March 2, 2013

Local Culture

Dubai Semifinal

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

The tendency for broadcasters of the Dubai Duty Free Tennis Championships to liberally sprinkle their coverage with images and footage of local architecture is apparently irresistible. Admittedly, it is a hard urge to fault. It is important to showcase the local culture for a global audience, the local culture in this case being the irrepressible desire to sculpt land and sea into pointless configurations, and to erect monoliths of dubious practicality but undeniable cost. Berdych Dubai 2013 -5These are structures of a scale and variety almost unique in the world, although they have a spiritual precedent in the Baroque confectioneries of Bavaria, a contemporary equivalent in Las Vegas, and embody an impulse that is now spreading even into Mecca. Really, we’re being invited to gawk.

The rococo tendency to elevate decoration to the status of architecture is anything but new. It would be wrong to say that the Arabians merely got there late, since the truth is they got there early. The deeper truth is that for those with wealth the inclination towards ostentatious bricolage is universal and never truly goes away, and Dubai has more wealth than almost anywhere. With enough money, you may not be able to buy the world, but you can dredge up its semblance from the Persian Gulf, and put resorts on it. Those who prefer to hide their wealth under a bushel don’t reside in this part of the world, unless The Bushel is a 356 star hotel perfectly recreating Peter Bruegel’s Tower of Babel, with three replica Titanics balanced on top.

The Burj Al Arab, the world’s only 357 star hotel, is iconic in this sense, not to say totemic. At a stroke, it wrenched away from the Sydney Opera House the dubious privilege of being the world’s least discreet architectural homage to a ship’s sail. It isn’t the highest hotel in the world – indeed there are several taller in Dubai – but alone on its own island it does prove that monumentality has everything to do with proportion and context rather than simple dimensions. It is a constant reference point for the Sky Sports coverage, one they often return to in between helicopter fly-bys of the city proper and the odd tennis match.

Tonight’s odd tennis match was between Tomas Berdych and Roger Federer, the part-time local who once famously hit up on the Burj Al Arab’s helipad, although there’s a good chance he’ll be remembered for more than that. The Dubai court, located nearer sea level, is one of the fastest hardcourts on the tour, and both these players are disinclined to hang back when the opportunity to step in presents itself. It was relentless assault from the outset, and although there were many moments of fine defence, they were born of necessity rather than temperament.

It is strange how a densely-woven and intricately-textured set of tennis can suddenly unravel. Through the first seven games, neither Berdych nor Federer enjoyed a comfortable service hold, and both were obliged to save break points. The standard, however, was excellent, and a tight finish seemed inevitable, and fitting. Then, serving in the eighth game, with a 40-30 lead, Berdych’s attention wavered, momentarily distracted by the Sky Sports helicopter on another strafing run. Several double faults and some loose errors cost him the game, permitting the defending champion to serve for the set. Federer did so to love, sealing the game with a second serve ace. The statistic that he has never lost in six previous Dubai semifinal was duly paraded.

The intricate pattern continued through the opening stages of the second set, with both men holding on grimly to 2/2. Then Berdych wrenched momentum his way with a hold to love in 82 seconds, before breaking Federer to 15. Federer returned the treatment a few games later, breaking back to 15 as Berdych served for the set. He then held at love in 82 seconds. If the first set had been an unravelling tapestry, the second was shaping up as a weirdly contrapuntal palindrome, like one of Bach’s clever-dick numbers from The Musical Offering.

Then the pattern fragmented, and the oscillations of momentum grew more rapid. Federer narrowly failed to break at 5/5. Berdych nearly succeeded in breaking in the following game when a shanked shot from Federer on set point landed just long. The correct call would have given the Czech the set, but he bafflingly failed to challenge, instead remonstrating with the umpire about crowd noise. Federer went on to hold, and force the tiebreak.

From a dramatic perspective, it is well that he did. Momentum began to dart around coquettishly in the breaker, first with Federer, then with Berdych, then again with Federer, who moved to 6-4, and a pair of match points. The first of these came on his own serve. He didn’t take it – eventually slicing a backhand long – and it would transpire that this was his best chance. Federer Dubai 2013 -7Berdych saved two more match points on his own serve, before taking the set with a monstrous forehand return winner at 9-8. Federer’s concentration lapsed crucially at 2/2 in the third set, and Berdych pounced. The Czech eventually closed out the set 6/4.

