thereby enabling us to regard today’s encounter as some kind of revenge. In that vein I should point out that Gasquet beat Murray last year in Rome. Notwithstanding that Murray has met and defeated the Frenchman since then, I have no doubt he will once more seek the hot closure of vengeance.

Then again, perhaps it’s Gasquet seeking revenge. If he performs like he did tonight he may well get it. But that ‘if’ has become one of the more fraught qualifications in the sport, and I doubt even his ardent fans place much faith in Gasquet’s consistency any more. In full flight his game is a rare spectacle, and should be enjoyed for what it is. It’s well-worth the price of a ticket.

Andy Murray tomorrow plays his third promising youngster in a row. He’ll face Grigor Dimitrov in a widely anticipated Stadium Court encounter. The last time they met was in the Brisbane final in January (the heat and humidity will thus seem familiar). Yesterday Murray saw off Bernard Tomic quite comfortably. By some coincidence Murray and Tomic met in Brisbane last year. In the first round Murray easily accounted for the eminently defatigable William Bye, yet again. Murray and Bye seem to meet in Brisbane and Miami every year. Their fortunes are tightly wreathed.

William Bye is sometimes called Billy by his closest friends, and always called that by those passionate supporters who believe their searing regard confers a certain intimacy with a famous stranger they will probably never meet. The elusive Billy is especially hard to meet; he rarely grants interviews, and believes only important things should be said on social media, which means he has long since given up on it.

Bye’s country of origin is unknown. He is almost certainly not related to China’s Yan Bai. Occasionally he will be billed as Ukrainian – ‘Bye (UKR)’ – although this is surely incorrect, and merely due to broadcasters lazily assuming that Bye (UNK) is a typo. Mostly his nationality is simply left blank. Some whisper that he was born in international waters, on an abandoned oilrig that for a time saw use as a Megaupload server-farm. He will neither confirm nor deny this. There are rumours that he has been approached by Sweden with an offer of citizenship. By accepting this offer he would instantly become Sweden’s highest ranked player, and guarantee himself a spot on the Davis Cup squad. So far the Swede’s overtures have been rebuffed. Just because Bye hails from nowhere doesn’t mean he forgets where he’s from, or the rich tradition he incarnates.

While Bye himself is relatively new to the tour, he is the latest representative of a venerable lineage of also-rans, and his family’s near-exploits have fascinated writers for centuries. Ever one to champion the little guy, the Byes even tempted Shakespeare into occasional excursions into sports writing. This is presumably what Keats was referring to when he reflected on the unnecessarily high quality of Shakespeare’s ‘By-writing’.

The ‘e’, incidentally, was only added to the end of the family name late in the nineteenth century. This was the era of the Byes’ greatest triumphs, which predictably came on Wimbledon’s blessed turf. William Bye would regularly reach the semifinals at The Championships in those years, but could never quite manage to win through to the final, entirely due to the grace, power and skill of his perennial opponent William Renshaw. Billy and Willy would set the place alight – in those days the Centre Court turf was more flammable, but it was always Renshaw who wore the fancy asbestos pants.

Many of his devoted fans will remember the current Bye’s titanic tussle with Murray at Crandon Park two years ago. The Scot scraped through that match, but had little left in his tank for the subsequent round, falling to Alex Bogomolov Jr. This was admittedly Murray at his most vulnerable, in those years when his complicated post-Melbourne strategy involved losing every match until April. It was a missed opportunity for young Bye.

It was only last year that Murray broke out of this pattern. Having fallen early in Indian Wells to Guillermo Garcia-Lopez, Murray went on to reach the final of Miami a few weeks later, heavily assisted by a series of walkovers en route. These included Rafael Nadal in the semifinals, Milos Raonic in the third round, and of course Bye in the opening match. It was good news for Murray – essentially setting his feet on a path to Olympic and Grand Slam glory – but bad news for Bye. Still injured, he once again fell early in Monte Carlo, this time to Nadal. He just can’t catch a break.

Really, young Bye does suffer the most appalling fortune in such matters. Despite consistently reaching the main draw at Masters level, especially in America, he never fails to draw a seeded player in the first round. It really is rotten luck, and highlights the insidious Catch-22 beneath which the up-and-coming players must labour. In order to avoid seeds in the early rounds you need to be seeded yourself, which means a higher ranking, but in order to attain a higher ranking you need to win matches, which you can’t, because you’re always facing seeds early on.

Ryan Harrison is in something of a similar situation, and I think it would be mutually beneficial for these two to compare notes. Indeed, I wonder what would happen if they were to meet on court. Given Bye’s superior experience, I’d give him the edge. Plus Harrison has proven his capacity to lose to anyone for no reason, even if they come from nowhere.

Bye has yet to reach the main draw at a Major, but one suspects it’s only a matter of time. Given that the USTA is not shy of innovation, I predict his breakthrough will come at the US Open. Look for Bye to contest the first round in New York within a decade. In the meantime, his urgent task is to push further into the main draws at the Masters and smaller events. I think this a realistic goal. I believe we’ll see Bye in the second round at Masters level before too long. After all, if the intention of inviting Bye to contest the first round is to ease the top seeds’ passage through the draw, why stop there?

Update: I’ve been informed that Bye is already widely celebrated. His past exploits are celebrated here.

And thanks to Cindy, Bye’s official player profile is here. What have I wandered into?

Indian Wells, Quarterfinals

(1) Djokovic d. (8) Tsonga, 6/3 6/1

(7) del Potro d. (3) Murray, 6/7 6/3 6/1

Idle hopes that the second pair of Indian Wells quarterfinals would prove more interesting than the first grew forlorn after today’s first match, although I suppose this depends on one’s definition of ‘interesting’. If you’re fascinated by groups of highly partisan tennis fans losing their minds on social media, then last night’s disappointing encounter between Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer had it all. (I’m not particularly interested in that, although I will register dull wonder at how incensed some people become at the differing opinions of others around trivial matters.) Fans of public executions no doubt appreciated Novak Djokovic’s flawless fifty-four minute thrashing of Jo-Wilfried Tsonga.

