The Next Point

Indian Wells, Day Five

(Q) Gulbis d. (20) Seppi, 5/7 6/3 6/4

Ernests Gulbis has now won thirteen consecutive matches, an audacious streak that includes the Delray Beach title, as well as qualification for that event and the current one, which is the Indian Wells Masters. For wonderment, this sequence of results is exceeded only by the encouraging shortage of twee headlines indebted to a certain play by Oscar Wilde. There was a time when Gulbis couldn’t take a set without some hack deploying the phrase ‘The Importance of Beating Ernests’. Googling that phrase returns at all least two solid pages of material directly related to Gulbis, but precious little from recent months. It’s a small thing, admittedly, but with so many reasons to despair at the frequently execrable quality of tennis writing, one welcomes any invitation to hope.

Today Gulbis saw off Andreas Seppi in a little over two hours, recovering from a quite disastrous first set – the Latvian served for it twice before losing 5/7 – to take the next two. In between there was no shortage of excellent tennis from both, interspersed with the species of mayhem Gulbis has made characteristic. There was a typically accomplished racquet smash, and a selection of self-directed tirades conducted at varying tempos and intensities, an endlessly inventive series of variations on the theme of self-excoriation. One of these (at a pivotal moment in the second set) skirted the limits of good taste by mentioning his opponent by name, as though Beethoven has prefaced the Diabelli Variations by pointing out that Diabelli’s original waltz was shit. Still, he apparently made a good case. Seppi immediately handed over the crucial break.

It is the first time Gulbis has won at least three matches at consecutive tournaments since mid-2010, which I don’t include as a fine example of the statistician’s art, but as an indicator that his latest declarations of rediscovered commitment may have some merit. Afterwards he was forthright about his chances against Rafael Nadal, who’d earlier progressed via walkover: he fancies them very much. If Gulbis wins that one, let’s see how many can resist the dark allure of the punning headline.

(2) Federer d. Dodig, 6/3 6/1

Any belief that Roger Federer was pleased when Julien Benneteau was forcibly cleared from his path was quickly dispelled once today’s match began. The Swiss looked more distracted than relieved, and far less alert than he had against Denis Istomin in the previous round. His opponent today was Benneteau’s conqueror Ivan Dodig, who as ever looked like an unmade bed. Federer, who maintains a direct telepathic link to Anna Wintour, was no doubt deeply offended by Dodig’s rumpled ensemble, especially the yellow t-shirt which betrayed a fondness for leonine heraldry commensurate with Radek Stepanek’s. Whether this was responsible for the subterranean quality of the first set is a nice question – there were some jagged late-afternoon shadows that can’t have helped – but it’s undeniable that the defending champion began to play better in the second set after Dodig changed his top. I think there was still a lion, but it was now mercifully lost against darker fabric.

It was a match framed and scoured by double faults. Federer commenced with one, the first of three points he discarded casually to open the match (although these would prove to be the only break points he faced). Dodig later threw in a few to be broken at 3-4, and another to close the match about half an hour later. There were others, mostly tossed in with an insouciance made notorious by Fernando Verdasco.

During the pre-match hit-up a debate developed among the assembled Sky Sports luminaries as to which retired player they missed most. The issue was put to viewers. Andre Agassi proved a popular choice, as did Andy Roddick among those with shorter memories. The talk turned to which current players would be missed when the time came. Andrew Castle was in no doubt that Federer’s eventual departure would leave the most gaping hole, a contention he went on repeating freely when it turned out that no one else had the authority to stop him. He sounded like he was rehearsing Federer’s valedictory speech. Peter Fleming’s efforts to redirect the discussion elsewhere were slow to yield results.

Nonetheless, Castle’s profound affinity for the world No.2 bore fruit late in the second set, when he was among the first to note that Federer had tweaked his back. The Tennis Channel commentators were entirely clueless. Unfortunately, so was Federer’s opponent. Had Dodig spotted Federer’s discomfort, one hopes he would have made a better effort to probe and exploit it. Instead he continued playing as he had done before, which is to say poorly, while Federer began to lash his groundstrokes boldly in an effort to get off court. It worked. He’ll have a day to rest and recover, before he faces Stanislas Wawrinka in the fourth round.

(13) Simon d. Paire, 3/6 7/6 6/4

Both Richard Gasquet and Tomas Berdych posted cosy wins, over Jerzy Janowicz and Florian Mayer respectively. Gilles Simon later defeated Benoit Paire in a match that was comfortable for no one, including the players, who seemed hobbled, and the commentators and spectators, who were powerless to make it stop. Wizened media types who’d believed they’d seen everything felt their stomach roil as the match spiralled away in a flutter of breaks and feeble errors. Paire served for it at 6/5 in the second set, but was broken back after he ran around his backhand in order to approach the net as ineffectively as possible. He also held a match point in the ensuing tiebreak, but was again undone by poor decision-making, abetted by Simon’s exhilarating tactic of hitting the ball back in slowly forever. Paire ended with 79 unforced errors.

For spectators, it was the least enjoyable match since Simon’s previous one, when he recovered from 1/5 down in the final set against Paolo Lorenzi. Larry Ellison quickly announced a counselling hotline for the few attendees who’d survived watching both. Simon next faces Kevin Anderson. Anyone who survives that one gets a free t-shirt from Ivan Dodig.

