June 4, 2012

A Torrent of High Comedy

French Open, Day 8

(3) Federer d. (LL) Goffin, 5/7 7/5 6/2 6/4

Roger Federer today defeated David Goffin in four sets, and thereby moved through to his 32nd consecutive quarterfinal at Grand Slam level. This equates to eight years without failing to reach the last eight. However, through the early going in today’s match there was, unexpectedly, a mounting anxiety that the streak would halt at 31. This would have represented a stunning deviation from the script, since Federer beating the unheralded Goffin was about as foregone as it gets, rather like beating Roddick in Miami had been.

I should declare, without further preamble, that Goffin boasts a fresh and youthful look. This is important, and was therefore made abundantly apparent even for those who didn’t watch the match, but merely followed its progress on Twitter or Radio Roland Garros. The pre-existing stream of jokes about his appearance expanded rapidly during the hit-up – proving that Federer is wrong: hitting up does have a point – until it threatened to burst its banks; a flash-flood of dull gags, and similarly impressive for its ferocity and volume rather than the quality of its component parts.

Few of the gags were especially funny, even in the broad sense in which the term is used on the internet, whose denizens – if they are to be believed – are mostly laughing out loud, whether seated or while rolling on the floor. (This is why internet cafes always sound and look like Bedlam.) Many of these humdingers implied Goffin was on exeat from high school (ho-ho), that we hoped he’d handed in his homework (har-har), and did his mother know where he was (my sides!). My instinct was to raise the stakes by lowering the tone, but I refrained. Tennis is family entertainment, and no one ever gained anything by being risqué on the internet.

This deluge of high comedy eased markedly after Goffin broke Federer late to claim the first set, sealing it with a scathing forehand up the line. This wasn’t going to script, and it was hard not to conclude that all the jokes about Goffin’s youth had reflected a widespread assumption that he would pose no threat whatsoever to the sport’s greatest player. It also suggested few people had ever seen him play before. Like many others, I’d already seen Goffin play a few times, and therefore had a distinct advantage. I’d long since worked the lame jokes out of my system: ‘If ever you need Tobey Maguire to seem old and wise, Goffin’s the guy you’d cast as his sidekick.’ I’d even progressed to the stage of trying to work out who he reminded me of. Back in Chennai, where he reached the quarterfinals, I concluded that he resembled Guillermo Coria, with a kinder face. This was reaffirmed when he opened today’s match with a double-fault.

But if Goffin recalls Coria, he boasts Nikolay Davydenko’s endeavour, hands and fearlessness. As with the Russian, these combine with admirable court-positioning to offset modest height and a slight frame. Throughout the first set, in which he was frankly the better player, it was arguably his anticipation that proved most significant. We now all know that his boyhood room was papered with images of Federer, but his performance today reflected countless hours watching his idol play. (Goffin, according to one of the few amusing tweets, had ‘really done his homework on Federer’, proving yet again that funny is all in the timing.) Conditions were heavy, but Goffin seemed to have little trouble hitting through them, and hustling Federer around the court. Whenever Federer tried to do the same he found his opponent already there with time to kill. Goffin’s anticipation and foot-speed made the clay seem especially heavy for the Swiss.

Having said that, Federer was playing well within himself, perhaps partaking of the general belief that the Belgian would sooner or later succumb to the moment. After all, Goffin didn’t even qualify for this event, but slipped in as a lucky loser when Monfils withdrew. For whatever reason, Federer did not play that first set (or the second) as imposingly as he should have, content to be solid, serve well, and permit his aura to work its trick. As a broad strategy it doubtless has merit – he knows how to win tennis matches – but on the level of each rally it meant he immediately ceded initiative to Goffin, who teed off on anything, and wasn’t missing. Off the ground, I can barely recall Federer going for a line through the first few sets. Goffin hardly bothered going for anything else. His depth was incredible.

But just because a guy is a great mover is no reason not to move him. Federer’s intensity lifted at the end of the second set, at precisely the moment Goffin’s wavered, and the Belgian gifted up his first break of the match. Federer, as is his way of late, blew a few set points, and fended off a break-back point, but eventually closed it out. He then broke again to open the third set. Conditions seemed to be clearing, and quickening, although I’m inclined to think this was owed largely to Goffin fading. He remained as quick as ever, but his anticipation, so preternatural through the early going, began to desert him. Federer was now lashing his forehands with greater pace and bite, and finding openings everywhere. He settled into his ominous groove of 90 second service holds, and the set vanished quickly. The fourth set grew momentarily complicated after Federer once again broke early, as Goffin resumed his earlier attack, and threatened to break back. The point of the match ended with the Belgian bowing to the crowd. He later admitted that he hadn’t really known what to do, but that it was a great moment and he’d consequently felt obliged to do something. He probably knew it was coming to an end, and seemed determined to enjoy himself. Federer eventually coasted to that end, sealing the final game with his mightiest forehand of the afternoon.

Immediately after the match, both players were subjected to an on-court that was both manufactured and awkward, the latter quality abetted by those in the crowd insisting that Federer and Goffin seal the love-in with a kiss. The Belgian was compelled, before a packed house in Lenglen, to reiterate just how much he’d idolised the fellow standing right next to him. Neither man failed to look embarrassed at this. Goffin would have been justified in pointing out that he was an actual professional tennis player, and could they all please stop patronising him, but he didn’t. In the end, they settled for a friendly hug, after which Federer gave the youngster a fleeting pat on the head.

Elsewhere

Play was suspended overnight in the final two men’s matches. In the first, Tsonga has consolidated a break in the fifth set, after Wawrinka rescued himself from a two-set well. In the second, del Potro leads Berdych by two sets to one. I suspect that one can still go either way.