Sky Sports was my provider of choice for today’s matches, partly because their streams are of reasonable quality, but mostly due to Andy Murray’s presence on the order of play. My firm belief is that the spectacle of professional tennis is only heightened when it is accompanied by a deranged cheer-squad.

I don’t mean to suggest that Sky does nothing but cheer for Murray. After all, sometimes they’re obliged to show matches that don’t involve him. They’re careful to bring in a non-British commentator for these encounters, to lend the affair a suitably cosmopolitan feel. Peter Fleming had come all the way from America. Absolved of the need to be partisan, he could merely be inscrutable: ‘I don’t think Tsonga has done enough to throw caution to the wind. He’s just been a little reticent to throw everything at the wall.’ It was a hard point to argue with, at least until I’d deciphered it. I think it meant that Tsonga was too reluctant to be reckless. He needed to be more reckless about being reckless. Or perhaps he needed to be more reckless about that. It didn’t help that even as Fleming spoke Tsonga was ploughing a sequence of insufficiently reckless forehands into the lower half of the net. When your safe game is producing extravagant errors, there’s no reason to believe greater abandon is the key. Still, perhaps it was a question of intent.

Cutaway shots of Tsonga’s coach Roger Rasheed gave little away. I imagine he was preoccupied with the effort of distilling this debacle into a psychotically positive message. If anyone is going to manage it, he’s the man. (It’s a quality he shares with North Korea’s military regime.) You can always tell with him – it’s in his chewing. Today he clearly had his special tweeting gum in. His eyes remained hidden behind sunglasses, but I like to believe they were closed, enabling perfect stillness while he composed the perfect hashtag.

Fleming was the only one among Sky’s assembled luminaries who had much to say about the match at all. Marcus Buckland, who apparently lives in the Sky studio, didn’t bother with the link man’s usual job, which is to sustain interest even when the match turns out to be a dud: ‘Totally predictable so far,’ he remarked after the first set. He asked Mark Petchey if he thought it was totally predictable. Petch concurred that it was totally predictable. They were totally killing time until Andy Murray took the court. This wasn’t due to occur for another hour and a half, but they knew they could fill the gap with replays of the Scot’s past triumphs.

Djokovic thereafter grew only more magnificent, and finished with the astonishing ratio of twenty-one winners to just six errors. Sky was contractually obligated to provide some kind of post-match analysis, and hastily arrived at the conclusion that the result had hinged on Tsonga’s tactical shortcomings. Admittedly these are legion, but I’m not convinced they were decisive today. When the better tennis player plays as well as he can, he invariably wins, and right now Djokovic is unquestionably the best tennis player in the world. Tsonga could have channelled the enmeshed spirits of Napoleon and Hannibal, and he might have made it closer. But he would have done better to hit more of his forehands in, especially the reckless ones.

Having disposed of all this unpleasantness, Sky brought us some more in the form of Carlos Berlocq’s apparently notorious grunt. This was a clear improvement from their point of view, since it permitted them to express righteous outrage. Surprisingly their feelings on this tedious matter aligned perfectly with Murray’s, which was that the Argentine’s grunt is excessive. This ate up a bad ten minutes, and left enough time for an extended highlights package from the final of the 2009 Cincinnati Masters, between Murray and Juan Martin del Potro. Apparently the ideal way to prepare for an extended hardcourt tussle between two guys is by watching the same two guys on a different hardcourt several years earlier.

Eventually this gave way to live tennis, expertly narrated by Andrew Castle and Barry Cowan. By 3/3 in the first set Castle declared this to be the best of the Indian Wells quarterfinals, and you didn’t need to be British to agree. I seem to be in a minority of tennis fans in that I quite enjoy Castle’s work. His delivery is fine, he’s sufficiently opinionated and won’t let idle idiocy from his booth-mate pass by without interrogation, and his flights of fancy are generally well calculated.

For better or worse, I can hardly recall the titanic climax of the 2008 Wimbledon Final’s fourth set tiebreaker, as Nadal then Federer produced outrageous shots to gain then save championship point, without hearing Castle’s response: ‘The two best passing shots of the tournament – without doubt ­­- have just taken place on the last two points. It’s eight-all. What’s next?’ He started out solidly today, easily talking rings around Cowan, although his equanimity sagged as del Potro gained a break in the second set, and displayed no interest in giving it back: ‘He’s not choking; he’s not getting uptight! Why not?!’ Though probably intended ironically, it sounded a trifle petulant. Cowan, who’d astutely backed the Argentine, offered no answer.

It was the first time Murray and del Potro had faced each other since the end of 2009, and this is the first tournament the Scot has played since the Australian Open. Nevertheless, the belief was fairly widespread that he’d win. This belief seemed justified as he claimed a densely-textured first set, winning the key points by targeting del Potro’s backhand. The Argentine was unusually reluctant to bring his mighty forehand into play. This changed in the second set, and he started to venture forward more. Indeed they both did, although back in the Sky studio they made it clear that only their man had any business up there. Petchey later delivered the entirely backhanded compliment that del Potro ‘volleys well when he can get his racquet on the ball’. He got his racquet on enough. By the third set still hadn’t faced a break point, owing mostly to prowess off the ground, since his serve numbers were hardly stellar.

Murray finally achieved a couple of break points early in the third, but didn’t appear to realise how valuable they were, leaving them untended, whereupon a gleeful del Potro snatched them back. Murray was broken in the following game, and it was hard to say it wasn’t a mental let down, and that he hadn’t been distracted by the missed opportunity, a feather on the soul. Murray was broken again to close the match, sealing it with a double fault. It was still the best of the quarterfinals, but for a match that had started out so strongly, it was strange for the way it just melted into air. The issue was probably match-play, which Murray sorely lacks, and del Potro’s forehand, which grew almost uncounterable as the match wore down. ‘He has a big game,’ remarked Murray in his press conference, ‘and when he strings it together he’s a top, top player.’

‘Probably not the result we were all looking for,’ admitted Buckland back in the studio. The Sky coverage presumably wasn’t going to Argentina.

During the final set, querulous messages appeared from several senior British journalists on Twitter. Firstly David Law remarked that: ‘Following Twitter during big televised matches I’m learning commentators can’t say anything right.’ Richard Evans responded: ‘Commentators are such easy targets for people who have never done the job.’ I have no idea whose comments they were responding to (certainly not mine), but I’ll still make some general points, since it has a bearing on the theme of today’s post, which is nationalism in commentary.