Rotterdam, Quarterfinals

Momentous events are unfolding, at least as the term ‘momentous’ is understood within the constricting parameters of men’s professional tennis in February. Of the three events being conducted this week, two managed to lose their defending champions within a couple of hours. Fortunately each man was located quickly; Roger Federer had wandered distractedly into a broom closet, curious to know what it was, while Nicolas Almagro had fallen into a yawning crevasse in the Brasil Open playing surface. Having been rescued, both men were immediately ushered onto their respective tennis court, whereupon both lost.

Meanwhile, at a secret US government facility in San Jose, there are reports that Milos Raonic remains on course to claim his third and final SAP Open title. These reports are unconfirmed, since, based on all available footage, this Gitmo-style facility is far too restricted to allow public access, and so far Amnesty International’s demands for entry have been rebuffed. I have requested my contact in the Bay Area to look into it. Expect her report within days. We demand the truth, whether or not we can handle it. At least President Obama is making good on his earlier promise to close the place down.

Benneteau d. (1) Federer, 6/3 7/5

Federer lost to Julien Benneteau. It isn’t the first time this has happened, even within the Western European theatre of operations, and even if we confine our terms of reference to fast indoor hardcourts. Benneteau also beat him at Bercy in 2008. He is now at serious risk of becoming the only man to defeat Federer twice without ever claiming a tour title. His place in later versions of Trivial Pursuit (Obscure Edition) would therefore be assured.

Which isn’t to say that Federer’s loss is a trivial matter, for either man. Benneteau played beautifully throughout the match. This proved a simple enough matter in the first set, given Federer, by Mark Petchey’s scathing assessment, had played the worst set of his career, or words to that effect. This is probably unfair, since he used to put together some pretty woeful sets before 2003, but the broad point can be conceded. He was unusually sluggish, both in his reactions and his footwork, while his serve lacked penetration and his forehand lacked endeavour. Perhaps he’d inhaled some ammonia in that broom closet.

The true wonder was that Benneteau continued to play well even into the second set, after his opponent had finally relocated his game, notwithstanding a weak effort to be broken back to love. The tightest moments came at the end, at 5/5, when the Frenchman fended off three break points with positive play, and by landing first serves. The Sky commentators essayed the confident prediction that if Federer stole the set – he later admitted he wouldn’t have deserved it – he’d go on to take the match. The more superstitiously inclined among Federer’s fan-base, who subscribe to the idea of ‘jinxing’, undoubtedly wished the commentators would just shut-up, especially when the defending champion’s subsequent service game was disastrous. After struggling to 30-30 he double-faulted. Benneteau took the match on first match point, again by playing assertively, and charging to the net behind some strong groundstrokes. Federer missed the backhand pass, challenged the clearly out-ball, and that was that. Benneteau afterwards revealed that he’d immediately apologised to Richard Krajicek for beating his star attraction. ‘That’s okay,’ Krajicek (apparently) replied. ‘It’s sport’.

Speaking of obscure trivia (and the pursuit thereof), this is the first time Federer has lost to a player outside the top twenty who isn’t an ex-No.1 since May 2010, when he fell to Albert Montañés in Estoril. He has now gone without winning a title since the Cincinnati Masters last August, in contrast to a year ago, when we was in the midst of his most lucrative title-spree in years. In this period he has failed to defend four events (Basel, Paris, London and now Rotterdam). Having ceded the No.1 ranking to Novak Djokovic in the last week of last season, he is now over 3,000 points adrift of the Serb at No.2 (and about 1,300 points clear of Andy Murray). Federer’s next event is Dubai, starting in ten days, and after that the Indian Wells Masters. He is the reigning champion at both. But that’s okay. It is just sport, and some fans would do well to remember it.

Benneteau will face Gilles Simon in the semifinals. Simon’s opponent Martin Klizan retired with cramps in the third set. It is hard to see that that these reflected any excess of physical toil, since it was an indoor hardcourt match played at night, although it is, as ever, easy to say that they were instead the corporeal manifestation of the soul-crushing ennui experienced by most of Simon’s opponents at one time or another. I confess I’m surprised Simon is playing in Rotterdam at all. I imagine the US military could have put his abilities to good use in San Jose.

Dimitrov d. Baghdatis, 6/7 7/6 6/3

The other semifinal will see Juan Martin del Potro take on Grigor Dimitrov, who earlier defeated Marcos Baghdatis in the finest match of the day, and arguably the best match so far this week. It was a bruising, exciting, high-quality, all-court encounter between two gifted shotmakers making shots, conducted in an excellent spirit. Dimitrov vaulted the net upon claiming the final point, and delivered a heartfelt embrace to his opponent.

This is the third time Dimitrov has defeated Baghdatis in four attempts (with the latter’s only win coming when Dimitrov retired early in their match at Wimbledon last year). One hesitates to call it a match-up issue. In all three losses the Cypriot came very close to winning. Today the moment came late in the second set. The first time they met, in Munich a couple of years ago, Baghdatis held two match points in the second set tiebreaker, and after blowing them gave up almost entirely. Earlier this year in the Brisbane semifinal their match was mainly notable for the putatively crucial moment in the final set tiebreak in which the older player had suffered a time violation, although this had less bearing on the outcome than many vehemently declared. They play tight, thrilling matches, and somehow the Bulgarian seems to win them.