Berdych has now defeated Federer five times in this decade, and joins Novak Djokovic as the only men to have done it twice while saving match points. We should also bear in mind that Berdych lost the Marseilles final last week after holding match point. There seems to be a lot of it around this season. Tomorrow he’ll have a chance to make amends, of sorts. Unfortunately, it’s not much of a chance. He’ll face Djokovic, the 2011 champion (of everything), and reigning world number one. The Serb, notwithstanding a brief and non-fatal let down as he served out his earlier semifinal against Juan Martin del Potro, has been in magnificent form this week. He has also won his last ten matches against Berdych, nine of which occurred on hardcourts, and one on this very court, meaning that each is entirely pertinent. Consequently, Djokovic’s only chance of winning tomorrow is if Berdych doesn’t hit every ball as hard as he can onto the line. It is a good chance to have. That’s why he’s world number one.

Federer’s return to number one after last year’s Wimbledon was achieved on the back of a tremendous eight-title haul that had commenced after the US Open in 2011. It was always going to be difficult to reproduce that level, let alone to sustain it. The cruel beauty of the twelve month rankings system is that success only ever buys a player a year’s grace, before that success must be reprised. Of the five titles Federer has had to defend since the 2012 US Open – Basel, Bercy, the World Tour Finals, Rotterdam and Dubai – he has successfully defended none. (Indeed, he hasn’t won a title since the Cincinnati Masters.) After Bercy he relinquished the top ranking to Djokovic. If he fails to defend Indian Wells next week he could well cede the number two ranking to Andy Murray.

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February 25, 2013

Turning Points

Marseilles, Buenos Aires, Memphis: Finals

Photo: Gerard Julien, AFP/Getty Images

Typically, the third week of February had something for everyone, assuming any of them were watching. Aficionados of fast indoor tennis were well-served by a strong field in Marseilles. Lovers of clay doubtless enjoyed the return to normal outdoor dirt in Buenos Aires. Meanwhile those fond of announcing the demise of American tennis surely appreciated Memphis, where every able-bodied American male player turned up – initially they outnumbered the fans – then failed to make the semifinals. It was a week rich with portent, the ground littered with key moments, turning points, watersheds and the shells of roughly shucked clichés.

Earlier in the week, Bernard Tomic lost to Jo-Wilfried Tsonga in the Marseilles quarterfinal. This miraculous event occurred very deep in a final set tiebreaker in which the Frenchman saved a perfect handful of match points. The delay before knowing pundits commenced wondering whether this was a defining moment for Tomic was infinitesimal. Special relativity prohibits the transmission of information beyond the speed of light – the energy required to attain such a rate approaches infinity – but this must have been right up there. Indeed, it may have been faster, since Einstein imposed no theoretical limit on the transfer rate of non-information, examples of which include shadows, phase velocities, or rapid assessments of how vital a given result was to a young player’s continuing development. No one suggested that it might be a turning point for Tsonga.

(There also persists an antediluvian belief that nothing travels faster than bad news. Special relativity proves this proposition to be false, assuming the bad news has any substance whatsoever. If, on the other hand, the bad news relates directly to a Kardashian, then there is nothing to stop it instantaneously propagating throughout the cosmos. My research department admits it doesn’t fully understand the mechanism by which this occurs, though physicists suggest a catastrophic buckling of space-time might be responsible.)

The urge to christen eras as we live through them, to pen the history of today, is, broadly speaking, a modern one. It reflects our faith that through mastery of the past we’ve gained a commensurate capacity not merely to chronicle the present, but to define it. We note moments as they occur, join them up into trends even as we note them, all the while delivering an authoritative running commentary, which is simultaneously deconstructed. The commentary carries the certainty of papal writ, while the deconstruction occurs in a laconic drawl. It’s kind of a neat trick, and to pull it off you need to sound the part. Tone is everything.

So adept have we grown at this that we’re even confident of adducing a trend from a single event. Thus Novak Djokovic’s magisterial 2011 season was implicit within his Davis Cup triumph the year before, as a mighty oak lies latent within an acorn. (The organic metaphor is appropriate, since the conceit is teleological.) But if you say it just right – offhanded, with sufficient mystery to suggest you know more than you’re letting on – you can imply you saw it coming, that you noted the precise moment when a hitherto meandering path narrowed and snapped straight, and the rake’s progress grew purposefully sober. The laity is duly impressed, especially those who don’t realise how often such predictions are delivered ex post facto. Of course anyone can predict lottery numbers after they’ve been drawn – the prophet’s trick is to convince others that they knew all along what was going to happen.

