April 1, 2012

Too Much Luck

Miami Masters, Final

(1) Djokovic d. (4) Murray, 6/1 7/6

Andy Murray reached the Miami Masters final with only three wins, usefully augmented by a pair of walkovers and a bye. To that diverse collection of results Novak Djokovic has now added a loss. The chatter coming into the match had been whether a lack of match play might prove fatal for Murray. If nothing else it was a handy pre-emptive excuse – a ‘precuse’. After he did in fact lose, the consensus was that it hadn’t helped. It turns out the ideal preparation for facing the world’s best player is not a bilious set-to with Janko Tipsarevic, followed by a non-start against Rafael Nadal. Back to the drawing board, I suppose.

Djokovic’s last two rounds, however, represent a timely lesson in how little can be gleaned about tennis matches merely by perusing the scores, which is bad news for those almost forgotten encounters from which only the numbers survive. Djokovic’s quarterfinal against David Ferrer (6/2 7/6) and semifinal against Juan Monaco (6/0 7/6) boasted similar scorelines, and even unfolded in much the same way. Both matches were sustained slug-fests in which the world No.1 produced an opening set that was functionally close to perfect, before fading in the second, precisely as his opponent lifted. In both matches Djokovic eventually broke, and served for the match. Both times he was broken back whilst doing so, and yet won the ensuing tiebreak without discernible issue. In spite of these manifold similarities, the quarterfinal had been the match of the tournament, while the semifinal was barely the match of the day, even when the day’s other match was cancelled.

Today’s final looked like reprising these contours, as Djokovic stormed to a 6/1 opening set. Graphics kept appearing detailing each man’s success in rallies over 10 strokes in length. (There appeared to be no way for viewers to stop them.) Thus enthralled, we discovered that, by the set’s conclusion, both Murray and Djokovic were about equal in this statistic, without, of course, being told why. This fine point was left to the commentators, who as ever proved unequal to the task. ‘Murray is doing very well on the longer rallies,’ the disembodied Sky Sports voices remarked, ‘This bodes well for the Scot.’ What they failed to mention was that Djokovic had been aiming for and missing the lines in the early going, especially on his forehand, and that Murray’s backhand was leaking errors so steadily that most rallies ended prematurely. Over on the Tennis TV feed, Robbie Koenig maintained a sullen silence in protest that his beloved new RPM graphics weren’t being shown. Rally length is all well and good, but how much is the ball spinning?

Backhand aside, Murray wasn’t playing poorly. But you don’t have to play very badly to go down 6/1 to Djokovic. The Sky coverage cut back to the studio, and to the avowedly expert opinions of Greg Rusedski and Barry Cowan, both of whom fell short of non-partisanship. ‘So what does Murray need to do?’ asked the host, Marcus Buckland. Rusedski responded at almost impossible length that ‘For Murray this match is all about the second set.’ It was a hard contention to argue with, insofar as this was the set they were scheduled to play next, having just now concluded the first. Would it still be about the second set if they went to a third? But did Rusedski mean that it had always been about the second set, and that Murray had come into this final willing to spot the world No.1 and defending champion a head start? Did he assume based on his last two matches that Djokovic would lose focus in the second set? It seemed like a tenuous thread from which to suspend a strategy.

Somehow, though, Rusedski was almost right, the way all broken Canadians are at least twice per day. Within the narrow parameters that Djokovic established in the last two rounds, it turns out that infinite variety is possible. The Serb’s level dipped, and the Scot’s rose. Murray’s game point conversion rate remained horrendous, yet somehow he was holding. He even earned a break point, but looked nonplussed and gave it back. At 6/5 he came within two points of the set. Djokovic served an ace up the T, which Murray took personally. The clock ticked past two hours. The tiebreak hove into view, gradually and painfully, like an obese elephant seal cresting a sand dune. Somehow it arrived without Djokovic failing to serve for the match. Finally, the match looked like breaking new ground. There were no rules. Anything might happen. I felt giddy.

What did happen is that Murray maintained his commitment to flaccid groundstroke errors, and that he followed up one of the greatest drop shots I’ve ever seen with a double fault. It was typical of a day when he produced many terrific points, but almost never consecutively. Djokovic, it must be said, was hardly any better. But he was slightly better, and better enough in every meaningful aspect of the sport. Stats generally tell us little that isn’t obvious from watching the actual match, but having actually watched it, I can say that a combined count of 77 unforced errors and 35 winners feels about right. Of those errors, Murray struck 39, of which over half were from the backhand, ostensibly among the game’s finest. The last one came from the forehand, however, drifting long. Djokovic watched it land, and raised his arms in restrained triumph.

For Murray, losing a fairly dull Miami final is a spectacular improvement over last year, when he lost to Alex Bogomolov, or even last week, when he lost to Garcia-Lopez. Sometimes you just need a little luck, and your fortunes are reversed. Having Milos Raonic and Nadal cleared from your path is more than a little luck, though. The belief that it was too much luck is not confined to the Sky Sports studio.