Today’s match was decided by its least thrilling passage, a ten minute period in which Baghdatis was suddenly unable to hit the tennis ball onto those parts of the tennis court mandated by the rules. This unfortunately coincided with a patch of fine form from Dimitrov, and covered the second set tiebreaker (which Dimitrov won 7-0), and the start of the third set. Thereafter Baghdatis apparently eradicated whatever gremlins had tinkered with his range-finder, but the damage had largely been done. Dimitrov was pushed and stretched on serve throughout the third set – it was, as I say, sometimes thrilling – but held commendably firm, and his commitment to attack and probe never once faltered, even when Baghdatis saved a match point at 2/5, and forced the youngster to serve for it.

A semifinal at an ATP500 event is among the biggest results of Dimitrov’s career, and even if he loses he’ll move to a career-best ranking of No.33. There is therefore every chance he’ll be seeded at the upcoming Masters events in the US, which will grant him the (dubious) comfort of a first round bye. Those who take inordinate pleasure in admonishing Dimitrov for slow progress bear reminding that this time last year he was losing tight matches in shady US facilities, and his ranking was spiralling back out beyond the top hundred.

Vina del Mar, Second Round

Montpellier, Second Round

Hajek d. (7) Troicki, 6/0 4/2 ret.

My tennis day began boisterously on a sun-mottled clay court in coastal Chile and concluded in the electric shadows of Montpellier’s whimsically titled Arena. Diana Ross was harrying a wounded Viktor Troicki from the court with the soulful admonition that love don’t come easy, and that, furthermore, it’s a game of give and take. Throughout a first set bagel the Serb had repeatedly proved that love comes pretty easily if you can’t win points, but Ms Ross’s broader point remained. He hadn’t given his all, and then took a retirement package while trailing a break in the second set. This elicited the most rousing applause of the match from the dozen or vagrants who’d wandered in searching for warmth. His opponent Jan Hajek acknowledged their approval, and then he too left. ‘Love Don’t Come Easy’ gave way to ‘Groove is in the Heart’, and the scoreboard flicked over to warn me that Gilles Simon would soon be appearing. My grooveless heart sank like a stone. No matter where it began, no journey that ends that way can be considered a happy one.

(1) Nadal d. Delbonis, 6/3 6/2

It began, of course, with the exuberant return of Rafael Nadal to professional tennis, an event that was feverishly anticipated in certain areas, and amply discussed even where temperatures remained mild. What was said was largely speculative, and most of that became redundant the moment the Spaniard found the court and struck his first ball in anger. Nadal was broken to open the match, inspiring a strained edge to the Spanish commentators’ otherwise breathless encomiums. He struck his first ball angrily a few games later, a running forehand pass up the line, and unleashed the first fist pump of his comeback. The technique on both forehand and pump appeared unaltered from their previous incarnations, which is encouraging. The modern fist-pump is generally performed with an open-stance, with most of the player’s weight borne by the left leg (in the case of a left-hander). Even at that early stage we can confidently declare that Nadal is indeed back.

He broke back before too long, found the range on his groundstrokes, spanked a few winners, landed a few serves, perspired freely, and otherwise cruised to the kind of early round victory that would have seemed unremarkable had it not followed a seven month sojourn. I was left to wonder just how long a break he’d need to take in order for Frank Delbonis to have a chance. Years, probably. I could say that tougher tests await Nadal, but if they do it won’t be this week. The same question was pertinent to Juan Monaco, and whether Nadal’s inevitable rust would provide the Argentine’s best chance at finally claiming a win. It’s a question that will remain purely academic, since Monaco, who was defending champion, managed to lose his opening match. Between Nadal’s return and Monaco’s loss the number of notable things happening in men’s tennis this week now sits at two. This is a tally I suspect won’t be augmented elsewhere.

Fifteen hours later in Montpellier the inter-match entertainment had taken on a decidedly surreal turn. The court was invaded by five . . . let’s call them dancers, in curly haired wigs and garish attire. Their loosely choreographed moves were set to the title theme from Rocky (‘Gonna Fly Now’). This mighty handful in turn gave way to five new dancers – or perhaps the same five; my brain had entirely forsaken its groove by now – performing synchronised swimming manoeuvres over a moodily sax-ridden masterpiece that made liberal use of whale song.  I could probably make this up, but I’d be insulting your intelligence to try.

As evidence of where a grooveless mind strays when left ungoverned, I idly wondered how many of the dancers had hoped that this would be their big break – a paid gig at the Open Sud de France! It was, admittedly, a depressing line of speculation. By now they’d acquired some kind of ball-gun, and were firing tennis balls into the stands. These projectiles would occasionally strike the slumbering homeless, eliciting dull groans and raging tirades. Perhaps they were a troupe, and this was how they earned a crust. Perhaps it was a court-invasion, and no one could summon the energy to stop them.

I perused the Montpellier website, hoping to discover some explanation for this lunacy, or at least a playlist for the changeovers, but to no avail. (The sit-down after the first set between Troicki and Hajek was extended, putatively so that the Serb could consult with the trainer, but really so that Madonna’s ‘Gimme All Your Lovin’ could be enjoyed in its full dark glory.) I did however find some evidence that the insanity prevailing on court was merely one thrust along a broad front. After discussing Gael Monfils victory over Ruben Bemelmans, the article’s writer asserted that:

‘The next step will be another story, this time not Belgian. In a shock fratricide, Gaël found in his way Richard Gasquet, native son #10’ .