Part of the skill is to get in early, as events occur, and then to say just enough, but no more. The technique isn’t to declare that Tomic has in fact turned a corner – since no one will know that until he does, and is struck by a lorry – but to be the first to wonder aloud at the mere possibility. The finest match at this year’s Australian Open was between Djokovic and Stanislas Wawrinka, and even while the Serb was tearing his clothes apart the question of what this meant for the Swiss was being airily posed. Would this be his year? Wawrinka is nearer the end of his career than the start, but he’s young enough that his career-defining season still lies in the future. When it happens we’ll fall over ourselves in referring back to that marathon at Melbourne Park, and declare that this is clearly where it started. It was nice of him to signpost it. Often they’re harder to spot.

Remaining with Wawrinka, he has just lost the final in Buenos Aires, to David Ferrer. This is the first time Wawrinka has made it to the final at a Golden Swing event, beating the defending champion Nicolas Almagro en route, and there’s no shame in losing to Ferrer on this surface. One certainly couldn’t say the Swiss has taken a backward step. But, taking a longer view, he has been coming to South America for years now, and these kinds of tournaments are designed for players like him. He really should have won one by now. We’ll have to wait a little longer to decide whether Melbourne mattered all that much.

A player certainly needs age on his side. We can suggest that Radek Stepanek will receive the same bounce from his Davis Cup heroics as Djokovic, but only in jest. Meanwhile Marseilles’ match of the week was Juan Martin del Potro’s defeat of Michael Llodra in the second round, which the Argentine won 7/5 in the third set. Sadly the Frenchman is already 32 years old, and we are thus spared the trouble of wondering precisely what this might mean for him. Llodra is no longer an acorn, and will never be an oak. We already knew he played well in France, indoors. Move along: nothing to see here.

Consequently, we can also add that an outcome must be unprecedented, or at least unexpected, in order for it to be considered portentous. Thus we can say that Tomic reaching the third round at the Australian Open and falling to Roger Federer in straight sets was less significant than pushing Tsonga in the quarterfinals in Marseilles. A strong performance in a location where he traditionally underperforms (i.e. not Australia) means more than a stronger one at home.

This brings us back to Tsonga, who won the Marseilles final over Berdych, somehow. Tsonga saved five match points in the quarterfinal, and today he saved another one in the final. He was almost but not quite completely outplayed through two entire sets. The 6/3 score line in the first set does the Frenchman undue credit, since Berdych’s domination had felt more comprehensive than that. In the second set Berdych won 86% of points behind his second serve, while Tsonga won 38%, yet somehow he attained the fleeting sanctuary of the tiebreak. The match point was saved at 5-6, with an ace up the tee from Tsonga, and the set was sealed when Berdych pushed a backhand wide.

It was the third time in four matches this week that the Czech had lost a second set tiebreak (against Ernests Gulbis he’d also blown a match point in the process). Tsonga gained the decisive break early in the third, and rode his advantage to the end, having finally rediscovered his serve. It is Tsonga’s tenth career title (seventh indoors and fifth in France), and redresses a three match losing streak against Berdych. It is also his second victory over a top ten player this season, after last year compiling a mighty 1-15 record against his peers. That quarterfinal between Tomic and Tsonga might well have been a crucial moment, but not for Tomic. Time will tell.

Other moments that may have been definitive or meaningless during this week, as the case may be: Marinko Matosevic survived a dire field to reach the semifinals in Memphis. Del Potro lost to Gilles Simon with disappointing ease. In defeating del Potro, Simon played with the kind of aggressive purpose that makes the rest of his season seem so deflating by comparison. Ernests Gulbis, whose career has produced enough turning points that it resembles a bramble patch, played well to save a match point and push Berdych to a deciding set. Almagro failed to make a final at a South American 250 event. Kei Nishikori won his second 500 event, but, again, it was only Memphis.