There was also a match between Djokovic and Seppi, although this was mostly without incident, except for when Seppi went up two sets to love and looked like knocking out the world number one. Italy’s top player, battling exhaustion and a world No.1 who’d finally found some range, also ground his way back from a break down in the fourth, and was gallant in keeping the fifth close. As I say, barely worth commenting on. Luke Saville, the top seed in the boy’s event, also fought back from a set and a break down. It was the theme of the day. Victoria Azarenka is right to be furious that she wasn’t told.

I’d love write more, but I’m out of space.

2 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

Tagged as ,

June 3, 2012

De Profundis

French Open, Third Round

‘Pain doesn’t kill me. I kill the pain.’ These are the inspirational words that the generally likeable Svetlana Kuznetsova has inscribed into the flesh of her inner right bicep, thereby proving the adage that if you must subscribe to a solecism, you should at least do it in Latin. ‘Dolor non occidatis me. Interficiam dolor,’ has a certain ring to it – or at least the dull thud of obscurity – and at worst you could pretend that Seneca once uttered it, in a particularly uninspired mood. It has a vaguely Stoic quality to it, although for some reason I am more reminded of Steve Holt’s motivational exhortations at Michael Bluth: ‘There’s no ‘I’ in ‘Win!’’ Kuznetsova’s motto sounds suspiciously like something a burly man once hollered at her in the gym, while she endeavoured to max the envelope at 110%. At least Janko Tipsarevic had the good sense to ink his left forearm with Dostoevsky, even if he inked it in Japanese rather than Russian, because he thought it looked better.

(6) Ferrer d. (27) Youzhny, 6/0 6/2 6/2

After comprehensively self-destructing against David Ferrer earlier today, Mikhail Youzhny might be tempted to find space for a tattoo saying ‘Sorri’, although given his history of self-inflicted punishment he might be more likely to chisel it into his own forehead. For now we’ll have to settle for it scrawled onto the court surface with his shoe, early contrition for a match that was rapidly heading south. Ferrer proved once more that there are subtle gradations to ‘solidity’. At the level he was operating at today, it even achieves a kind of virtuosity. He was almost impenetrable. Before the Russian applied his boot to the court, he applied his racquet to it with some force. Even the crowd seemed sympathetic. The ‘Sorri’ perhaps stemmed from gratitude at this moral support. It wasn’t precisely on par with Gustavo Kuerten’s giant heart, but it was a nice moment. Later Kaia Kanepi did inscribe a giant heart in the court, after finally seeing off Caroline Wozniacki. It was one of those days.

(17) Gasquet d. (Q) Haas, 6/7 6/3 6/0 6/0

It certainly was for Tommy Haas, who, up a set and level with Richard Gasquet in the second, probably felt like he was a decent chance of scoring the upset. He’d survived the qualifying draw in the back-lot, and here he was, battling it out in the third round on Lenglen. He then lost 15 games in a row, and it wasn’t his fault. Gasquet entered that rare mode in which he cannot miss the court, in which he looks for all the world like its best player. When Haas wasn’t forced into error, he was merely feeding the Frenchman balls from which to crush winners, which Gasquet duly did. Gasquet was understandably proud of his performance afterwards, although he airily dismissed any suggestion that local hopes should be nourished by this. Like the rest of us, he knows from long experience that it never lasts. The godmode power-up is only ever temporary. He faces Andy Murray next, whom he beat in Rome a few weeks ago. The pain nearly finished the Scot off in the second round, but he appeared fine today, sporting a new tattoo: ‘Virginia Wade doesn’t kill me…’

Rafael Nadal still hasn’t dropped a set on red clay this year, although he did permit Eduardo Schwank four games in one of them: a narrow escape. He’ll play Juan Monaco in the next round, who eventually got past Milos Raonic in a decent five setter, one that was predictably determined by the serve. Monaco proved unbreakable. Despite recent heroics, or more likely because of them, Paul Henri Mathieu fell in five sets to Marcel Granollers, despite shinnying out of a two set hole. Both men looked pretty tired by the end, each fighting a desperate rearguard action against ‘the pain’.

Speaking of dropped sets, it’s easy to get caught up in this. When Roger Federer won the 2007 Australian Open without dropping a set, it was the first time a major had been claimed so cleanly in over twenty years. Since then it’s become rather de rigueur – Nadal has done it several times – and fans who’ve come to the sport in recent years can be forgiven for believing that such outcomes are normal. At the very least, we’ve grown accustomed to the top players cruising untroubled through the early rounds in straights. The fact that Federer dropped a set in his second and his third round has therefore been deemed newsworthy, and a cause of anxiety for his fans. It probably wasn’t worth Tony Godsick quitting IMG over. Then again, like Nadal, Djokovic hasn’t dropped any sets either. He was so comfortable in seeing off Nicolas Devilder that he carefully synchronised the inevitable thrashing to the fading light, as precisely as one might score a film.

(5) Tsonga d. Fognini, 7/5 6/4 6/4

Fabio Fognini was rarely engaged during his straight sets loss to Jo-Wilfried Tsonga yesterday, although when he was he proved characteristically engaging. On the heels of two five set victories, I’m not sure his undivided attention would have realistically altered the result, so much as delayed it. More importantly, he wasn’t sure, either. In between strutting about, admonishing the crowd, tossing racquets and tormenting the umpire, there were a few tremendous rallies. At one point he accidentally dropped his towel, and apologised to the ball kid. A small thing, but it marked a nice change from Guillermo Coria’s day, when the Argentine would hurl racquets in their direction for a lark. Somewhere in the last decade Court Chatrier became child-friendly. Tsonga will never be an authentic clay-courter, but he was still pretty good, athletic and joyous, but also admirably focussed given his opponent’s wavering application.