Perhaps something was lost in translation. I checked up the original French version, and discovered that ‘fratricide’ was a direct rendering of ‘fratricide’. It could be that the term is employed colloquially in France, or it could be that Nadal and Monaco won’t be the only notable things to happen this week. As it happened, Gasquet subsequently prevailed over Monfils, and although it was long, reports are that it was mostly bloodless. Indeed, it was noteworthy only in that it was a rare Monfils match that didn’t end with him injured.

(4) Simon d. Brugues-Davi, 7/6 6/2

But this lay in the future, which is now the past. Further in the past, in the narrative present, I flicked back to the Montpellier stream, to discover Simon, native son #14, putting away a crisp smash at the net. Hope flared briefly. About once per year, Simon will emerge and, as if from nowhere, play adventurous, attacking tennis, striking winners and venturing forward to knock off volleys. My momentary hope that today was that day was quashed when I realised it was merely the hit-up.

The match proper followed a familiar, flaccidly sagging arc, whereby the lower-ranked player – in this case qualifier Arnau Brugues-Davi – gained an early break, rode it almost to the end of the set, was broken back, lost the tiebreak, and then performed closer to his ranking in the second set. At least it didn’t take too long, unlike Simon’s week-long victory last month against Monfils in Melbourne, which was not merely fratricidal, but suicidal, too.

Zagreb, Second Round

I realise I haven’t mentioned Zagreb, but there’s a reason for this. Despite my latent affection for any event at which Mikhail Youzhny is defending champion in both singles and doubles, there are certain boundaries beyond which no tennis tournament can venture and still be taken seriously. Sadly, the PBZ Zagreb Indoors is now tainted after a Gangnam outbreak was witnessed on its centre court. Ivan Ljubicic was the perpetrator. At his age he should know better. The only mitigating factor was that it didn’t occur during match-play. Nevertheless, the whole enterprise will need to be quarantined, and comprehensively audited. Zagreb is in lock-down.

French Open, Day Two

Kukushkin d. Gulbis, 6/4 7/6 5/7 2/6 6/4

For the first two and half sets of his match against Mikhail Kukushkin in the Roland Garros first round, Ernests Gulbis played like a man killing time, and making a hash of it, idling as studiously as one might before a pre-arranged appointment. Realising he’d tarried over long in the second set tiebreaker, he made up lost time by rapidly falling down 1/5 in the third. Kukushkin stepped up to serve for the match, reaching 40-0, and triple match point, without incident. The match wasn’t televised, but I’m reliably informed that Gulbis’ phone began to ring at this moment. He stalked to the sideline to answer it, ignoring the vexed inquiries of the umpire and his opponent. Raising his index finger for silence – the way only those born to privilege truly can – he conducted a brief staccato exchange with whoever had called him. The phrase, ‘I don’t like to be disappointed, Mr Black – make it happen!’ was clearly audible. He then hung up, and strode furiously back to his baseline, prepared to receive serve. Kukushkin, nonplussed, glanced at the umpire, then his opponent, then froze. The look in the Latvian’s eyes was unmistakable. Kukushkin occupied a seemingly impregnable position, but the torpid Parisian afternoon was still young, and Ernests Gulbis suddenly had nowhere else to be.

Gulbis won the next eight games – according to the ITF Rulebook, that qualifies as a spree – then level-pegged before taking a few more, thereby levelling the match at two sets a piece. He broke again to open the fifth set, and had a point for a double break. Kukushkin broke back, and by 4/4 both men looked spent, according to embedded sources. Gulbis called for the trainer. Depending on the treatment he received, it either worked or it didn’t. Serving at 4/5, he discovered one last lousy effort, and was broken at love to lose the match. Having confounded our expectations of a perfunctory blowout, he then confounded our hope that one of the greatest fight-backs in the history of the sport could actually mean anything. At times like these it’s difficult to assume Gulbis is anything but an instrument of the gods, sent to teach us the futility of all human endeavour. Or maybe he’s just an ungovernable headcase. It was reported that Kukushkin lacked the energy even to celebrate the eventual victory. You may recall him surviving a similarly contoured matched against Gael Monfils in Melbourne. Perhaps he’s just used to it, and couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Elsewhere on the grounds, Fabio Fognini pursed his lips thoughtfully. Dramatically, the bar had just been raised.

Still, if it was the most dramatic men’s match played today – there was a decent scare for Victoria Azarenka – it was by no means the only one. Kevin Anderson saved a handful of match points in seeing off Rui Machado 11/9 in the fifth set – assuming you only have four fingers per hand – in a match held over from yesterday. The slight yet dreamy Machado led 5/2 in the fifth, though play was finally suspended at 7/7. Anderson, rejuvenated, came out swinging today, and connecting. Paul-Henri Mathieu recovered from a two set deficit against Bjorn Phau, winning the last few sets so comfortably that it became a victory procession for the rapturous onlookers. It’s a nice change for Mathieu so late in his career, to discover what the other side of a two-set recovery feels like.