Firstly, it’s worth pointing out that social media, and Twitter in particular, entertains a very heavy selection bias in this respect (and in all respects, which is why it is so questionable as a metric for measuring popularity, let alone value). The nature of the medium is such that you are far more likely to hear about bad commentary than good. Ninety-five per cent of commentary is at worst unremarkable, but it is the remaining five per cent that will be aggregated onto your timeline. People are more likely to praise a commentator or coverage overall, but will only very rarely relay a specific moment of commentary they liked.

To an extent this perception is compounded because most of the people who are likely to be commenting on Twitter during a professional tennis match probably have little need for commentary anyway. They would certainly miss it if it wasn’t there, since it has become part of the furniture of sports coverage, but it provides little informational value for those who know the game well. Tennis isn’t that complicated, and there is usually broad agreement about what is going on most of the time. The knowledgeable often only notice commentary when it’s missing, or when the commentators are wrong or biased. Indeed, this is the reason why I seek it out.

Secondly, just because most people have never or will never commentate doesn’t disqualify them from having an opinion. If that were the case then bad commentary would drift almost beyond reproach. Especially in an age of specialisation, the contention that you shouldn’t criticise someone because you couldn’t do their job better is specious. Thirdly, the validity of criticism is not predicated on how easy or hard it was to make. Yes, it is indeed easy to criticise.

I am not accusing Sky Sports of patriotic bias towards Murray. Surely the matter is beyond question, and I cannot imagine their coverage is intended to sound any other way. They know their market, and their market is British. They are currently running a poll in which viewers are invited to name the male tennis player they miss most. Tim Henman is the clear number one (although I’m deeply impressed to see that Fabrice Santoro is at number six). Indeed, I imagine that any effort towards greater neutrality would be looked on unkindly by management. I’m not suggesting it is even especially cynical – although it might be – merely that those speaking on air are permitted the ful  range of their pleasure or disappointment when the local hope triumphs or loses. Like it or not, such policies are unlikely to change.

I don’t particularly like it, and I will go on poking fun.

Australian Open, Final

(1) Djokovic d. (3) Murray, 6/7 7/6 6/3 6/2

Novak Djokovic defeated Andy Murray in the last match of the 2013 Australian Open, historically the match a fellow must win in order to be proclaimed champion. Given fertile soil, the certainty quickly sprouted that Murray, now 1-5 in Major finals, is therefore a one-Slam wonder. This has coiled about the sturdy belief that Roger Federer has grown too ancient to threaten for titles, and through the florid concern that Rafael Nadal’s knees have done him in. Neatly skirting this thicket of doubt and fear is the certainly that Djokovic will go on winning all the Majors in perpetuity.

The most notable take-down of Murray appeared in the New York Times, which leads with the rather provocative headline: Andy Murray Risks Becoming One-Hit Wonder. The author is unnamed, although the address suggests it is by John Leicester. (The prose itself suggests that Mr Leicester has never been taught to parse a sentence: “But he couldn’t reel in the Serb, who now has six major titles and the top of men’s tennis to himself with age slowly blunting Roger Federer’s abilities and Rafael Nadal’s future clouded by creaky knees.”

Metaphorically, there’s a lot going on in this sentence, although I don’t mean to imply that the constituent parts are acting in concert. If they are, it is the same harmony of purpose achieved by buckshot pellets as they exit a shotgun barrel, which is to say the grievous wounding of anyone caught in the path. We begin with a fishing analogy (‘reel in’) and somehow arrive at a rare atmospheric condition (‘clouded by creaky knees’). It’s a shotgun blast to the mind. But I digress.)

History was against Murray, although in the scheme of history that probably mattered less than the fact that Djokovic was against him as well. History was embodied in the statistic that no man had ever backed up his maiden Major title by winning the next one. Indeed, Murray had already dealt history a body-blow by becoming the first man to reach his next Major final. This was already a laudable achievement. I’m not entirely sure why some are determined that he should feel ashamed by it.

The first time I heard the term ‘one-Slam wonder’ was when John McEnroe applied it dismissively to Pat Rafter before the Australian won his second US Open, although it may have been coined well before that. Lest you hadn’t realised, this is not an accolade players aspire towards. It is occasionally applied by champions who’ve demonstrated their mastery repeatedly, and often by fans who’ve never won anything. The term is entirely pejorative, imputing the sense of a fluke. After all, a player can get hot for a few weeks, and enjoy some lucky breaks. Dubbing Murray a one-Slam wonder thus groups him with, say, Gaston Gaudio, who aside from winning Roland Garros in 2004 never ventured past the fourth round at a Major in his entire career. That one-Slam wonderment is preferable to no-Slam oblivion should be self-evident, and to Andrei Medvedev and Marcello Rios it probably is. I fear this obvious point is lost too easily.

I doubt whether, in the final reckoning, Murray’s Major tally will approach double figures. I fear he has left his tilt at immortality too late, although I can’t deny that anything can happen. But it does beg the question of how many titles he will end up with (which is unanswerable) and, more pertinently, how many he needs before he stops being prematurely consigned to history’s dustbin. One more and his tally will equal Lleyton Hewitt’s. Two more and he joins Gustavo Kuerten, recently inducted into the Tennis Hall of Fame. Three more and he pulls level with Jim Courier. How many is enough? Perhaps enough is enough.

Wherever Murray ends up, he’ll get there quicker if he stops running into Djokovic, although based on last night it’s hard to see how that is possible. The question of how many Majors Djokovic will finish with is easier to calculate. Given Murray’s alleged hopelessness, Federer’s blunted antiquity and Nadal’s deafening knee-fog, we can simply multiply the remaining years of the Serb’s career by four, and add to that figure the six he already holds. After all, no one else will ever win one.  Assuming Djokovic will remain active for another decade, we can therefore project an eventual haul of forty-six. That seems about right. He’ll become the first man to win thirteen Australian Opens in a row.

I’m not serious, but then the issue isn’t so serious that it merits a less frivolous response. I suspect both Djokovic and Murray have more important things on their minds than their ultimate places in tennis history, and to worry overly on their behalf is a kind of conceit. There’s such a thing as a sense of perspective.