And that’s just a few of the results from one relatively inconsequential week. Nearly every player has such moments lurking in their recent past, ready to be exhumed when it later becomes apparent they portended results to come. It’s all rather too much to keep track off. I think it behoves the ATP to compile a list, lest we forget, and lapse into idle speculation.

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February 18, 2013

A Tepid Glow

Sao Paulo, San Jose, Rotterdam: Finals

Rafael Nadal won a tournament on clay, again. Julien Benneteau finished runner-up, again. Milos Raonic won San Jose, again. Whatever else one might expect from men’s tennis in February, do not expect the unexpected, at least not this week. Delpo Rotterdam 2013 -6Indeed, in an unpredictable week in which wondrous events transpired across the globe – the ‘highlight’ was Russia being kicked in Urals – it is almost reassuring that men’s tennis mostly went according to plan.

Of course, those who watched the week unfold across three meteorite-free continents would insist, quite rightly, that these results were anything but inevitable. Nadal hardly looked certain to reach his final, and for a change the Spaniard wasn’t the only one anointing him as the underdog once he got there. Benneteau had to beat several top twenty players to ensure he lost to Juan Martin del Potro in the final. My opening could as easily have said: Roger Federer fell in straight sets to someone ranked outside the top thirty, defending champion Nicolas Almagro lost to a player ranked 82 spots below him, and Frank Moser won his first (doubles) title at the age of 36. There was nothing inevitable about any of that. I could also point out that each of today’s single finals included a man over thirty years of age, and in each case he lost. How does one spin that?

Indeed, hardly a week goes by that couldn’t be interpreted any number of ways. Events are endlessly malleable that way, and the suggestion that they were ineluctable is easily and commonly made afterwards. A posteriori knowingness is endemic across every sport with a discernible fan-base, even though the only reward for being right is a tepid glow of smugness. (It is my experience that comely lads or lasses do not fall at your feet merely because you suavely assert that a certain result was inevitable. And it’s not like you earn any money just for declaring that outcomes were ‘never in doubt’. No: in order to earn money you have to gamble on the outcome, and bookmakers remain quixotically steadfast in their insistence that predictions about the match must be offered before it occurs, not after.)

To be fair, plenty of people confidently predicted David Nalbandian would defeat Nadal in the Sao Paulo final today, even if a few of them have since taken the opportunity to recant. They did so for many reasons, including but not limited to: Nadal’s seven-month absence from the sport, his disgruntlement with the sorry condition of the venue, the loss to Horatio Zeballos last week, his fraught and unconvincing journey to the final, and the fact that Nalbandian has been inclined to trouble Nadal even when the latter is fit. There were also ongoing physical issues, which Nadal was at pains to list. They included sluggish reflexes, slow footwork, and insufficient leg-drive to get his shots deep enough. (On this last point I am happy to offer my expert advice, since I lack anything like his leg-strength, yet find I can consistently launch groundstrokes into the back fence.)

Offsetting these problems was the consideration that the Argentine hasn’t played much professional tennis lately, either (this is his first singles tournament in six months), prior to which he hadn’t won a match since the semifinals at Queens in June, and that the final the following day had ended with Nalbandian’s untimely homage to A Clockwork Orange.Nadal Sao Paulo 2013 -4 Nadal had in fact won a match more recently than Nalbandian, even setting to one side the former’s run to the Vina del Mar final last week. Either way, it was believed the final could go either way, which is another way of saying no one really had any idea what would happen.

In the end, as in the start, it went to Nadal, with the only a minor hiccough coming as he fell down 0/3 in the second set before taking the last half dozen games at a trot. I’m sorry to report it wasn’t very exciting. It was, however, an appropriate culmination for a fairly forgettable tournament whose few notable players had all looked short on form. (That is the kind of confident declaration one can make after the event is over.) Actually, more than the match itself, the muddled trophy presentation was a most fitting conclusion to a South American clay court event that failed to lay down a suitable surface, and that had trouble sourcing tennis balls that behaved like they should. Nadal received a special award for the fastest serve in the match. I doubt anyone saw that coming. Since Sao Paulo is technically an indoor event, it is bound by international law to have a ludicrous trophy. At least we can say that the tournament has adequately fulfilled this obligation: the trophy is absurd, and apparently difficult to balance triumphantly above your head.

