The Next Point

Davis Cup, First Round

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Auckland, Final

(1) Ferrer d. Rochus, 6/3 6/4

It is a criminal offence to discuss Olivier Rochus without mentioning how tall he isn’t – listen to the commentary accompanying any of his matches for clear proof – so I won’t endeavour to try. However, punning on said deficiency is merely considered bad taste, so I cannot promise anything there. He came up short against David Ferrer in the Auckland final today – you were warned – and thus falls to 2-8 in tour finals. 2’8’’ is, by sheer coincidence, exactly half Rochus’ height, regardless of what the official figures say, and is somewhat lower than a standard tennis net. There is probably a complicated equation waiting to be devised measuring tennis skill against height, which will legitimately demonstrate that Oli Rochus ranks among the most skilful players ever to play the sport. We are left to wonder what he might have achieved had he chosen his dimensions more thoughtfully.

His path to the Auckland final was hardly straight, though it did lead him through the two most entertaining matches of the tournament. Rochus is a gifted shotmaker, and so watching him overcome equally gifted shotmakers in Philip Kohlschreiber and Benoit Paire was a rare treat. Shots, you may be sure, were made. Ferrer, sadly, was simply too substantial a hurdle. Sorry.

It is the Spaniard’s third title in Auckland. He has clearly developed an affinity for the place, and spoke of the tournament with great affection afterwards. He won here last year, and progressed all the way to the Australian Open semifinals. In order to repeat that effort this year he will probably have to beat Novak Djokovic in the quarterfinals, the largest hurdle in tennis.

Kooyong, Final

Tomic d. Fish, 6/4 3/6 7/5

The issue with Kooyong, insofar as an exhibition event conducted in a swirling zephyr can have other issues, has been the low standard of the officiating. Being an exhibition, the players are mostly lenient towards the odd missed call, but there are limits. There is still prize money at stake, and a few thousand onlookers, and a major tournament starting next week. There is still pride, and for all that the results will not figure the official record, the players do keep count. Jurgen Melzer today expressed great pleasure in achieving his first win over Gael Monfils.

Sadly, dud line-calls were not the extent of it. The umpires were slow to overrule admitted errors, and in at least one case did not appear to know the rules. This came as Monfils rushed the net, and Melzer sent a curling dipping pass beyond the Frenchman’s reach. Or so he thought. Monfils threw his racquet at the ball, connected, and it fell over the net for a winner. It was a moment of exhibition cheer, and less heavy-handed than most. But Melzer was astonished when the point was awarded to his opponent, since you cannot win a point if you aren’t holding the racquet. The umpire seemed to concede that Monfils had indeed released the grip, but would not be otherwise swayed.

Too often this week the players felt obliged to take matters into their own hands, with an unusual number of points being conceded on clearly erroneous calls. There was a moment in today’s final when Bernard Tomic’s first serve was called out, then immediately corrected. The umpire then overruled, calling ‘Fault’. Mardy Fish then overruled the umpire – since the serve had clearly landed in – and the umpire was forced to call a let. The issue, surely, is that there are tour events under way in Sydney and Auckland (and Hobart), as well as qualifying at Melbourne Park. With finite personnel, it has apparently fallen to the work-experience kids to oversee the matches at Kooyong. There is also no Hawkeye.

Mention should perhaps be made of a curious incident earlier in the event, when Tomic was playing Monfils. The Frenchman was, naturally, remonstrating with the umpire over yet another poor call, when Tomic marched up and for no discernible reason removed the umpire’s right shoe, and placed it with his gear. It was a strange moment, even allowing for its keeping with the generally forced bonhomie of an exhibition (and this match was rapidly descending into farce). No one has quite been able to explain what Tomic was getting at, though I perhaps we’re being generous in supposing he had a point to make at all. I suspect he felt he was due for some zaniness, but that was the best he could come up with, and ended up merely referencing Woogie from There’s Something About Mary, which may well be the first time that’s happened in a professional tennis match.

The question was later posed on television as to whether this signalled a broader issue with tennis, whether the players have too little respect for the officials, proving that there are things even more humourless than Tomic’s lame gag, and that some of them are permitted to speak on TV. Andy Murray took a swig from a spectator’s beer in his match: won’t somebody please think of the children?

Commentary of the week: “Maybe that’s a sign that Monfils is beginning to think?!”

Miami Masters 1000, Fourth Round

Federer d. Rochus, 6/3 6/1

‘This is looking like a mismatch, as though Rochus has brought a knife to a gunfight. Federer just has too much firepower.’ Robbie Koenig.