Exceptional in this sense, as in so many others, are the British tabloids. Perspective is the one conceit they’re unwilling to countenance. Typically understated, the Daily Mail remarks that: ‘It took a player of extraordinary resilience to drag Djokovic to three hours and 40 minutes of tennis in Melbourne, and Murray is still the only player in the world who could have done it.’ Certainly Federer – ‘technically No.2’, according to the article – couldn’t have done it. There’s no mention of Stan Wawrinka, or of last year’s final, which by the three hour forty minute stage  was still locked at two-all in the first set.

The tone of hagiographic mania is maintained across most of the British rags, and a clear pattern emerges. Djokovic is continually elevated to godhood so that Murray’s capacity to stay with him might be recast as an audacious assault on heaven itself. The difficulties weren’t merely technical, but physical, too. Djokovic scourges opponents: ‘Playing Djokovic equates to physical, raw discomfort. He attacks your skin as much as your second serve.’ He commands the beasts and birds, or at any rate their feathers. Murray was certainly up against it, especially when we recall that the tournament itself had conspired against his victory.

Murray’s specific and heartfelt endorsement of Craig Tiley in his speech – ‘He gets it!’ – was strangely inconsistent with the Daily Mail’s revelation last week that the Scot was ‘furious’ with the tournament director, not to say the uncounted Daily Mail readers who insisted that Tiley personally had it in for the Brit. It was made abundantly clear that this was in keeping with a fatal deficiency in the grubbing Australian character, notwithstanding that Tiley is South African.

The truth, as usual, is more mundane. Djokovic is a superb tennis player, one of the finest who has ever lived. Murray is also an excellent tennis player. Indeed, he is almost as good as Djokovic. However, two nights earlier he played a four-hour, five-set semifinal against a man whom age hasn’t wearied quite as seriously as has been advertised. (Courier correctly remarked towards the end of last night’s final that ‘Roger Federer’s fingerprints are all over this match.’) One imagines Murray’s feet were already in reasonably bad shape. Then again, Djokovic might well have won anyway, eventually.

Djokovic was far from god-like through the first set and a bit. He looked completely mortal. However, those insisting Murray blew the match by not breaking at the start of the second set would do well to recall that his opponent had already blown a handful of break opportunities in the first. Why Djokovic came out so flat is a nice question. It could be that his semifinal victory was too easy, leaving him underprepared. Conversely it could be almost anything else. It really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he recovered and rediscovered how to win in time. Contrary to the narrative of Djokovic’s infallibility, he didn’t have to recover. It wasn’t fate. That’s what made it heroic.

It also doesn’t much matter whether Murray’s loss is treated as the latest shameful failure of a one-Slam wonder, or as the doomed endeavour of a mortal storming the firmament. What matters, ultimately, is what he does from here. He probably will win more Majors, although it’s not impossible that he won’t. Djokovic certainly will. Unless he doesn’t, in which case he’ll forever remain a six-Slam wonder.

My full match recap can be found here.

Australian Open, Semifinal

(3) Murray d. (2) Federer, 6/4 6/7 6/3 6/7 6/2

Thirteen hours have passed since a superb Andy Murray won the second men’s semifinal at the Australian Open, which it turns out is more than enough time for those so inclined to wax eulogistic on the declining career of the vanquished Roger Federer. Depending on one’s proclivities, these pieces cover the emotional range from gleeful to threnodic, and utilise a broad range of media: there are verse epics, literate blogs, illiterate journalism, interpretive dance, limericks, mime, sound sculptures, tapestries and at least two light operas. Sir Elton John has rearranged Candle in the Wind, yet again. Whatever their mood, and whatever their format, these works are united in their belief that the king, finally and incontrovertibly, is dead. By my count, this is the one hundred and sixteenth time this has occurred.

Charting and announcing Federer’s demise is something of a cottage industry within tennis journalism (which itself occupies a decidedly minor niche within the wider world of letters). Apparently there’s bonus renown for those who proclaim the exact moment. To those who follow tennis, it’s all bit dull. Those who don’t follow the sport are probably just confused, or, worse, misled.

In my experience, those whose interest in tennis remains shapeless vague are as surprised by Federer’s losses as they are by the news that he is no longer ranked No.1. In the minds of those who believe there are only four tournaments played each year, Federer’s ongoing supremacy is an almost immutable law. (I hold nothing against such people; indeed many of those related to me by blood fall into this category.) The Australian Open tends to galvanise the local population into delusions of expertise, and I’ve had to weather any number of knowing predictions from those unaware that this tournament does not constitute a quarter of the sport’s totality. The predictions, predictably, were that Federer would wipe the floor with this dour Scottish upstart. (I quickly gave up on trying to explain that Murray is a really excellent tennis player, and a rather nice guy away from the court. It was a waste of breath.)

Those of us who watch a lot of tennis of course know better. We know that Murray has posed special problems for the Swiss almost since the beginning. In 2006, as a teenager, the Scot was the only person besides Rafael Nadal to defeat Federer in his greatest season. By 2009, Murray had driven the head-to-head to 6-2 in his favour. Coming into last night’s tussle, this had narrowed to 10-9 for Murray. Those who watch a lot of tennis had undoubtedly seen plenty of those matches, although I’d hazard that this provided little assistance in predicting who would win. Recent results hardly favoured one man over the other. Federer had won their last match in straight sets, at the tour finals. Murray had done the same in Shanghai. They’d split finals at Wimbledon during the English summer. Perhaps most tellingly, Murray had never beaten Federer at a Major. Yet the betting market favoured Murray.

Initially, the match looked like reprising the Shanghai semifinal from last October. Murray’s defence was impeccable, and Federer could find few free points. At one point in the first set Murray had returned 23 of 24 serves. When Murray claimed the first set 6/4, there was a sense that the whole thing wouldn’t take too long. The scribes, composers, weavers and sculptors prepared their various implements. When Federer snuck out the second set in a tiebreak, as Murray’s forehand momentarily collapsed, the frame of reference abruptly shifted. Suddenly we were heading for last year’s Wimbledon final, in which Federer had stolen the break late in the second set, then gambolled away with the title.