(WC) Baker d. Malisse, 6/3 7/6 7/6

Brian Baker defeated Xavier Malisse in straight sets, which was an upset only on paper. The disparity between their respective rankings is shrinking fast. Baker, at 27 just commencing his career, is clearly hungry to play professional tennis. He said as much afterwards. Malisse looks hungry for anything else. The talent is still there, and will be always, but it’s hard to refute Federer’s blunt assessment that the Belgian just hasn’t worked hard enough. At the key moments today Baker was willing to work, although I suspect for him it feels nothing like work. He was merciless on Malisse’s second serve, although the weakness of his own delivery made breaks hard to maintain.

(11) Simon d. Harrison, 3/6 7/5 6/4 6/1

Like Baker, Ryan Harrison is at the start of his career. There the common thread snaps. Unlike Baker, Harrison makes hard toil look like drudgery, and like something he’d prefer to forgo. For the better part of two sets today, when it was all flowing freely, and Gilles Simon was stuttering distractedly, Harrison looked typically impressive. He stepped up to serve for the second set, at which point the French weather and the French crowd and Frenchman up the other end conspired to make it hard work. Simon lifted with the breeze, and Harrison continued to believe he could simply hit through the court at will, a belief that somehow never wavered in the face of mounting contrary evidence. He threw a few tantrums, and more or less looked like he had in losing to Marin Cilic at the US Open last year. His first round loss to Andy Murray in Melbourne had been altogether different, and I’d hoped it betokened a realisation that lots of other players are better than him, and that he should never expect to win. That day he played like a man determined not to lose, but not this day. At his age, imagine what Wilander, Chang, Hewitt or Nadal would have done. Perhaps there’s an issue with inadequate fitness, but there’s also such a thing as too much belief, and he doesn’t have the game to render a tough opponent who has found their range immaterial, the way Sampras could, or Raonic can. Baker will face Simon next. It will be fascinating to see how that plays out.

(3) Federer d. Kamke, 6/2 7/5 6/3

Federer beat Tobias Kamke in straight sets, but it didn’t always feel like it. It felt like a mess, although Federer’s fans can console themselves that it was a first round, and that he only played as well as he needed to. This sounds comforting when he wins, and hollow when it prefigures a subsequent loss. Kamke is a tremendously entertaining player – his five set tussle with Dolgopolov in Melbourne was electrifying – and I sometimes wonder how is ranking hasn’t climbed higher. It was a question that begged answering at various stages of today’s match, as he stood up on the baseline and bullied Federer about the court, no minor feat considering his size. (Fans of the spry German will doubtless recall the way he dismantled Tomas Berdych a few years ago in Basel.) Sadly, he spent the rest of today’s match answering that question. Too often he was broken at love: he has the capacity to toss away fistfuls of points at a time. Federer was sloppy – the complete array of late-career tricks was on offer, from shanks into the crowd, to duffed putaways, to mental sojourns on match points – but, inevitably, he was still Federer.

Minor records thence hove into view, the way they often do when Federer takes to the court these days. With this victory he becomes the first player to win at least 50 matches at all four majors. He also ties Jimmy Connors  as having the most wins at Grand Slam level in the Open Era. In the second round he’ll face Adrian Ungur, who later upset a lackadaisical David Nalbandian. There’s a pretty good chance Federer will break that record.

Bucharest, Final

(1) Simon d. Fognini, 6/4 6/3

Fabio Fognini, in his first tour final, fell to Gilles Simon in the final of the Nastase-Tiriac Trophy in Bucharest. For Simon, it is his tenth career title, three of which have come at this event. As a match, it played out almost precisely as one would expect. Simon steadily smothered the mercurial Italian, whose flashes of brilliance joined up initially to form a blinding light, before eventually breaking apart into fitful sparks, and then going dark entirely.

Fognini – The Fog – typically began in a flurry. Except that fog doesn’t flurry. Ones eagerness to pun on ‘fog’ is as ever vitiated by the Italian’s quicksilver approach to the sport, which is by turns thrilling, irritating and engaging, generally within a single point. As metaphorical classes, there is just no overlap. As a writer, it’s frustrating, though I suppose this is an apt testament to watching him play. It turns out that parsing sentences about him is about as tough as deciphering his matches.

Fognini’s fans – and his broad appeal is such that these are not demarcated by national boundaries – seem generally eager to proclaim his uniqueness. I will thus court opprobrium by suggesting that he is a very similar player to Xavier Malisse, in his indisputable talent, his capacity to impart pace from nowhere, his instinctive court-craft, his ease in the forecourt, and his tendency to alternate breathtaking winners with clearly not giving a toss. The key differences, for the collector of trading cards, is that Fognini generates drama more effortlessly – Malisse is always strained in this regard – and that he is far more handsome. It could be that I am biased in this area, since Fognini and I currently cultivate a similar facial hair arrangement – sometimes referred to as a ‘beard’ – although I will concede that he pulls it off rather more successfully.