(18) Wawrinka d. (11) Simon, 7/5 6/7 6/7 6/3 6/2

Stan Wawrinka was arguably even better in seeing off a particularly passive Gilles Simon, and that’s saying something. Across five sets, the Frenchman struck a commendable 23 winners, although this was narrowly eclipsed by Wawrinka’s tally of 82. Most of Wawrinka’s were produced off the backhand, among the sport’s heaviest, and it felt like most of those were directed up the line, which even Simon couldn’t bring himself to cover. Wawrinka will play Tsonga next – one to watch.

(7) Berdych d. (31) Anderson, 6/4 3/6 6/7 6/4 6/4

Kevin Anderson pushed Tomas Berdych to five sets, and for great swathes through the middle outplayed him handily. Momentum only shifted in the fourth set, although IBM’s frankly useless Slamtracker was typically slow to pick up on this. Perhaps it’s ambitious to expect it to accurately reflect the flow of an actual tennis match, given that it can’t even update the score in a timely fashion.

As ever when very tall men play, this viewer’s perspective underwent a sharp revision, and everyone else on court began to look like a Hobbit. Berdych finished strong, and has earned the anticipated fourth round with Juan Martin del Potro. This was the fourth round match everyone yearned for the moment the draw was unleashed – especially Federer – and there’s no reason to think it won’t deliver, unless the Argentine’s knee flares up. Remember Delpo, your knee doesn’t kill you. You kill your knee. Or something.

8 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

June 1, 2012

Perfect Cadence

French Open, Day Five

Fognini d. (28) Troicki, 6/2 3/6 4/6 6/3 8/6

Fabio Fognini saved two match points while defeating Viktor Troicki today – 8/6 in the fifth set – and it is reasonable to suppose he played the second of them with a cracked frame, having hurled it to the court upon conceding the previous point. This has traditionally signalled the moment at which Fognini grows interested, so it proved something of a surprise when he subsequently broke for 7/6, and then served it out at love. Those of us who had hunkered down for an epic could be forgiven for feeling a little short-changed. Where was Troicki’s counter break, amidst a flurry of foot faults? No cramps? Even the self-directed tirades, for all that they roamed through the more florid regions of several romance languages, were mostly delivered sotto voce.

If fans cannot rely on The Fog to instigate a melodramatic and farcically-extended classic, wither should they turn? Who remaining in the draw even had the pedigree? A short time later John Isner strode onto Chatrier, where he would remain for over five and a half hours. Denied the services of Nicolas Mahut, who is scheduled to face Roger Federer tomorrow, Isner had instead enlisted the equally unlikely Paul-Henri Mathieu. When Big John really has time to kill, it seems only aging also-ran Frenchmen need apply, although once you’ve met those basic requirements it’s apparently a case of first come, first served-at. (Arnaud Clement, busily terrorising ball kids, missed his chance by mere hours. Utterly despondent, he immediately announced his retirement.)

(WC) Mathieu d. (10) Isner, 6/7 6/4 6/4 3/6 18/16

By now you doubtless know how it turned out. Doing anything more than recounting the scores does any of the first four sets too much justice. Each provided a timely reminder – timely is almost certainly the wrong term – that Isner’s classics are not to be delectated for their individual moments, but only appreciated in their totality, like an extended work by Philip Glass. No one emerges from a performance of Einstein on the Beach unchanged, but nor do they necessarily recall that delightful bit in the third hour, unless it’s years later, during therapy. Steve Tignor, who was courtside, correctly suggested that a match like this one evokes the fleeting transience of human existence. He should try doing it through a frigid Melbourne night. Somewhere in there May became June, and it felt like it. A month had passed.

The match lurched to a kind of life in the fifth set, likely a ghastly simulacrum. Those parts of Mathieu’s career not taken up with surgery and recovery have been mostly devoted to establishing his reputation for gagging at the big moments. He kicked things off nicely in the 2002 Davis Cup final, when he blew a two set lead – in Paris – to Mikhail Youzhny in the fifth and deciding rubber. For disappointment that’s hard to top, which isn’t to say he hasn’t tried to at least match it in the long decade since. Still, he appears to have turned a corner of sorts. Two days ago he recovered from a two set deficit for the first time. Today he held his nerve admirably. Isner, it turns out, should have vetted his aging also-ran Frenchmen a little more closely.

When a fifth set lacks a tiebreaker – as it should – it’s inevitable that fitness becomes decisive, especially on clay. At 6’9’’, Isner will never be able to run all day. But Mathieu is still in the preliminary stages of his latest comeback, so there was no reason to believe he could either. Blunt weariness was thus decisive, but for a wonder it was the Frenchman who was holding more comfortably, and whose groundstrokes retained their sting. Isner should have been taking bigger cuts on his return games, undoubtedly, but Mathieu was admirably steadfast. And he was making Isner toil mightily to hold, doing everything he could to counter the American’s beastly kick to the ad court. I don’t wish to imply that the tennis was suddenly breathtaking. It wasn’t, but at least Mathieu’s break points were now match points, each holding out the promise of a final perfect cadence. Alas, this was Glass in a capricious mood, and every time the dominant chord would resolve imperfectly, sliding cruelly away, back into the churning minimalist coda. Isner saved six match points.

He didn’t save the seventh, and Mathieu looked slightly less elated than stunned as Isner’s final forehand drifted wide in the gathering murk. He too had given up hope of an end. His feet were in terrible shape – one of his toes is broken – and he must have been close to collapse, but he looked numb rather than wounded. They both did, but Mathieu, once it had sunk in, was the one permitted to raise his leaden arms aloft for the delirious crowd.