But then Murray broke to open the third set, and rode it to the end, his serve untouchable. Nothing like this had ever happened in their previous nineteen matches (particularly since most of them were best-of-three), and so I felt obliged to widen the frame of reference. There was a touch of the 2009 Australian Open final about it, in which Federer and Nadal had traded tight and desperate sets for hours. It seemed to fit especially well when Federer broke early in the fourth. Frustratingly, this convenient interpretation ran into issues when Murray broke straight back, then soon broke again, and stepped up to serve for the match. Pens, chisels and looms were poised. Then, somehow, Federer broke back, forcing another tiebreak. Although the path to get there was different, the appropriate comparison was to the 2008 Wimbledon final, in which Federer narrowly averted defeat to force a fifth set. Channel 7’s patented decibel meter informed us that fully 120 decibels were in attendance, although they provided no advice on what should be done with such information, nor a frame of reference to show us what it meant. (I presume that’s a lot of decibels? But was it enough, or too many?)

Federer and Murray had never played a five sets against each other, while Federer, who’d gone the distance with Jo-Wilfried Tsonga in the quarterfinals, had never before contested consecutive five set matches. They were thus in new territory, although when Murray broke decisively at 2/2, the landscape once more felt familiar. It was again the 2009 Australian Open, in which Nadal had darted away with the fifth set as Federer unaccountably faded down the back straight. As Murray broke again to seal victory on his second match point, the score was even correct: 6/2. Indeed, even the final shot – a Federer forehand driven a foot over the baseline – was the same, although that was also the shot that concluded the 2011 French Open final. Wearily, I reflected that watching a lot of tennis matches can sometimes feel like a burden rather than a help. There’s a great deal to be said for going in fresh. To those who know little, it was just a tennis match. I’m not sure who enjoyed it more.

Murray’s celebration was muted, and the handshake was respectful. There had been moments of confrontation between the two men throughout the match, although as Murray later implied, only in tennis would such interactions even merit a mention. (Both players, at various moments, even used the word ‘fuck’. However, extensive research shows that many other men – and even women – use this word in other situations all the time.) On the other hand, the minor outbursts slotted nicely into the general discourse of Federer’s decline: he has grown ragged and ornery in his dotage. Suddenly the reference wasn’t to tennis at all, but to King Lear. It often is when kings die. But perhaps Macbeth is a better fit.

There is, as it happens, an alternative interpretation, although even to utter it is to invite disapproval, or at any rate befuddlement: it was actually just a tennis match, and it signified little, if not nothing. It was a great tennis match, although the perfunctory way the fifth set unfolded precludes its elevation to a classic. Last year Federer lost in the semifinals in four sets, before going on to have his best season in years. This year he lost in five sets.

Meanwhile Murray won in five sets, defeating Federer for the first time at Grand Slam level, and displaying commendable fortitude to ignore the upwelling of regret that must have accompanied his failure to close out the match in four. Those two tiebreaks notwithstanding, I thought Murray was magnificent, and deserved this stirring win. There was no shame in losing to him, and Federer afterwards didn’t seem particularly crushed, reiterating several times that he’d been beaten fair square, and remarking on how excited he was for the upcoming season. He certainly didn’t sound in decline, although the argument could be made that if he was, he’d be the last to know, or that even if he did know, he wouldn’t let on.

Indeed, such arguments have been made. Perhaps the end is nigh. It will have to come at some point, and even tales told by idiots must come true eventually, when they foretell the death of kings.

Australian Open, Quarterfinals

 (1) Djokovic d. (5) Berdych, 6/1 4/6 6/1 6/2

(2) Federer d. (7) Tsonga, 7/6 4/6 7/6 3/6 6/3

(3) Murray d. Chardy, 6/4 6/1 6/2

(4) Ferrer d. (10) Almagro, 4/6 4/6 7/5 7/6 6/2

Four men’s quarterfinals have been contested in the last two days. The upshot is that we now know who the four semifinalists will be. Fuzzy likelihood has sharpened into weary certainty. I doubt whether many are surprised that the semifinals will be contested by the top four seeds, who are at present the top four ranked players in the world.What might surprise you more is that this configuration is exceedingly rare in the Open Era. It hasn’t occurred at the Australian Open since 2012.

Rare or not, it certainly seems to happen a lot these days – relatively speaking I suppose it does – which can mean it feels inevitable. But given the extravagant lengths three of the men went to in order to progress, we shouldn’t assume that anyone’s presence in the last four was guaranteed, excepting perhaps Murray. It’s rather like watching someone navigate an exceptionally long tightrope. The longer they stay on, the more you may be lulled into believing it isn’t all that difficult, when in fact it only becomes harder. The top four seeds are through, but they certainly didn’t have to be.

Of the quarterfinals, two staggered in laden with baggage, and the other two didn’t. The two that did turned out to be perfunctory affairs, while the others were dramatic five-setters, although the shape of the drama was radically different for both.

The gossip before Andy Murray’s match was that his camp was furious that he hadn’t yet been granted a night session on Rod Laver Arena. Today’s match amply demonstrated why. It barely deserved a crowd. My prediction before the tournament began was that the Scot would face the most formidable quarterfinal opponent in Juan Martin del Potro; in fact I boldly asserted across several websites that the Argentine would win their match. Somehow I didn’t predict that he’d fall to Jeremy Chardy in the third round. I’m sorry about that. That’s my fault.

The quarterfinal is easily recapped: Chardy belted humongous and lavishly-prepared forehands, sliced a lot of backhands, and was completely outclassed. Murray wasn’t spectacular, but I don’t mean this as a criticism. A spectacle was hardly uncalled-for, and would have felt gratuitous, if not a waste of energy in the allegedly crippling Melbourne heat. He did what a true champion does, per Niki Lauda, which is to win going as slowly as he feasibly could. It was still fast enough to deliver a comfortable win. Now he’ll get that treasured night session.

Nicolas Almagro’s loss is an easy one to be ungenerous about, due both to the strained particularities of its unfolding, and because the capacity to deride extravagant choking has already been honed to a fine point by Sam Stosur. When it comes to poking fun, I’m in practice. The comprehensiveness with which Almagro failed repeatedly to close out victory could have only been rendered more excruciating had he actually held a match point. But he never did.