As Ferrer would later, the Flurrying Fog shot out to an early break. Unpack that sentence at your peril. It seemed as though every rally ended in a winner, and that every one of them was different. Simon, beset, looked set upon, although he often does for some reason. Indeed, I am always surprised to see Simon exhibit so much passion in between points, and then dismayed that so little of it finds its way into his actual tennis. It is especially strange when he plays someone like Fognini or, say, Alex Dolgopolov, and they’re running hot and cold. Simon will push one ball airily up the middle of the court, and his opponent will loft it over the baseline. He’ll do the same again, and his opponent will smack a winner, whereupon Simon will turn and lavish some invective on his player’s box. What does he think will happen, that no one can possibly tee off on his mighty groundstrokes? His entire approach is surely based on the awareness that anyone can belt his shots away into the corners, but that they cannot keep it up indefinitely. Eventually the opponent will commit an error or drop it short. Simon is admirably patient in waiting for these opportunities. But why, then, does he drop his bundle so constantly? It could be that there are factors at play too subtle for me to grasp. It could just be that he’s a human being.

Sadly, it take long before Fognini’s winners stopped finding the corners, and began to miss the court (thereby disqualifying themselves), although enough of them didn’t that he remained level with Simon for a while. The tennis was delightfully all-court, as extravagant lobs gave way to deft volleys, and scything backhands, but it wasn’t quite enough to save a tight first set. There was a realistic fear that Fognini would fall away entirely upon losing that opening set, although, typically iconoclastic, he saved his collapse until the middle of the second. He dropped serve for 4/2, and from there appeared to lose interest. One may posit any number of explanations, but there’s no reason to think they’d be correct. Perhaps he’d just had enough. It was only his maiden final, after all. There will be others, and he really didn’t seem that upset.

Monte Carlo Masters, Semifinals

(1) Djokovic d. (6) Berdych, 4/6 6/3 6/2

‘It’s hard to imagine a more picturesque picture than this,’ remarked Chris Wilkinson on the Tennis TV feed, his verbal inspiration failing him (and us) just when he needed it most. Accompanying his words, the screen revealed a delicately graded Mediterranean sky (strangely muted to Australian eyes) dissolving away to the left in white dazzle, and falling through a fractal eternity of blues to the abrupt horizon. The sea sprawled back towards the camera, a flat plain flecked and gouged with white, lent volume by the vast pleasure yacht placed just so, and form by the tennis court in the foreground, like a swatch of burnt Sienna. The most picturesque of pictures surely deserved better.

Down on the court, the once picaresque Novak Djokovic seemed rather less impressed by the sumptuous locale. For one thing, he lives here and is doubtless used to it. For another, he could see little through the billows of dust periodically coalescing and gambolling across the court, and setting up camp in his throat and eyes. The picturesque picture hid the reality that it was a horrible day for tennis. For all television’s manifold benefits – celebrity cooking shows and sitcoms about fractional men – it isn’t at its best when showing wind (although it retains an edge over poetry and ballet in this respect). It relies on images, and moving air looks more or less like still air. Those white caps and the writhing flags were a giveaway, I suppose, and the effects microphones registered a dull moan over and below the ceaseless chatter of a crowd always too slow to settle. Djokovic was put out by them as well. For days, and with reason, he’s matched any environmental setback with a darkened regard. Today, by all accounts, was his grandfather’s funeral.

His opponent Tomas Berdych was all business. The Czech had torn through Andy Murray yesterday with a comprehensiveness that left English commentators across three networks scrambling for explanations. His game had mostly survived the night intact, although he’d unfortunately left his first serve back in the hotel room. Five double faults in the opening set suggested he’d misplaced the second, as well. Nevertheless, Berdych still won the set. Djokovic was peevishly distracted – to his litany of squalid outrage we might add countless dodgy bounces and a patch of clay behind the landward baseline requiring mid-set maintenance. But Berdych, once the rallies got under way, was imperious, combining patience with power and depth so potently that even the sport’s best defender was frequently stranded. It was the Czech’s immaculate point construction that stood out, the way his winners were a logical conclusion of each rally, and seemingly entailed little risk. Bossed around thus, Djokovic’s mood soured, the wind roared dully, and the set disappeared.

The remainder of the match, once Djokovic saved breakpoints early in the second set, witnessed a gradual but accelerating reversal, apart from the gale, which never abated. Berdych’s immaculate length shortened and Djokovic began to exert control. By the third set, it was all Djokovic, and Berdych’s winners grew wild, and eked out from desperate positions. Even by midway through the second set, however, the intensity had drained from the match. The crowd grew restive, and the only energy came howling in from the sea. Djokovic, as is his way, bellowed with great vigour once it was over. It was an ugly match, inevitably in the conditions, but, yet again, he’d won it.

(2) Nadal d. (9) Simon, 6/3 6/4

His opponent in the final will be Rafael Nadal, who surprised no one by defeating Gilles Simon in the second semifinal, although Simon surprised everyone by playing so well. I confess that Simon is probably my least favourite player to watch, although this view would see sharp upward revision if he continues to play like he did today. Notorious for his passive, pushing game, a game predicated around fleetness of foot and junkiness of shot, Simon to his credit realised that such an approach would yield only one outcome against Nadal on clay. If Simon played ‘normally’ – as he had done so far this week in seeing off both Tipsarevic and Tsonga, grown men beaten to death with pillows – he would hardly last the hour: he’d be kukushkined.

Nadal on this court is just too dangerous. That forehand was designed and constructed for clay like Monte Carlo’s, which rewards full value for spin. It helped that conditions were fast (and that the bounce was uneven). Consequently, Simon attacked, without relent and with tremendous poise. His crosscourt backhand, in particular, were taken tremendously early, smothering Nadal’s vicious spin, and consistently leaving the world No.2 stranded in the backhand corner. I was astonished, and the commentary and various online media suggested I was not alone. It was as though the plodding Geoffrey Boycott became Adam Gilchrist for an afternoon. There was surely no way he could keep it up.