The other two finals were eminently more predictable, even if their provenance hadn’t been. Milos Raonic was the two-time defending champion in San Jose, had never dropped a set at the event, and had faced only one break point en route to this year’s final. On a fast indoor court, he is, to put it reticently, difficult to break. He has now won three straight SAP Open titles, still without dropping a set. He is the first man to achieve this in the Open Era, and will be the last person to achieve it in any era. Raonic San Jose 2013 -4Raonic will continue to reign as the San Jose champion until the heat death of the sun, or until any passing asteroids wheel around to finish the job.

Tommy Haas had played a mighty match to see off John Isner in yesterday’s semifinal, but today he was never really in it. The Canadian’s serve was uncounterable, and the impenetrability of his own service games allowed him to lash out fearsomely on the German’s. Every time Raonic broke, the set was more or less over, although he was wise to break again in the final game, and thereby spare himself the stress of serving out the title. There’s no serve so mighty that its owner wouldn’t rather break for the match if given the chance.

It’s easy to think that Raonic’s serve is merely a function of his height. He is six foot five, and although this is hardly short, it bears pointing out that no one of a similar height boasts a serve anything like as lethal. His peers in this department are really Isner and Ivo Karlovic, who are considerably taller. Juan Martin del Potro is actually taller than Raonic, and his serve isn’t in the same class as the Canadian’s. Of course, del Potro has other qualities to recommend him, such as superior movement, a better return of serve, and one of the most devastating forehands the game has ever seen. And while there is consensus that Raonic is the most dangerous prospect among the periodically redefined new guard, we should remember that del Potro is only two years older, and by Raonic’s age had already won the US Open. We talk about how much the game has moved on in recent times, but that was only three and a half years ago. It hasn’t moved on that far. On a clear day, we can still take in most of it.

In any case, del Potro’s considerable assets proved too much for Benneteau today in Rotterdam. Now that it has happened, I can say that it was always going to. It is the Argentine’s fifth title in the past twelve months, and he won it without dropping a set, although he did suffer a nosebleed late in the match. However, It should also be borne in mind that this was del Potro’s first tournament since that dismal loss to Jeremy Chardy at the Australian Open. So while the outcome might never have seemed doubtful, we can only say that because it actually happened. Had he lost to Benneteau, the temptation would have been strong to insist that he was developing a habit of losing to journeyman Frenchman, and that this latest loss was hardly the worst of them.

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February 16, 2013

Obscure Trivia and the Pursuit Thereof

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. Dimitrov Rotterdam 2013 -3Having 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. Benneteau Rotterdam 2013 -2He 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. Baghdatis Rotterdam 2013 -5Earlier 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.

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February 11, 2013

The Black Swan

Vina del Mar, Semifinals and Final

By defeating his compatriot Carlos Berlocq in straight sets in Vina del Mar, Horacio Zeballos moved through to his first tour-level final in three years. He made sure the enormity of the moment was lost on no one: firstly by failing to serve for the match twice, then by blowing three consecutive match points in the ensuing tiebreaker, and lastly with the sustained embrace he bestowed upon his opponent in lieu of a handshake, and the slick sheen in his eyes afterwards.

Even for disinterested onlookers, it proved a relief when a hitherto fine performance wasn’t vitiated by an extravagant choke. Zeballos was clearly the superior player through the first set and until reaching 5/4 in the second, whereupon he stpped up to serve for the match. From that moment on he appeared less interested in winning than in paying homage to Nicolas Almagro’s award-winning performance from the Australian Open, when the Spaniard went to extraordinary lengths to ensure defeat against David Ferrer. Zeballos VDM 2013 -3Alas, Zeballos miscalculated by gaining an entire handful of match points in the eventual tiebreaker. Carlos Berlocq clawed back three of these with clamorous abandon, but not the fourth. Zeballos was through. He had more than earned the right to play off for his first career title. Unfortunately he’d earned the right to do so against Rafael Nadal.

If Zeballos was ever going to defeat Nadal, this would probably be the moment, with the Spaniard barely five days along his allegedly arduous comeback trail. But deriving hope from such a consideration entails the tacit assumption that Zeballos was ever going to defeat Nadal. It was far more likely that he wasn’t going to, notwithstanding the usual proviso that this is sport, and that anything can happen. (The truth is we’re constrained by the rules of good taste to say that, even if we don’t quite believe it.)