If we weren’t constantly reminded, it might be easy to forget that Isner was considered an outside chance to take the French Open this year. I was never sure whether this brazen assessment was based more heavily on his stirring Davis Cup efforts against Switzerland and France or his heroic first round loss to Nadal here last year. Either way, he has emphatically failed to impress since returning to Europe. It is with some dismay that we must admit that a strong run at the US Men’s Clay Court Championships back in Atlanta does not necessarily guarantee triumph at Roland Garros. I suppose we had to find out sometime. Juan Monaco, who will face Milos Raonic in a few days, maintains some hope it doesn’t therefore guarantee failure. Isner looked quite upset at this discovery, although initially his analysis remained measured, as though he was reading it from a coaching handbook: ‘I felt like I got caught in patterns that weren’t idea for me.’ The issue, he suggested, was one of confidence. Fair enough. Then, finally, his disappointment broke through: ‘I am just going to go home. I don’t want to think about tennis right now.’

Mathieu has been denied the same luxury, for all that he must crave it at some level. Unfortunately, he is already home, and he won’t be granted the freedom of oblivion. He must do it again in a few days, much of which will be spent in an ice bath, traditionally a difficult – although not impossible – place in which to savour victory. Whether that victory will prove Pyrrhic is the question. Fabio Fognini knows all about those, as does John Isner. Now Isner knows that they’re still better than a loss.

6 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

Tagged as , , ,

May 30, 2012

Spread Too Thin

French Open, Day Three

This year, more than ever, the policy of sustaining the French Open’s opening round over three days seems to have had the deleterious effect of spreading the excitement too thinly, guaranteeing that the genuinely great moments have remained too scattered to achieve critical mass, and therefore haven’t cohered into an identifiable body. Sunday provided the most soporific commencement to a major in living memory. Even Parisians appeared unaware that the event had started, or that the stadium courts had functioning entry-points. Although Monday had its excitement, little of it carried over to Tuesday. Today’s only upset saw Alex Dolgopolov fall to Sergiy Stakhovsky (although amidst the conflagration of Serena Williams’ exit it is perhaps disproportionate to speak of upsets at all, like lamenting a broken toe during the firebombing of Dresden). Even the expected results for the most part played out in entirely expected ways. None of the top four were troubled, especially Nadal who was charitable in permitting a free-swinging Simone Bolelli five games. But, inevitably, there were exceptions.

(8) Tipsarevic d. Querrey, 2/6 6/4 7/6 6/3

There was early chatter of Sam Querrey upsetting Janko Tipsarevic, but the fact that most of it originated from American commentators supplied the tip-off that chatter was all it was. Querrey struck the ball well – as he should, given his proportions – and the fast conditions helped, but the pronounced disparity in their respective rankings isn’t accidental. Tipsarevic certainly isn’t immune to upsets, and he remains the most vulnerable player in the top ten, but the time when he would check out quickly seems to have passed, for now. His game solidified noticeably upon breaking back in the second set, and from there merely staying close tested the limits of Querrey’s form. By the beginning of the fourth set, Tipsarevic could see as well as everyone else that the American’s legs had gone.

(Q) Haas d. Volandri, 6/3 0/6 6/4 6/4

Tommy Haas’ decision to endure qualifying (forced upon him by the tournament’s refusal of a wildcard) was quite laudable, especially for those of us who’ve cleared 30, and believe we shouldn’t therefore be immediately harvested for our organs. Haas, his spleen mellower in its advanced years, is proving there’s life to be had beyond that age even for professional tennis players. Others have proved it already, but few of them have been quite as high profile. Volandri is no spring chicken himself, but even in his brief prime he never had a game to match Haas, notwithstanding a truly execrable second set from the German.

Dimitrov d. Young, 7/6 6/1 6/1

There was a similar gulf in class between Grigor Dimitrov and Donald Young, and the dynamics of the match were vaguely familiar, in that Dimitrov punished the American’s second serve without mercy, launched plenty of attractive one-handed backhands – that wing looks surprisingly strong against weak opponents – and generally hustled Young from the court. Young intimated via the enchanting medium of endless complaining that the difference between them had something to do with his own form, but the fact that his most extravagant groans were inspired by Dimitrov’s good shots landing in gave the game away. Young is now 2-13 for the season. Apologies to American readers, since he’s apparently a big deal over there, but this doesn’t feel wrong. Speaking of attractive backhands, Dimitrov will next face Gasquet, and can therefore witness his own future from extreme close range.

Paire d. Ramos, 7/6 6/4 6/7 6/3

The French famously have a habit of producing eccentric tennis players, for all that I’m not convinced they boast a higher proportion of eccentric citizens. There are countless examples, although I suppose for the true exemplar Fabrice Santoro still grabs the gateaux. Benoit Paire is hardly cut from the same cloth, but that’s the curious thing about all these French weirdos. They’re all genuinely strange – there’s nothing self-conscious or cultivated about it, despite what you’d expect from the nation that nurtured Cocteau and Satie – and no two are alike. Paire, whose raffish facial thatch technically qualifies him as a ‘beardo’ – is arguably the sport’s foremost exponent of the inside-out backhand. He strikes it well, and he strikes it hard. Most interestingly, he strikes it often. The lengths he will go to in order to run around his forehand are extreme. Today he struck inside-out backhand winners from inside the forehand tramlines. Otherwise, he conducted entire rallies using only forehand slices. He went on dropshot benders that recalled Albert Portas. About the only thing he can’t do is land first serves with any regularity. The final point of this highly entertaining match was somehow typical, despite being the only example of its type in the entire match. He served, Albert Ramos returned, whereupon Paire wrong-footed him with a crosscourt forehand dropshot – that shot is almost exclusively played inside-out – which Ramos scrambled to and shovelled up the line. Paire was there, and launched a backhand drive-volley from just inside the baseline. Winner. Match. Quite incredible.