The wind had eased somewhat by the later match, although it remained a steady zephyr, gusting intermittently. Thus assaulted by his opponent, with uncertain conditions and a partisan crowd, Nadal’s victory was a minor masterpiece of focus and footwork. The fleetness with which he scooted into his backhand corner was outstanding. More than the forehand itself, it is the virtuosity with which he enables it that truly stands out. It is also remarkable how much more adept he is at this on clay than on hardcourts. Pundits sometimes wonder why, say, Federer doesn’t simply redirect sliced backhands up the line to Nadal’s backhand. The blinding speed with which Nadal backpedals around his backhand is the answer. Simon today had nothing to fear from Nadal’s backhand, it was just a matter of finding it.

The turning point came early, at 3/3, when Simon moved to 15-40 on Nadal’s serve: two breakpoints. The first was a muscular rally, typically for the Spaniard, if not for the Frenchman. Nadal’s launched a backhand that found the line, and steepled suddenly off a bad bounce, rearing over Simon’s racquet. I remarked at Indian Wells (against Nalbandian) how often Nadal finds the line when facing breakpoint. On the next point, Simon played a fine rally, and swooped in on the net, but struck the put-away volley off centre, putting it not away but smack in the middle of the court. He read Nadal’s subsequent pass, but netted the makeable second volley. Nadal went on to hold. Too often players are broken after failing to break their opponent, and this especially seems to be the case for lower-ranked players when facing Nadal (which is currently everyone except Djokovic), arguably a testament to the desperation they must feel at having blown their only chance. Simon was duly broken, and Nadal held comfortably for the set.

The Spaniard opened the second with another break, capped by a whipped forehand winner up the line. He was now 2/2 on breakpoints. Simon wasn’t. Nadal would coast to the match on that advantage, although they would trade unrequited breakpoints for the next few games. The wind rose again, the shadows encroached, and a final forehand winner sealed the day. It was the best I’ve ever seen Simon play, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the best Nadal has played – not by any stretch – but it was enough.

Whether it will be sufficient in tomorrow’s final is an entirely different question. Nadal should be pleased with his forehand and his footwork, but concerned about his returning – which had improved since yesterday, though not by much – and the tendency to leave his forehand corner unguarded. These are both areas where Djokovic, who has a better serve and crosscourt backhand than Simon, will make the Spaniard bleed. After the match Nadal remarked that ‘At the end, you cannot change your game a lot, no? I don’t have that talent to change a lot my game.’ But these are areas he must change, if he is to staunch the flow. Tomorrow we will discover whether he can become only the second man in the Open era to claim the same event eight times, or whether Djokovic can defeat him eight times in a row, all in finals. There is much to play for. As Chris Wilkinson might say, it should be a spectacular spectacle.

Cincinnati Masters, Third Round

(2) Nadal d. Verdasco, 7/6 6/7 7/6

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

The pressing issue in Cincinnati today was crap tennis, which is a bad issue for a Masters 1000 event to have. Blunt disappointment seemed to blanket each court in the (allegedly) stifling heat. As an Australian, you may colour me unimpressed by the temperature, but about the deflation there can be no dispute. Every third round match took place today, and few of them provided much interest beyond revealing whether both men would prove inept, or only one.

Four Spaniards were in action, and all played so poorly that all four deserved to lose. Sadly, that proved unlikely as two of them were facing each other, and so one was compelled to win. As ever, that one was Rafael Nadal, who has now stretched his domination over Fernando Verdasco to 12 matches without a loss. There’s surely bad blood there. Verdasco’s tepid handshake at the end said it all, or what little the hopelessly poor match hadn’t already said for itself. That it said it at such length – something like three and a half hours – will inevitably lend the encounter some cachet. It seems axiomatic that if a tennis match is to be horrendously dull, it might as well go on for as long as possible. Think of Nadal and Djokovic in Madrid a couple of years ago, when they played out the longest best of three match in history. It certainly felt like it at the time.

David Ferrer and Gilles Simon set about inspiring a similar sensation a short time later. Simon had a golden chance to end the match in straight sets, but, up match point, he crucially thought better of it. Then he thought better of it another four times. It went the distance. Nadal and Verdasco produced an even 100 unforced errors between them, whilst Ferrer and Simon topped that by some considerable margin, quite a feat considering both their games are based around hitting the ball in at any cost.

For a wonder, of the three Spaniards who lost today, Nicolas Almagro conducted himself with the most on-court reserve – both Ferrer and Verdasco dropped their bundles repeatedly – although he was admittedly the farthest from winning. Perhaps his heart wasn’t in it. His opponent, Tomas Berdych, remained merely solid, which today that was more than enough to guarantee a win. Given the prevailing vibe, Monfils v Kohlschreiber thus had Carnival of Suck written all over it, so it was surprising when the Frenchman proved similarly unflappable, and watched on with idle curiosity as the German fell in a heap. The match was not necessarily more enjoyable as a result, but it was over quicker. It’s odd how these things change, almost as though there’s a roster in place. Two rounds ago Kohlschreiber stood by while Roddick disintegrated. Meanwhile, in the quarterfinal Monfils will face Djokovic, which is unfailingly his cue to go haywire.