Jeremy Chardy certainly hadn’t looked like beating Nadal in their semifinal. The Frenchman’s only hope was for the majority of his groundstrokes to be forehands, for him to hit almost all of them as hard as he could, and for none of them to miss. This tactic – and I employ the term generously – worked against Juan Martin del Potro last month, but the Argentine had been complicit in allowing it to. Nadal, even in the early stages of his thousand mile journey, was never going to be so enabling. Chardy was forced to protect his own backhand, which meant his forehand wing went untended, except by Nadal, who made hay there. The farming metaphor is appropriate, since Chardy, especially on clay, has the turning radius of a combine harvester. He was wrong-footed by balls that almost hit him in the leg.

The world has been painstakingly instructed to keep its expectations modest when it comes to Nadal. We were admonished that he wouldn’t reascend immediately to his earlier stratospheric level. It will take time. Del Potro spent 2011 proving just how long and winding the road back from injury can be. On the other hand, and meaning no disrespect to the many worthy players out of whose biomass the Vina del Mar draw was fashioned, there was no good reason to think Nadal wouldn’t win his first title back. There was even a distinct likelihood, arrived at statistically and intuitively, that he’d do so without dropping a set. Despite having been broken in his opening game of the tournament, he hadn’t dropped serve since. A blowout was widely anticipated.

Of course, a blowout was not delivered. Through a tight first set, Zeballos served superbly, and Nadal returned poorly, earning no break points. But it is under high pressure that we see how structurally sound a player is, and the first set tiebreaker seemed to prove a sneaking belief that the Argentine’s armature wasn’t especially sturdy. It cracked, he slumped, and Nadal took the breaker seven points to two. I doubt whether anyone was particularly surprised. The pattern in matches such as these is that a tight first set will give way to a perfunctory second one. The negative buoyancy of inexperience generally guarantees that a lower-ranked journeyman must return to earth. Having played out of his skin to make the first set close, losing it will remind him of his flawed corporeality, and then his mortality. Consequently, the assembled experts revised their prediction to the effect that the match wouldn’t be a blowout, but that the second set would be.

As Andy Roddick once noted, sooner or later you’ll discover why a certain player is ranked where he is. It’s a clever and seductive line, glib in the way that Roddick’s lines are, and broadly true up to a point. It is seductive because it invites the avowed expert to look prescient, thereby providing an opportunity to impress the lay-person, which is an invitation few experts can forgo. However, the point beyond which it ceases to be true is the point at which a player illustrates that rankings aren’t stable, but are constantly shifting, and that a player on the rise won’t necessarily thud back to earth immediately. They must eventually – even the greatest do – but any tennis career is really an exercise in seeing how long you might defy gravity.

Zeballos defied it a little longer throughout the second set, withstanding Nadal’s best efforts to attach a guy rope and drag him down. Zeballos was now obliged to save break points, which he did. A second tiebreak ensued. Obscure statistics began to appear, a trickle at first. The last time Nadal had played consecutive tiebreaks in a clay court match was against John Isner at Roland Garros in 2011. The trickle increased as Zeballos moved to 6-4, and gained a pair of set points. Nadal saved both. Then the Argentine launched a ferocious backhand return winner up the line, and sealed the set a point later. This wasn’t defiance of gravity, but mockery.

So the second set wouldn’t be a blowout, either. The legion of smug pundits who’d predicted an easy victory for the Spaniard – I was right in there among them – were running out of opportunities in which to be right. Then Nadal opened the third set by breaking at love, and order appeared to be restored. But then Zeballos broke back, as Nadal netted a simple drop volley into an open court. From there the Argentine somehow grew stronger – he didn’t face another break point – and Nadal became meek, directing his groundstrokes safely up the middle of the court. It was tempting to think that he too believed his lower-ranked opponent couldn’t possibly go on playing so well, that he would inevitably crack again as the pressure mounted. Realistically, this was the first tight situation Nadal had found himself in this week, and although there are plenty of skills one might usefully work on during a seven month lay-off, there are certain things that only come with match-play. This wasn’t Nadal at his best.