The following players all won in straight sets, with almost none of the sets being close: Rafael Nadal, David Ferrer, Andy Murray, Mikhail Youzhny, Dimitry Tursonov, Denis Istomin, Robin Haase, Marcos Baghdatis, Eduardo Schwank and Florian Mayer. Aside from those who are fans of any or all of those guys – and who are understandably willing to find plenty to interest them even in crushing victories – that adds up to a lot of hours of non-competitive tennis. But not so many that we needed an extra day.

2 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

May 29, 2012

Minor Records and Major Drama

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.

7 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

Tagged as , , , , , ,

May 28, 2012

Castles Built on Air

French Open, Day One

(5) Tsonga d. (Q) Kuznetsov, 1/6 6/3 6/2 6/4

As the French Open’s laborious preparations ground wearily on – adapting Lardner’s famous stage direction, the curtain was raised for seven days to denote the lapse of a week – we could say that protesting one’s non-favouritism had become the tournament’s prevailing theme, if it wasn’t already the theme of every tournament. The perennial avowal of underdog status would be tedious even if it was confined to the Davis Cup, but ubiquity has long-since converted it into white noise, which is only of interest when it goes away.

Therein lies the rub. If a player concedes his favouritism he is branded as arrogant. Even saying nothing is dutifully noted by onlookers keen for an angle, since silence is an admission of something or other. Thus we have a race to the bottom, as players think up ever more imaginative reasons why they couldn’t possibly win, and attempt to deliver them in the least offensive way possible. Jo-Wilfried Tsonga arguably went too far in opting for a structuralist approach last week, raising hackles by declaring that neither he nor any French player had a chance of winning the French Open, which is more or less what everyone else thought anyway. He was summarily condemned, and it’s hard not to think that many people who otherwise lament the blandness of athlete’s responses were among those handing down the verdict. Tsonga probably shouldn’t have spoken on his compatriot’s behalf, and it presumably won’t help his chances much, since professional athletes must perform within a bubble of self-delusion. But who among us can begrudge a guy for telling the truth? Lots of people, it turns out, many of whom were quick to point out that belief and hope matter, ephemeral though they are.

As I say, it’s not enough merely to avoid saying the wrong things. Forgetting to say all the right things in the right order also lifts eyebrows. There’s a sudden gap in the white noise, like sitting on a beach and having the ocean momentarily go quiet. The top players are adept at ensuring this doesn’t happen, and thus we end up with gripping headlines like these. One could argue that it’s not the players’ fault, that in each case they’re merely answering a dull question with the answer it merits. It’s a perfectly valid argument, since these are smart guys, and in person they don’t sound anything like this robotic. At the beginning of each event, every player should be given a stack of cards, upon which is inscribed: ‘I’m sorry, but your question is just too silly, and you’re obviously fishing for a sound bite. Also, I’m not going to talk about my socks, any more. I reserve the right to remain silent.’

Tsonga looked like vindicating his low expectations throughout the first set of today’s opener against Andrey Kuznetsov, although he picked it up after that, winning the last three comfortably. He  may have determined that no Frenchman will hoist the Coupe des Mousquetaires, but losing in the first round to a Russian qualifier is not the preferred way to go about achieving this goal. Afterwards Tsonga maintained the pragmatic course he’d earlier charted, reiterating his total lack of favouritism, and discussing the related issue of pressure. He apparently feels no pressure in Paris (but will at Wimbledon), since he has no expectation of winning. It’s a consistent line, but, like everyone else, I do question its usefulness. The Parisian crowd probably don’t realistically believe he’ll win the event, either, but he shouldn’t go out of his way to quash their hopes. Nevertheless, it sends a powerful warning to the rest of the field, that in order to wrest underdog status from him and his countrymen, it will have to be pried from his cold dead hands.

Even so, the locals had plenty to cheer about on an otherwise quiet opening day. Only two Frenchmen lost, and neither of those were expected to win. Adrian Mannarino has been in terrible form for some time now, and he was dealt a harsh lesson by the reliably exciting Fabio Fognini, who is returning to the site of his greatest triumph, and his most dramatic performance. His partner in drama from last year’s production, Albert Montanes, fell in four sets to Juan Martin del Potro, who has something wrong with his knee, though not with his backhand, which was, according to Frew McMillan, ‘quite terrifying’.

Nicolas Mahut scored a rare victory at Roland Garros by beating Andy Roddick, which is otherwise fairly commonplace. Afterwards the American touched on the issue raised earlier, remarking that a pro tennis player, even when he realistically has little shot at winning, should still make room for hope. His own situation has grown so dire, especially on this surface, that he didn’t even have that, even when faced with Mahut: ‘Coming into this, I didn’t have much to prop myself up on.’ The racquets he tossed to fans upon leaving Lenglen said it all. He just wanted to be done with it. At least on the grass he has belief and hope, which matter, for all that they are castles built on air.

 

Roddick photo is by Ella Ling, courtesy of Twitter.

4 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

May 27, 2012

Peaking at the Right Time

Nice, Final

(3) Almagro d. (Q) Baker, 6/3 6/2

Nicolas Almagro today defeated Brian Baker in the final of the Open de Nice Côte d’Azur, thereby defending his title, and ruining the best feel-good story the sport has known in years. He did it quite emphatically, with a magnificent display of serving, immense skills off the ground, and a complexion worthy of a skin-cream commercial. He was (groan-inducingly) without blemish. He was also a clear cut above his opponent today, and clearly superior to anyone Baker has faced en route to the final. Characteristically, Almagro has peaked at precisely the right time, the week before a Major.