Almagro served for a spot in his first Major semifinal no fewer than three times in the first four sets. But he lost it in five, to his compatriot David Ferrer. Astute fans will recall last year’s Davis Cup final, and that Almagro lost the deciding fifth rubber, while Ferrer, whose heroics had so far kept Spain alive, watched on helplessly. I’d assumed that was the lowest moment of Almagro’s career, especially afterwards as he sat alone and for too long none of his teammates sought to console him. If Ferrer was that kind of guy, today would have constituted some kind of revenge. For the record, I don’t think he is that kind of guy, and I doubt whether it crossed either man’s mind at the end. But it crossed mine, if only as a reminder that two of the lowest moments of Almagro’s career have occurred in rapid succession, and that a tumble into the crevasse was prefigured by a glimpse of the heights.

In fact, I’m not quite sure what did cross Almagro’s mind. Afterwards he appeared too little chagrined by his fall, seemingly subscribing to the view that what’s past is past. Naturally there were plenty of positive aspects to his performance. He did, after all, lead the world No.4 by two sets and a break, and recovered well from the disappointment of losing the third set. But the careening flair that repeatedly brought him to the precipice of victory entirely stalled when he needed it most, and instead of leaping desperately he tried to edge his way forward. It behooves him to think on why this might be so. Anyway, Ferrer is through to another Australian Open semifinal, to face Novak Djokovic.

Based on the on-court interview conducted immediately after the second quarterfinal, and the presser staged slightly later still, the main item of interest in Novak Djokovic’s match was how he’d recovered from his titanic struggle with Stan Wawrinka two nights earlier. ‘Very well’ was the obvious answer, but the assembled press clearly wanted more, and wouldn’t be satisfied until they got it. It wasn’t enough to know that he’d partaken of ice baths. They had to know how many, and precisely who was present (turns out it was Lleyton Hewitt at least once).

There was, sadly, little to speak of about the match itself. Aside from some stiffer resistance from Tomas Berdych in the second set, there wasn’t much to differentiate this encounter from the one between the same men at the same stage of the same event two years ago. That previous match was so unmemorable that I can barely remember it, for all that I spent its duration seated cheek-by-jowl with the Berdych Army. For those who’ve forgotten, the Berdych Army was an allegedly lovable coterie of larrikins whose entire act consisted of painting the letters of the Czech player’s name on their torsos, and yodelling shoddily arranged pop medleys in ragged unison. I can remember the incessant chanting – on television they term it ‘atmosphere’ – but little of the actual match beyond the score, which as I think had a six in it.

What had seemed clear that night, and has since come to define what we may generously term their ‘rivalry’ is that Berdych’s defensive capabilities are limited, while Djokovic’s are not. Furthermore, although Berdych’s firepower is immense, his arsenal is relatively small. For example, his mighty forehand is considerably mightier when directed cross-court than up the line, and his ability to create angles is questionable. His second serve neither kicks nor bites, and slots neatly into the returner’s strike zone. Djokovic’s defensive skills are already unworldly anyway, but he reads Berdych’s game so well that he remains impregnable even when earthbound. In other words, the top seed’s B-game is generally good enough to deal with Berdych’s best, and last night the Serb brought his A-game, which meant that as well as defending desperately he was pummelling his opponent without mercy. As in Shanghai, when Berdych confessed he simply could find no way through Djokovic, it felt like a mismatch at a fundamental mechanical level.

Jo Wilfried Tsonga, on the other hand, is more creative than Berdych on attack, and, being a superior athlete, also defends with considerable virtuosity. I am inclined to agree with Jim Courier, who repeatedly stressed that Tsonga is the only player around his ranking who combines these attributes. This isn’t to say he lacks shortcomings. His middling results over the last year or so aren’t entirely contingent upon bad luck (he is 1-16 against top ten opponents since the start of last season), and nor was his loss tonight, for all that he was the superior player for large parts of the match.

For longer stretches than I would have believed possible Tsonga reprised his performance in the 2011 Wimbledon semifinal, when he recovered to inflict Roger Federer’s first ever defeat from two sets up at a Major. As he had that day, Tsonga’s considerable presence tonight caused his half of the court to shrink alarmingly. There were times when Federer could find no avenue of attack that wasn’t already blocked off, usually by artillery. Meanwhile Tsonga was lethal whenever he could get his feet set, off both forehand and backhand, while his returns – generally the weakest part of his game – landed not only miraculously in, but searchingly deep. Federer admittedly did not serve well, both by percentage and placement, and ended up with few aces, especially compared to his opponent.

Federer was compelled to fight, and to take what few chances he could get. Even then the chances were often yielded back. Several times in the first four sets his grip on service breaks proved rather too relaxed, especially in the face of a fearless and bold opponent. The second seed held four match points on Tsonga’s serve at 2/5 in the fifth, but failed to take any. The sighs of Federer’s legion fans could be heard across the globe, a vast pained exhalation that accelerated the melting of Greenland’s permafrost. Normally so secure in closing out victory, the prospect of Federer serving out the match seemed like the diciest enterprise since, well, Almagro the day before. It had just been that kind of night. From anywhere, at any point, Tsonga remained dangerous until the very end.

As it happened Federer did serve it out, and interviewed by Courier immediately afterwards was even more ebullient than usual, undoubtedly owing to a profound upwelling of relief. He’d known, as we all had, that this match hadn’t been over until the last overhead landed in and Jake Garner finally called it. He moves through to his tenth consecutive Australian Open semifinal, where he will play Murray for the fourth time at a Major, but for the first time before the final.

Australian Open, Day 10

The story has emerged, or coagulated, that Andy Murray and his support team are dissatisfied with the Australian Open’s decision to schedule his quarterfinal against Jeremy Chardy for this afternoon, while Roger Federer was once again granted the night match. The story was broken, not to say invented, by The Daily Mail, and predictably fails to transcend the subterranean standards for which that publication is renowned. (The comments at the end are particularly revealing, assuming one has the fortitude to wade into the minds of those who derive their news from a tabloid, apparently with the sole aim of being whipped into gleeful outrage. The common themes are that Australians hate the British, Federer is a complete bastard, and that no one has it harder than poor Murray. These themes are diligently adhered to throughout, with only very minor variations, and occasionally combine into fugal delirium.)