Of course, this isn’t to say that Nadal wasn’t still the favourite as the service games ticked away through that third set. There were surely reasons Zeballos had never won a tour-level title, and even more to declare that if and when he did, it wouldn’t be against the king of clay on his preferred surface. Nonetheless, the trickle of allegedly relevant statistics had by now broadened into a rivulet. We were reminded that only Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic have defeated Nadal in a final on this surface (each has done it twice), and that Zeballos was riding a fourteen match winning streak on clay. No left-hander had ever defeated Nadal on red clay. Nadal had lost his last seven finals outside of continental Europe. More than anything, this increased flow reflected a deepening belief that Zeballos might pull off the upset.

The moment these stats all changed came with Nadal serving to stay in the match at 4/5. Zeballos, who yesterday was almost crippled by doubt when finishing off Berlocq, was suddenly grinning and loose, swinging his racquet without a care. He moved to love-30 with a delicate drop shot that left Nadal on his heels, then to match point with a crosscourt forehand winner. On the next point he again moved Nadal wide. Nadal pulled the trigger up the line, and found the net.

Zeballos thrust his arms to the sky as he collapsed onto his back, overwhelmed. He’d done the impossible, except of course he hadn’t. He’d really shown us how lazy we’ve grown about what impossible means, and that when we’d trotted out the hackneyed phrase ‘anything can happen in sport’, we’d done so with a knowing smile to suggest that it almost certainly would not. But all swans were white until they discovered a black one. And you’ll always find out why a guy is ranked where he is, until one day you don’t, and instead discover he isn’t ranked there anymore.

By winning Vina del Mar, Zeballos moves from No.73 up to No.43, and he played well above that today. As for Nadal, he definitely looked disappointed afterwards as he waited for the trophy ceremony to be set up. I suspect – without any way of knowing  for sure – that as the week wore on his erstwhile insistence that we shouldn’t expect too much in his first tournament back gave way, as it did for most others, to the realistic belief that he could win the whole thing. If nothing else, this loss will ensure that he arrives in Sao Paulo with his expectations calibrated suitably low. He has demonstrated throughout his career that these are his optimal operating conditions. By that reasoning, it probably helps that a short while later he returned to the court with Juan Monaco and lost the doubles final.

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February 8, 2013

Groove is in the Heart

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 seeking 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. (AP Photo/Luis Hidalgo)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’). Montpellier Entertainment 2013 -2This 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. Photo source: ATP World TourAt 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.

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February 4, 2013

A Prolonged Bender

Davis Cup, First Round

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

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

Italy d. Croatia, 3-2

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

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

Canada d. Spain, 3-2

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

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

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

Australia d. Chinese Taipei, 5-0

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

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

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

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February 2, 2013

A Blast on the Sousaphone

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. Photo: CP/Darryl DyckI 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.

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January 30, 2013

The Next Point Annual 2012

TNP2012The Australian Open is finished, Davis Cup is days away, and the golden clouds are gathering over South America, ready to release their usual spray. It seems like an appropriate moment to release The Next Point Annual 2012.

Free to download – there is no feasible way to pay for it even if you wanted to – this volume includes nearly all of my articles from throughout the 2012 season, starting with Abu Dhabi and concluding with the Davis Cup final.

The introduction I provided for last year’s annual remains largely pertinent to this one. The only thing worth adding is that the new volume is even longer, so if you do print it out, don’t drop it on your foot. I don’t know where I stand legally with that. As before I have re-edited some of the articles, in order to correct the worst grammatical howlers, and only when the intended meaning grew so subverted that it courted solecism. The factual errors and the errors of judgement, on the other hand, remain untended.

Many readers have pointed out that my tennis writing is not like most other tennis writing. Partially this is a matter of temperament, since I’m inclined to write in a way that some might consider old-fashioned, or at least in a way that resists the innate ephemerality of the internet. Consequently, I tend not to include very many links, and I only very rarely embed video. My personal view, as a writer, is that words should be sufficient, and that if they aren’t, then I need to find better words. It means that compiling a year’s worth of pieces into a single volume is a comparatively straight-forward task. They were mostly written with something like this in mind, anyway. So, aside from being a matter of temperament, it was a matter of design.

The reason I do it at all, however, is largely a matter of personal satisfaction. I hope you enjoy the new Annual, and thank you sincerely for all your support.

The 2012 Next Point Annual can be downloaded here.

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January 28, 2013

Enough is Enough

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. Source: Scott Barbour/Getty Images AsiaPacThis 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.

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