We don’t expect much from tennis commentary – and generally receive less – but we expect it to be right, and this was spot on. Roger Federer was in rare form, the kind that used to be common. Come what may as the clouds of seniority gather, it’s reassuring to know he can still put on displays like this. Play commenced a touch beyond 12:30am, and ended 52 minutes and 32 winners later, including a rare drop-lob off the frame. Federer and Olivier Rochus have played longer games of cards. In fact, they probably played a few tonight as they waited (and waited) to get onto court.

Despite the late hour, plenty of fans had remained in their seats, many having lapsed into comas as Sharapova’s earlier double-fault exhibition entered its fourth hour. Federer gave those who regained consciousness no reason to further regret their misfortune. It was vintage stuff, just like his opponent. Still whatever Rochus’s shortcomings – and being 5’5” and 30 are not advantages – he is a spry mover, and has built a laudable career around tenacity and the capacity to retrieve plenty of balls into awkward positions. But when you’re hitting those balls as well as Federer did tonight it hardly matters. And the conditions at night are slower.

Nevertheless, as a form guide, it is arguable just how useful this match is, particularly with sterner challenges ahead. Federer was magnificent, but a reasonable number of those winners would not have been winners against, say, Novak Djokovic, whose retrieval skills are frankly unparalleled. Will Federer be able to maintain this standard of aggression when it takes twelve shots to find the opening, rather than four or five? Can anyone?

Simon d. Tipsarevic, 4/6 7/6 6/2

He’ll get a practice run against Gilles Simon in the quarterfinals, who today pushed Janko Tipsarevic over the edge, and I use the term ‘push’ advisedly. For players of the attacking disposition, an extended tussle with Simon must feel like being beaten to death with feathers, especially on a surface as unhelpful as Miami’s. Tipsarevic could get balls past the Frenchman, but only after a thoughtfully constructed 16-stroke rally, and even then by aiming for the outside of the line. For a couple of sets, it worked, but then his patience ran out.

Berdych d. Mayer, 6/3 2/6 7/6

Fish d. del Potro, 7/5 7/6

I must confess to finding Tomas Berdych no less robotic now than the first time I saw him play, over six years ago, which confounds the usual process by which players gain personality as our intimacy with their sport increases. The first set today was played entirely on Berdych’s terms, meaning it was conducted almost exclusively via the enchanting medium of flat, hard baseline rallying. They were not attractive terms for Florian Mayer, who was frankly foolish to think he could beat Berdych at what he was programmed to do. In the second set, after a rain delay, Mayer came out with a new game-plan, one devised around his strengths, moving the Czech around, mixing up paces and lengths. The second set was entirely played on the German’s terms. So was the third, but he couldn’t find a break. Berdych took the tiebreak, and let out a mighty roar. It sounded almost human.

Mardy Fish occupies the other end of the personality spectrum, although his undeniable charm when away from the court does not excuse a tendency to behave like a thug whilst on it. He is very much in the Roddick-mould when it comes to browbeating the officials, and I wonder if they rehearsed any of their tirades back when they roomed together. Today Fish beat the resurgent Juan Martin del Potro, which pretty much everyone in the world is treating as an upset regardless of their respective rankings, including Fish: ‘It’s only a matter of time.  If you’re not in the top five in the world, you can just add a number to your ranking because he’s gonna be up there in no time.’ Eloquent, as always. Nonetheless, they are clearly good friends, which Fish discussed happily after the match, but which was already clear from their embrace at the net.

Miami Masters, Third Round

The commentary gem of the day arrived courtesy of the ever-reliable Jason Goodall: ‘For lovers of talent, it’s an eye-watering prospect!’ He was spruiking the up-coming clash between Alexandr Dolgopolov and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, whose skills are impressive, no question, though I couldn’t see what there was to get all weepy about. Sadly, by the time the talent entered the ill-lit stadium, Goodall was no longer around to explain himself. The best stream I could find featured a commentator I once described as ‘Ray Romano hosed down with boring’, mainly because I don’t know his name. I’ve since endured his stylings a number of times across several tournaments. Shunning – or shunned by – company, he invariably flies solo, which is a shame. Lacking the capacity for tonal variation, he could really do with a booth-partner, provided it wasn’t actually Ray Romano. As it was, it felt like the call was being phoned in by Manny the Mammoth, and was primarily composed of an extensive recount of each player’s results for the last six months. It wasn’t eye-watering, but it was mouth-opening, insofar as it provoked an escalating series of yawns.

To be fair, the tennis wasn’t helping. There’s no doubting Dolgopolov and Tsonga are talented, but so was Andrew Ilie. Unless they’re executing they can frankly look poor. Neither could find his timing early on, and the Ukrainian’s passes on the backhand side were perpetually spraying wide, so I suppose it is to Tsonga’s credit that he largely directed his approaches there. When he didn’t, he got scorched. The rain arrived at 4/4, and everyone got wet, so I suppose Goodall was somewhat vindicated. Dolgopolov broke quickly once play resumed, but apparently didn’t care for it, and broke himself back even more quickly. Tsonga won the tiebreak, but lost the second set. Rain again intervened, and they’re currently locked on serve in the third, due to complete their night match in the apocalyptic haze around lunchtime tomorrow. The victor’s reward will be a shot at Rafael Nadal about sixteen minutes later. I expect a close one.