Hamburg, Final

(5) Simon d. (3) Almagro, 6/4 4/6 6/4

Somewhere between the week that was and the finals that weren’t, the finals that should have been were misplaced. The surprisingly enjoyable German Open taught us that second tier Europeans will stick flock to a clay court tournament of sufficient pedigree, and also that when placing bets we need not forsake the comforts of home. It deserved an exciting finale. Alas, it didn’t get one.

Following Nicolas Almagro’s quite remarkable run through February’s optimistically named Golden Swing, I suggested that he really needed to prove himself on European clay, where it matters. It turns out there are two European clay courts where it doesn’t matter much – Nice and Hamburg – and so he’s done quite well on those. I stand corrected, or at any rate amended. Actually, after last night’s final, I mostly stand disappointed that the Spaniard’s form should vanish so abruptly. He was fearsome a day earlier against Fernando Verdasco, cruelly denying me any number of hearty puns on the term ‘close shave’. Today, faced with the redoubtably scruffy and waif-like Gilles Simon, he looked overwhelmed. They gave Simon a retro deskfan, but never explained why.

Atlanta, Final

(1) Fish d. (3) Isner, 3/6 7/6 6/2

Meanwhile, in Atlanta, the week proved as dull as it was foregone. Mardy Fish has defended his title, though it was run as close as these things can be. He saved match points. Somehow he rallied back from a set down, and then a break down, and then 1-5 down in the tiebreak. Then Isner’s match points came and went. It was terrifically exciting, a final truly worthy of . . . Hamburg.

Really, the victor was American tennis, as it invariably is at this moment in the season, a triumphant procession through numerous 250s before the very important Europeans swan in over the coming weeks. Los Angeles is the next stop, where Fish is No.1 seed. A couple of not-so-important Europeans in Tommy Haas and Grigor Dimitrov will meet in the first round, hopefully one to savour. Dimitrov remains at the very beginning of his career as the next big thing, and a glance across the net will demonstrate that that particular phase of a career need not end, ever. You can be the next big think until you retire. Somewhere along the line, against all likelihood, Haas has made peace with this, and so it is good to have him back.

Miami Masters 1000, Quarterfinals

Nadal d. Berdych, 6/2 3/6 6/3

After some encouraging early success, the tennis engineers – or ‘Tengineers’ – who are responsible for maintaining and upgrading Tomas Berdych have had a difficult time of it. There have been setbacks, but this is only to be expected. Following some very positive developments last year, there are indications that a breakthrough is not far off. Lest one feels inclined to question the endeavour, we have only to look at IBM’s eight year journey with Deep Blue – from concept to controversial victory over Garry Kasparov – to feel reassured that ultimate success is its own sweet reward. From a programming perspective I imagine tennis presents greater obstacles even than chess. For example, Deeper Blue, the machine that eventually overcame Kasparov, was capable of calculating up to twenty moves ahead. Berdych still struggles with one. To be fair, Deep Blue was tasked with little else, while Berdych also has to run, strike a tennis ball very hard and flat, and change facial expressions, sometime as often as twice in a minute.  But the Tengineers have been undaunted in their labours, and the signs are there that Project Berdych is back on track, notwithstanding a serious bug that halted progress in the second half of 2010.

After losing nineteen consecutive sets to Rafael Nadal, Berdych today took one, and could well have taken two if not for a unfortunate malfunction late in the piece. As in the famous series of matches against Kasparov, the Tengineers were permitted access to their charge between sets, in order to recalibrate as they saw fit. They saw very fit after a disastrous first set, and it proved decisive, as he swept through the second. However, at 3/4 in the third , Berdych began to exhibit strange behaviour – almost signs of free will, a ghost in the machine – and promptly suffered a meltdown. The Tengineers afterward declared that a faulty transistor was to blame, and that rumours of human interference (or personality) were patently false. Indeed, human interference was limited to Nadal, who had his shoulder seen to by the trainer several times. When the Mallorcan served three aces to escape 0-40 as the deciding set got under way, our faith in human fortitude was vindicated. For now.

Federer d. Simon, 3/0 ret.

The question was posed, as poor Gilles Simon was lustily booed from the stadium today, whether the crowd would have been less incensed if the Frenchman had called the whole thing off prior to appearing on court. Is a walkover preferable to a token effort? Having already endured a WTA match, it’s not like the crowd was getting a refund either way. Really, the question is beside the point. What the crowd wanted was for Simon to be fit and play a good match against Roger Federer, who is one of the guys that transcends the sport. Seeing Federer play is one of those arbitrary things people have on list of things to do before they die, like swimming with dolphins, or reading Ulysses. A tennis crowd is not terribly different from any other kind of mob, and similarly infantile in its moods. They were booing Simon because they were jacked off, and he was the clearest target.

The upshot is that Federer is through to his thirteenth consecutive semifinal, where he will play Nadal. Opinion is sharply divided as to whether a free ride through the quarters will prove a help or a hindrance. With Federer, especially these days, there’s just no way of knowing. Interviewed on court after his unexpectedly epic match against Simon back at the Australian Open, Federer half-joked that he hoped never to play Simon again. Well, someone up there likes him. Or maybe they don’t like Simon. Maybe they were in the crowd today, hooting smugly as the Frenchman ambled from the court.

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.