The same might be said of Baker, but in his case there’s really so little data to go on that we’d be making an assumption. He has played eight matches in the last week and a bit, and many of them were close. Perhaps, for him, this is an ideal preparation. His physical history suggests otherwise, I suppose. It suggests that one tournament every seven years is about the sweet spot. At least today’s match wasn’t overly long, and, mercifully, the French Open has given him tomorrow off.

Still, if the final wasn’t long, it was closer than the scoreline suggests. Many of the game went to deuce. It’s true that most of those occurred when Baker was serving, but at least he didn’t go down easily. They were often followed by an Almagro service game lasting about a minute, Federer-style. The stream I was watching was the best I could find, but it still didn’t permit me to follow the ball on first serves. Perhaps if the court had been blue . . .  It turns out the Côte is azure everywhere but where it matters. As I say, Almagro served tremendously, and my stream was good enough to register him roll his arm over, the crowd volume to rise, and Baker to trudge to the other side a few times, and then to his chair. In lieu of a definitive first serve of his own, Baker’s game relies heavily on his capacity to break, and Almagro took that away from him. I am not alone in wondering what this will mean when the American encounters more fearsome servers on a faster court.

The upshot was the Almagro was hoisting the ‘trophy’ in a touch under seventy minutes. Unlike last year, I believe the points from this title – his twelfth – will actually count towards his ranking. In a few days he will face Paolo Lorenzi in the first round of the French Open. It’s hard to imagine how Almagro will blow a two set lead to the likeable Italian veteran, but luckily it’s not my job to organise it, merely to witness it unfold. The malign sprites that cursed Nice are not to be trifled with, and Almagro has thumbed his pimple-free nose at them twice too often. It will not stand.

World Team Cup, Final

Tipsarevic d. Berdych, 7/5 7/6

Troicki d. Stepanek, 2/6 6/4 6/3

To the vexing question of what the Davis Cup would look like if it was played in a single week – assuming that single week fell directly before Roland Garros, and it was contested at a modest venue in western Germany – the answer has always been Düsseldorf’s World Team Cup. For over 30 years, eight teams have fought valiantly for the right to be declared the most exhausted as they head to the French Open. Offsetting this slightly, the event is sponsored by Power Horse, who, it turns out, make some kind of equine-themed energy drink, and (disappointingly) do not manufacture outboard motors, at least according to their corporate literature. Serbia has now won the World Team Cup for the second time.

In the final they defeated the Czech Republic, granting the Czechs valuable experience in losing national team-based tennis events on clay, since they are travelling to Argentina for the Davis Cup in a few months. It is also revenge of sorts, since the Czechs saw off the Serbs in a spiteful Davis Cup tie in Prague a few months ago. We could therefore say there was a lot riding on this outcome. We would therefore be wrong.

Still, the Serbs were quite emphatic in their victory, which included glorious triumph in both singles rubbers. In the first, Janko Tipsarevic saw off Tomas Berdych in straight sets, although the effect was rather ruined when one of them wasn’t a tiebreak. These two have history in this area (again, see Prague). It was reasonably tight, but I don’t want to give the impression that its intensity was excessive. It felt like a hotly contested exhibition match, rather like Kooyong the week before the Australian Open. Berdych didn’t look too distraught afterwards, certainly less so than in Madrid a few weeks back.

The key difference between Düsseldorf and other warm-up-type events is that, for whatever ill-defined reason, the World Team Cup is sanctioned by the ATP, and therefore awards ranking points – at a rate unique to itself – and the match results count on the official record. Given this official imprimatur, I wonder if the results therefore carry more weight in the players’ minds. Does Tipsarevic feel more satisfaction at this win over Berdych than if it had occurred at, say Abu Dhabi back in January?

Actually, Tipsarevic is the wrong example. No one has been more fired up than him this week. His celebrations upon beating Philipp Kohlschreiber yesterday – from what I saw, the match of the week – were roughly commensurate with reaching a major semifinal. His celebrations upon beating Berdych were similar, but he topped this easily when Viktor Troicki clinched the title, leaping onto his team-mate’s back. It certainly felt like Davis Cup, especially when Radek Stepanek was left idling at the net without a hand to shake, evoking tense memories of that soulless barn in Prague. It was all innocent enough, though, under the complicated Rhineland sun.

Side note: Adidas have revamped their design and colour-schemes. Fernando Verdasco, typically, is incarnating the new look, to manful effect. I believe this means that no one has to wear toxic orange any more. Those still wearing it are therefore wearing it by choice.

2 Comments

Filed under ATP Tour

Tagged as , , , , ,

May 25, 2012

Luck of the Draw: Roland Garros 2012

‘Halle named a street after Federer; Roland Garros just inaugurated a highway after Nadal.’

This cogent line was uttered by Italian journalist Enrico Maria Riva upon surveying the French Open men’s singles draw, which was earlier harvested at a special ceremony in Paris. If I could say it better myself I would, but I doubt I can. In addition to its elegance, it boasts the merit of telling you what you need to know. It tells you that the top half of the draw – Novak Djokovic’s half – is a goat track strewn with boulders, and laced with land mines.