Rochus d. Youzhny, 1/6 6/3 6/3

Speaking of which, is it just me or is rather too much made of the conditions in Miami? Today in Melbourne it was 27C and about 82% humidity: a gorgeous Autumn day. Meanwhile in Miami it was (apparently) 29C and a number of very healthy young men were out on their feet in deciding sets. One of them was Mikhail Youzhny, who fell to a resurgent Olivier Rochus, the sole remaining qualifier in the draw. It recalled several of Youzhny’s recent losses, especially against Gilles Simon in Dubai, particularly in its looseness. As with so many attacking players, when the Russian’s form dips he grows ragged if too many balls come back. Today, conditions were slow, and Rochus ran his wee buns off. I haven’t watched Rochus play since he saw off Juan Martin del Potro’s aborted comeback in Bangkok last year, and as ever I was struck by how dynamic he is on court, how complete his repertoire is, and how assured his shot selection. One of my guilty pleasures used to be watching the diminutive Belgian give Marat Safin fits.

O.Rochus d. del Potro 7/6 6/4

Just tuned in to see Olivier Rochus out-muscling Juan Martin del Potro from the baseline. Fancy that.

Just seeing del Potro slap that strange, artillery forehand reminds me how much the men’s game needs him back fit and competing. If nothing else, Nadal needs a tough match-up, with Davydenko still at reduced capacity and Murray’s introspection growing to be self-consuming.

As I write both players have lifted magnificently in the first set tiebreak. Some really great stuff, with the tiny Belgian still holding his own. Winners aplenty – 3 consecutive points decided by scintillating backhand winners up the line, including one to save set point from Rochus. Rochus takes the tiebreak with some breakneck ball striking. He’s making hay off del Potro’s second serve, according to the useful stat box the broadcasters only show at the end of sets. The Argentine looks unfazed, but that doesn’t mean anything. What actually rattles this man? I suspect they could have performed his wrist surgery without anaesthetic and he would have retained that expression. Speaking of which, he’s now having his right wrist re-taped – is this an ominous sign? There seems to be a lot of crowd support for del Potro, or at least a lot of Thai people who own Argentinian flags and like to wave them about.

Rochus takes the second, and the match. He looks thrilled, but also satisfied, as though he’d come into this encounter not expecting to win, but feeling he had a chance. It’s the paradoxically fatalistic confidence that comes with experience. I’ll make the inevitable comparison – usually reserved for the Belgian’s encounters with Ivo Karlovic – and say that Rochus’ effort was biblical, although the original Goliath had a hell of a lot more match-practice in hand.

For his part del Potro looked promising, but underdone (well, duh). He fired his share of aces, although it’s not as though Rochus has the reach to lay strings on the big wide stuff. He hit his forehand with conviction, and that wonderful action with its tiny flourish looks unchanged, which had been my concern. Unfortunately, he also hit the net a lot. The margins at this level are tiny as it is, but when you hit your shots that hard and flat, they shrink to almost nothing. Against an opponent who by simple genetics won’t be kicking the ball up past your waist, and lacking match-play yourself, there is pretty much no margin at all. Underdone or not, del Potro clearly lacked the patience to construct points and make things happen. Having said that, when his massive forehands collected the tape it was mostly on mid-court shots he should be pulling the trigger on, anyway. I’m now intensely curious to see where he goes from here. Here’s hoping he gets back to the top, and reasserts himself as a genuine contender. The men’s game is crying out for it.

It’s given the year’s end a bit more of a point.

Other points:

• Can Federer make up some points and regain No.2? Djokovic has a fair few points to defend in the next little bit, and a Davis Cup final to stay fit for. Can Fed win Paris for the first time, or even get past the quarters?
• How focused will Nadal be? The WTF is now the only substantial title Rafa lacks – how keen is he?
• Andy Murray? Discuss.
• Davydenko – this is usually his time to shine, or at least earn. He has buckets of points to defend. I’m predicting he won’t be able to, and he’ll have a dangerously low seeding come Melbourne.
• How will the French armada perform in Paris? I like it when they do well, and I’d perversely like to see Monfils break through for his maiden Masters title in Paris. Not that he deserves it.
• Andy Roddick. He’s basically gone at this point, isn’t he? His journey from exuberant excitement-machine to pedestrian pusher seems pretty much complete. I so much want to be proved wrong.