Of course, inciting umbrage in the readership is hardly beside the point. That’s the mission of tabloid journalism, and I don’t mean to suggest that local Australian versions are any nobler than their English counterparts. Indeed, The Herald Sun this morning produced this gem: Andy Murray’s camp fumes as Australian Open rolls out red carpet for Roger Federer, which does nothing but quote from the Daily Mail’s original report. Anyway, the whole thing is allegedly ‘a favouritism row’ as the ‘Australian Open chiefs come under fire’. Who is laying down the fire is never precisely established. No sources are named in the original: ‘Sources close to the Murray camp have confirmed…’ Names that are mentioned remain merely notional presences within vague clouds of fluff: ‘Murray’s coaching staff, Ivan Lendl and Dani Vallverdu, are both said to have made their opinions known to organisers about what seems an unfair situation…’

Indeed the only person directly quoted in the article is Craig Tiley, the tournament director for the Australian Open, who wastes his time and breath by trying to explain that there are numerous factors informing every scheduling decision. These factors are duly listed, but are trumped by the reporter’s closing assertion that it’s ‘hard to see what other reason [besides television] lies behind yet another Federer night match tomorrow, and another day fixture for Murray’. I suppose anything is hard to see if you’re unwilling to look. What else could it be?

Well, for starters there’s the fact that Murray is playing the unseeded Jeremy Chardy, while Federer is facing the seventh-seed Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, who is also hugely popular in Australia, having reached the final in 2008 and the semifinals in 2010. Which of those matches deserves to be the featured night match? If you’d paid $130 to attend Rod Laver Arena tonight, would you be satisfied, all else being equal, if you were obliged to watch Murray thrash Chardy, followed by a doubles match? Bear in mind that day ticket holders will, in addition to Murray and Chardy, also see a pair of women’s quarterfinals featuring Serena Williams and Victoria Azarenka.

But what about the fourth round? Federer faced Milos Raonic, and Murray played Gilles Simon. On paper this is far more comparable. But Simon had been hospitalised after he and Gael Monfils laboriously recreated Il Purgatorio in the third round, only longer, duller and with more cramping. Even at his best Simon is unlikely to trouble Murray over five sets, and the organisers are well-aware of this. Enervated and over-matched, the Frenchman was lucky to get seven games. In truth both matches were fizzers, but only one of them was predictably so when the schedule was made. In the third round Federer played Bernard Tomic, and the chance of that not being the featured night match were precisely zero, no matter who Murray faced (he played qualifier Ricardas Berankis). In the second round Federer played Nikolay Davydenko, and Murray played Joao Sousa. Davydenko is certainly not the force he once was, and his record against Federer is abysmal, but he’d shown strong form in Doha (beating David Ferrer), and was far more likely to challenge a top seed than Sousa. In the first round both Murray and Federer played during the day (the featured night match was naturally Lleyton Hewitt and Janko Tipsarevic).

Given the specific merits of each encounter, there was no point at which Murray deserved a night slot. Bear in mind that the schedule is made the day before each round. It isn’t planned out before the event, since even in this era the tournament cannot assume the top seeds will all progress. The only way Murray would have been given tonight’s match on Rod Laver Arena would have been through a kind of affirmative action, in order that he needed it to prepare for the later rounds. But again, the organisers don’t assume that Murray will reach the later rounds. To do so would be disrespectful to his opponents.

Another issue begs to be raised, it not addressed. What if Murray had played his second or third round at night instead of Federer? Would this have realistically helped in his preparation for a semifinal a week later, given that the matches in between would have been played during the day? The common belief – largely overstated– is that the playing conditions alter radically from day to night, as though evening sessions are conducted on an ice rink using pogo-sticks. (The difference is much less now on Plexicushion than it was on Rebound Ace, which being rubber reacts differently to the heat.) The players have my utmost respect for their mastery of the sport, but I don’t believe they’re so finely attuned that a match played a week earlier is of much use for calibration purposes.

As it happens, I don’t think it’ll matter much: Murray will be fine. I also don’t have much time for the counter-claim that Federer deserves any extra help because he had a tougher draw. For one thing, I’m not sure how playing at night constitutes an advantage. Federer was fitter than each of his opponents so far, has won most of his Majors during daylight, and thrives in quicker conditions. If anything playing during the day would help him more. But aside from that, I really doubt whether the daily schedule was based on a consideration of the respective difficulties of each man’s draw. To suggest it was is, again, to suggest that the organisers (now under fire) were scheduling each round based on the assumption that Federer and Murray would both reach the semifinals.

Scholarly types with an interest in tennis draws and a penchant for adultery will naturally be familiar with my key work Bracketology, the Reading of Draws, and Why Men Have to Sleep Around. They might consequently recall Stage Two of the standard model of draw analysis, which is called Indignation. The function of this stage is to determine that your preferred player has the most dreadful path to the finals imaginable. Your favourite can thereby be granted the cherished status of the underdog, and his or her journey can be recast as a slog to Mordor, notoriously a location one does not simply walk into.

Last year Murray was blessed with truly horrid draws at Wimbledon and the Olympics, leaving fans of other players in a desperate position. (Some Federer fans tried to paint Mikhail Youzhny as a tough quarterfinal opponent, but no one was buying it.) On the other hand, even that proved insufficient for sections of the British press. Readers may recall the proto-controversy at Wimbledon when Murray was obliged to beat Marin Cilic on Court One instead of Centre Court. Murray’s response was that he honestly doesn’t care what court he plays on. Unsurprisingly, his indifference failed to soothe those who felt differently on his behalf.

Sadly, Murray’s draw at this Australian Open has been exceptionally benign, and only grew easier with Juan Martin del Potro’s third round exit. However, indignation must be found somewhere, I suppose, otherwise The Daily Mail doesn’t sell papers. The man who last year said he didn’t care what court he played on has now been positioned at the ‘centre of a heated row’, notwithstanding that he has said nothing on the matter at all. But that’s okay, because sources close to him are furious. Apparently.