Djokovic again shares the half with Roger Federer, who in turn cohabits a quarter with Tomas Berdych and Juan Martin del Potro, though Federer won’t have to play both, since they’re cruelly drawn to meet each other in the fourth round. This seems rather early, and, given that it may well turn out to be the match of the tournament, probably is too early. They belted out a tight, high-quality semifinal in Madrid two weeks ago, which Berdych won, only to discover Federer in the final. His reward in Paris will be the same, so if he plans on reaching the semifinals he’ll have to actually beat the Swiss. Then he’ll face Djokovic, then Nadal. This is a complicated way of saying that Berdych or del Potro have as tough a draw as they come. Federer has drawn David Nalbandian in the second round, which isn’t necessarily easy, but if he can’t beat the Argentine by this stage he has no business thinking he can win Roland Garros. The draw says Federer will meet Andy Roddick in the third round, although Roddick’s results in Düsseldorf this week deny this.

Djokovic’s draw would be tricky if it were on any surface but clay. But it is on clay. Lleyton Hewitt in the second round should provide the reigning world No.1 with a decent opportunity to rehash that venerable speech about what a tough fighter the Australian is, and how one must never count out a former No.1, a speech first delivered by Churchill in the House of Commons during the Blitz. It’s a trusty old warhorse, and never fails to inspire a rousing cheer. Jurgen Melzer is nearly drowning in qualifiers, like Hugh Heffner with Playboy bunnies, which probably won’t adequately prepare him for Djokovic’s expert ministrations in the third round, assuming the Austrian gets that far, which I don’t. He may well drown for real, figuratively.

Brian Baker’s draw, on the other hand, seems quite manageable. He’ll face Xavier Malisse first up, thus providing the Belgian with yet another way to feel humiliated at a major event. Malisse won’t have lost to anyone like Baker before. Presumably it’s these new experiences that keep him going. If Baker wins – and he hasn’t lost for a while – he’ll face the winner of Gilles Simon and Ryan Harrison, which will likely be Simon. That second round will be very winnable, though I’m not sure for whom.

Speaking of reasons to keep going, and inspiring stories: Tommy Haas has successfully qualified for the main draw, thereby rubbing everyone’s faces in just how much he still enjoys this sport. Not that I’m complaining. I want him to keep going for ever. The qualifiers haven’t yet been inserted into the draw, but there’s a good chance Haas will end up among Melzer’s sea of playmates. Then again, he could face Gasquet, who has drawn a qualifier first up. If so, a duel of attractive one-handed backhands will ensue. One hopes Grigor Dimitrov will be in attendance, schedule permitting. It’s high time he abandoned this Baby Federer caper, and recalibrated his goals more realistically. Baby Gasquet, or Baby Tommy? Dimitrov, incidentally, plays Donald Young first up. He should win. He owes it to himself.

Rafael Nadal opens against Simone Bolleli, and then the winner of Denis Istomin and Igor Kunitsyn. It really would save time if he played both guys – or even all three – simultaneously. Some may argue that that’s unfair. Perhaps Nadal could spot them a set to even it up. He may well face Ivo Karlovic in the third round. It has already been suggested that his early troubles against John Isner last year prefigure a tough encounter with the giant Croat, since once players exceed a certain height, they’re apparently interchangeable. He’ll probably discover either Milos Raonic or Juan Monaco in the fourth round. His quarterfinal opponent, according to the seedings, is Janko Tipsarevic. The scenario whereby Nadal might actually lose prior to the semifinals is consequently difficult to envisage, although it might involve a meteoroid hurtling earthwards, with Bruce Willis otherwise indisposed.

Who Nadal will face in the semifinals is a matter of special urgency for British fans. Last year Andy Murray hobbled and lurched to the last four through an astonishingly generous draw. His draw is not so kind this year, though this might conceivably change once play is under way, and the upsets inevitably begin to mount. Murray is apparently carrying a back injury, which won’t help. Boris Becker advised Murray to skip the event. Murray’s extensive media training presumably stopped him from telling Becker to bugger off. He’s drawn to face the otherwise indefatigable David Ferrer in the quarterfinals, just the guy you want to see when feeling tender. Depending on how that pans out, Becker might yet be added to Murray’s retinue in an advisory capacity. Imagine he and Lendl sharing a player’s box. Sadly, history offers no good reason to think Ferrer will get that far. Normally so prosaic and methodical in his approach, he has in the past displayed uncharacteristic flair in finding creative ways to lose before the later rounds, a talent almost worthy of Malisse. Paris brings out his best in achieving his worst. Let’s hope for something different this year.

The full draw can be found here.

Edit: The qualifiers have now been placed, and Tommy Haas has been drawn to face Filippo Volandri first up. I honestly can’t think of anything funny to say about this, so I’m leaving the original as is. Reality be damned. Also, Brian Baker is through to the Nice final. This is only marginally relevant to the French Open draw, but I just wanted to write it somewhere. An amazing story is only growing more so.

16 Comments

Filed under Grand Slams

May 25, 2012

Distance to Target: Zero

I’ll have something up on the Roland Garros draw after it comes out (debutante-stlye). Meanwhile, this is just a quick reminder for anyone who is interested to please subscribe to the Point Blank Tennis newsletter. It offers a weekly round-up of the best tennis writing from around the web (with an emphasis on the non-mainstream). The newsletter covers both women’s and men’s tennis.

Since you’re currently visiting a men’s tennis website, there’s a good chance some of you will be interested. Please don’t be shy.

Jesse Pentecost

Leave a Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

May 24, 2012

Of Curses and Inspiration

Nice, Second Round

It is apparently the best kept secret in professional men’s tennis that the Open de Nice Côte d’Azur is cursed. This is the only reasonable explanation for why otherwise astute professional men’s tennis players keep turning up, despite knowing that victory here leads inexorably to incurable insanity and short-term tragedy. For all that this is just its third year, the event has an impeccable record.

Richard Gasquet claimed the inaugural title in 2010, thereby foolishly believing that he had gained valuable momentum heading to Paris. This momentum carried him through two sets in the opening round, but was then cruelly withdrawn. From two sets up, he fell to Andy Murray. Being Murray, we thought no more of it. It was just one of those things. We shook our heads (our own heads), shrugged with arch-Gallic offhandedness, and said, ‘That’s Reeshard for you.’

Nicolas Almagro – the premiere clay-courter at 250 level tournaments where no one better attends – won Nice last year, despite the fact that he gained no benefit from the points whatsoever, having already maximised that component of his rankings. One might argue that it was, again, all about securing momentum for Roland Garros, especially given his characteristically poor showing at the prior Masters events. Again, he galloped through a pair of sets in his opening round, but then capitulated with noisy industry to Lukasz Kubot in five. Now, Kubot has his qualities – Ivo Karlovic can attest to this – but he is no Murray. Alarm klaxons blared. Shrugging, and declaring ‘That’s Nico’, simply wasn’t going to cut it.

There is no way around it. Nice is cursed, and the dazzling splendour of the setting only renders its horror noirish. And yet, like that obviously haunted house on the hill that teenagers somehow cannot stay out of, players keep coming back. Even Almagro is back this year, suggesting that the curse also has a memory wiping component, or that the Spaniard simply cannot be taught. Perhaps he has a thing for blue. Literally everything about the event – except, amusingly, the court – occupies that part of the spectrum: the sky, the sea, the hoardings, the uniforms of the officials. It seems like an opportunity missed for Ion Tiriac, a legitimate shot at tout d’azur. Think of the visibility.

(Q) Baker d. (4) Monfils, 6/3 7/6

As I rule I’m wary of inspirational stories emanating from the United States, where a vast and lucrative flea market exists for the trading of such baubles. The market’s demand is sufficiently voracious that guaranteeing adequate supply has grown to become an industry unto itself, causing a profitable line in the manufacture of heroes, and a consequent dilution of the very concept of heroism. We call this industry ‘the media’. For the most part these inspirational stories inspire nothing beyond depression. Enough of them escape the US borders that we in the benighted parts of the globe can guess at the power of their source, and wonder: if this is the stuff they export, what do they keep for themselves? I’ve have undertaken two road trips across the breadth of the continental United States in order to experience this phenomenon from up close. It was hardly de Tocqeville, but by the end of each journey, there was a real danger of over-inspiration. Your heart can only soar so many times before it is grounded indefinitely. How do Americans get anything done? (It’s questionable whether Australia or Britain are really much better. If we are better, it is probably only because we lack the wherewithal to be worse. Australia could never produce a slags-to-riches story like Kim Kardashian, for all that my compatriots seem eager to consume her. Elsewhere in the world, she would, quite rightly, be manning a cash register, with hourly tutorials in its operation. In America she became a beacon of hope for millions around the world.)*

I hesitate to call Brian Baker a hero – especially not of Kardashian’s calibre – but I cannot deny that his story, by any reckoning, is inspirational. Even from half the world away, the qualitative difference is clear, especially from the way it has cut through. Scant weeks ago, no one was talking about this guy. Personally, I had forgotten he existed, despite the fact that I actually watched and enjoyed his victory over Gaston Gaudio at the 2005 US Open. (To balance the ledger, I don’t think Baker, if pressed, could tell you much about my achievements, such as they are.) His story was sad – another great talent crippled by injury – but it hardly seemed comparable to say, Mario Ancic or Joachim Johansson. But then he came back, basically from nowhere. I won’t go into the details here, since everyone probably knows them by now. If you don’t, here’s an excellent article from the Wall St Journal. As I say, it’s stirring stuff, and it has cut through.

Yesterday he defeated Sergei Stakhovsky in the opening round in Nice, his first victory at ATP level in approximately forever. Tonight he beat Gael Monfils in straight sets. It was a tremendous performance, and a quite magnificent advertisement for Baker’s game, which combines easy power with excellent court sense and a very solid return. Late in the piece, deep in the third set tiebreaker, he saved a set point with a gutsy second serve ace, suggesting that the entire package is anchored by an iron will, or balls of steel. To those who contend that Monfils wasn’t at his best – and he wasn’t – how do we know that Baker was? What does his best even look like?

If nothing else, it proves that the French Open wildcard he earned is totally deserved. He’ll play Mikhail Kukushkin tomorrow in the quarterfinals, which means that a semifinal is entirely possible. Even if he progresses no further, his ranking has leapt well inside the top 200, and he has, quite literally, nothing to defend. If his body maintains some structural integrity – and I can imagine no dicier ‘if’ – he is unquestionably bound for the top hundred. The main trick will be not to win the tournament this week, since there’s no telling what its capricious retribution will be.

Baker’s performance today contrasted tellingly with those of the lauded new guard. Bernard Tomic twice blew double match point in the deciding set against Kukushkin. The Australian will be seeded next week in Paris, and it’s hard to cavil at his results throughout the clay season, since they are a significant improvement over last year’s. Still, he should have won, and a quarterfinal against Baker would have been one to savour. Meanwhile Grigor Dimitrov went down barely fighting to Gilles Simon, without incident or endeavour. The Bulgarian, frankly, is languishing. He is far too young to be, but I can think of no better word.

* Kardashian’s Wikipedia entry declares her to be, among other things, a celebutante. I confess I had not heard this term before, for all that subsequent investigation yielded up a rich history spanning over 70 years. Microsoft Word, for the record, does not recognise it.

8 Comments

Filed under ATP Tour

Tagged as , , , , , , ,