Also, thanks to Jewel for linking me that Daily Mail song!

In 2011, for the first time in the Open Era, no male tennis player reached his first Grand Slam semifinal. In 2012 it happened for the second time. This means there hasn’t been a new face in the final four at a Major since the French Open in 2010, when both Tomas Berdych and Jurgen Melzer managed it. It goes without saying that this is the longest such gap in many decades. On the other hand, this year each of the Majors boasted a different winner – Novak Djokovic, Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer and Andy Murray – which is the first time this has happened since 2003. You may curb your wonderment by recalling that these four men also comprised all the finalists. The Big Four, and despite our best marketing efforts this term retains an Orwellian whiff, have hardly become less dominant. Like all tyrants, they’ll never tire of tyranny, but at least they’ve grown a little more open to sharing amongst themselves.

At the Masters level a minor revolution occurred only in the last week of the regular season, when David Ferrer defeated Jerzy Janowicz for the championship in Bercy. It was the first time a player ranked beyond the top four had claimed so august a title in precisely two years. Again, belay your astonishment. Now, as then, it was won by a world No.5 destined soon to rise higher. Indian Wells also had a maiden finalist in John Isner, but this led to nothing. The remaining eight Masters events were won by Federer (3), Djokovic (3) and Nadal (2). Meanwhile the last four at the Tour Finals included Djokovic, Federer and Murray, in addition to previous finalist Juan Martin del Potro, currently ranked No.7. There is no clear end to the repression.

Nadal of course hasn’t played a competitive match since the second round at Wimbledon, and one can be forgiven for assuming this would impact upon the Big Four’s capacity to hoard most of the points. Each of the top four often maintains a stranglehold on his respective quarter of any tournament draw. They don’t necessarily fill out the semifinals at every significant event, but they do manage it far more than at any other time in the sport’s history. Nadal’s withdrawal therefore left a fourth player with an opening. Initially this meant that Andy Murray percolated upwards to assume the third seeding, with Ferrer taking the fourth. After the US Open, at which Murray was triumphant, Nadal’s ranking slipped to No.4, and Ferrer now took over his compatriot’s seeding directly.

Interestingly enough, this has had only a marginal effect on the top four’s relative dominance, despite Ferrer having his finest season yet. As a group, the top four accrued only slightly fewer points than they had in 2011, which was the most dominant season by so few elite players in history.

The following graph shows the top four’s current aggregate points across all mandatory events (33,180) as a percentage of their maximum possible points (42,740 – derived from all four making at least the semifinals at every event). This is compared to the same data going back to 2000, when the current Masters format was introduced. It gives a useful measure of elite dominance.

This data excludes the Olympic Games, largely for the sake of convenience, and because the points awarded to the medallists has not been consistent over the years. In any case, including the Games would not materially alter the results: by factoring in the Olympics, this year the top four claimed 77.78% of available points, compared to 77.63% without them.

There was a slight dip from last year, but it’s difficult to see that Nadal’s absence was the sole reason for it. Even healthy, it is unlikely he would have played either Canada or Bercy, and he traditionally hasn’t performed strongly in Shanghai, Cincinnati or at the tour finals (especially with Spain contesting the Davis Cup final soon afterwards). The US Open is where the most points were conceded – Nadal reached the final in 2010 and 2011 – and they were lost to Ferrer, who reached the semifinal. Then again, Madrid was also a significant factor, even though Nadal was playing. Federer was the only player from the top four to reach the semifinals in the Magic Box. In any case, the upshot is that 2012 was the second most dominant season for the top four, despite Nadal missing half of it.

The main impact of Nadal’s absence has been on his own ranking. He remains at No.4, but only barely: he is just 185 points ahead of Ferrer, and if he fails to reach the Australian Open final next month he will very likely tumble out of the top four for the first time in nearly eight years, even if Ferrer doesn’t turn up. Given that turning up is one of the aspects of the sport at which Ferrer excels, and that Nadal hasn’t contested a competitive match in six months, the likelihood of Nadal falling to No.5 is strong.

Also interesting from the above graph is the lack of change from 2003 to 2005, despite the seismic upheaval to the top of the men’s game wrought first by the ascension of Federer in 2004, then of Nadal a year later. The explanation is that in 2003 the points were spread evenly across the top four (Roddick, Ferrero, Federer and Agassi), while the following year, the first of Federer’s dominance, saw a far greater concentration at the top. This continued in 2005, when Nadal commenced his 160 week stint at No.2, and took most of his points from the Nos 3 and 4 (Roddick and Hewitt). But for all three years the aggregate points concentrated within the top four saw only a minor rise.

Indeed, by using the same data we can see precisely how dominant the No.1 has been in a given year. The following graph shows the year-end No.1′s points as a percentage of his maximum total points across all ‘mandatory’ events. This therefore shows how close the No.1 came to having a ‘perfect’ year.

This usefully demonstrates the sudden leap in 2004, but also reveals that this level of dominance has continued since, despite the increasing competition among the top three or four. For comparison’s sake, we would have to go back to 1994-1995, which were the early years of Pete Sampras’ reign, to find a commensurately dominant No.1. (However, given the more haphazard manner in which points were awarded back then the comparison is somewhat spurious.) It also demonstrates that Federer’s 2006 is the most dominant year for a single player, at least given the metrics used here: that year he claimed over 75% of the total points he could have claimed at the biggest events.

This graph also shows us that Djokovic has been slightly less imposing this year than in 2011, which I’m pretty sure we already knew, and should be obvious from the fact that he spent almost half the season at No.2. The surprise, however, is that overall he hasn’t been that much less dominant, which somewhat flies in the face of common wisdom, and indeed seems almost counter-intuitive given the year Federer had. After all, last year Djokovic won three Majors and five Masters events. This year he only won one and three respectively. How can the numbers be so close? The explanation is that by reaching the final of Roland Garros, by winning the World Tour Finals undefeated and by performing strongly elsewhere, the world No.1 mostly off-set those other tournaments at which he failed to replicate last year’s total mastery. He has put together one of the finest seasons in history, and he has managed to do it while winning ‘only’ one Major. The top four have shared plunder more equally than ever before, but Djokovic, once again, has proved that some players are just a little more equal than others.