For Djokovic, Miami 2012 is his 11th Masters title, which ties him for fourth on the all-time list, equal with Pete Sampras, and behind only Federer and Nadal (19 each), and Agassi (17). There is a pervasive feeling that Djokovic has not matched last year’s form in 2012. It’s true that he is no longer winning literally everything, and his godlike level now lasts a set instead of, say, eight months. But despite that, he is still winning. Miami is an event of some significance – I recall Sampras referring to it as the fifth major after winning in 2000, long before that phantom accolade devolved into a marketing gimmick – and for Djokovic to have won it with so little difficulty tells us everything we need to know. It tells us that he remains the best player in the world.

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March 30, 2012

Drama or Quality

Miami Masters, Quarterfinals

(2) Nadal d. (6) Tsonga, 6/2 5/7 6/4

My stated intention to write about last night’s Miami quarterfinal between Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and Rafael Nadal was, as the second set wore tediously down, coming up hard against my urge to stop watching it entirely. The tennis – and this is intended as wry British understatement – was not great. By Nadal’s own admission afterwards, Tsonga was all over the place, and all the Spaniard required to win was an amiable defence. Still, the standard can be low and yet a match can still prove worthwhile, provided there is sufficient drama. Alas, until Nadal stepped up to serve for the match at 5/4, it wasn’t dramatic, either.

Of course, we know what happened next, how Nadal tightened, Tsonga broke back, lifted, and broke again to force a decider. The Frenchman appeared willing to go on with it, despite a recalcitrant first serve, an unwavering commitment to piss-weak drop shots, and an unhelpful preoccupation with the line-calling. Nadal, of course, fought on grimly, battling through his own service woes, and a knee injury apparently so grievous he almost couldn’t run at top speed. The quality still wasn’t very high, but at least it was now exciting. It became especially so when at 4/4 Tsonga sent his second-serve in search of the first, whereupon it went missing, too. He was broken.

For the second time, Nadal served for the match. Match points came and went, forehands went in and out, Tsonga had some break points, and a broken string. Then it was over. Having failed to snatch victory from the jaws of victory, Nadal was forced to venture into victory’s maw, inch his way down its gullet, and retrieve a win that was half-dissolved in gastric juices. It was still recognisably a win, and he took it. On the subject of gastric juices, in some ways this match was a mirror of the day’s first quarterfinal, in which early intestinal turbulence gave way to serene sailing for the favourite. All else being equal, I suppose you’d take the later match for entertainment: if the tennis itself is going to underwhelm, there may as well be a decent dramatic arc, with the climax at the end.

(21) Monaco d. (8) Fish, 6/1 6/3

The fervent hope, heading into the second day of men’s quarterfinals, was that the drama might be sustained, and conducted at a higher level. Miami has so far been short on great matches, and we were due. Speaking of being due, Mardy Fish has complained this week that despite his status as the top-ranked American he had yet to play on the main stadiums at either Indian Wells or Miami. He has a point. Today he was granted his wish, and a timely tutorial in being careful of what you wish for. He also discovered that the stadium court at Crandon Park is brim-full of Argentinean fans. This became urgently relevant when it turned out his opponent was Argentinean, too, and had already thrashed an American – Andy Roddick – on this court just days earlier.

Juan Monaco has now thrashed two Americans on the stadium court, which is all he could find. Unlike Roddick, Fish wasn’t bagelled – I am striving manfully to eschew food metaphors, as so many others haven’t – although he did win one less game. The debate as to which American sustained the greater hiding is a pointless one. Both were thoroughly outclassed by Monaco. Both men lost handfuls of games in a row, which is troublesome against a player who doesn’t rely on momentum. Monaco is not the type to get on a roll, and ascend to unplayable heights. What he does do is prove that there are varying shades of ‘solid’, and that within the narrow parameters of toughness and determination, there is room for a kind of virtuosity, which extends beyond mere doggedness, and attains an inexorable mercilessness. Fish probably believed he could have beaten Monaco if he’d played his best, but must have known early on that he wasn’t playing his best, and stood little chance. Every mistake was dealt with.

Monaco now moves through to his second hardcourt Masters semifinal. As he did in Shanghai in 2010, he has undeniably benefited from an unexpectedly open quarter, in this case due to Roddick’s defeat of Federer. (In Shanghai he took full advantage when Melzer removed Nadal from his path.) Even if he progresses no further, he will return to the top twenty for the first time since 2008, landing somewhere around No.16, with the clay season to come.

(1) Djokovic d. (5) Ferrer, 6/2 7/6.

It is doubtful whether Monaco will progress much farther, since he must face Novak Djokovic in the semifinals, who tonight slugged and flowed past David Ferrer in the best match of the round. Here, finally, was tennis played at a truly elite level. Ferrer had astonished the round before in seeing off Juan Martin del Potro, and sustained that form into the first set against the world No.1, in which, frankly, he was lucky to get a game. This was the planet’s fifth best player performing to his abilities, but it didn’t matter. From the third point on, in which he darted up to a drop shot and flicked it cross court for a winner, Djokovic was nearly flawless, and without any discernible weakness.

Having served out the first set, Djokovic broke to open the second. It was hard to see what Ferrer could do about it, other than play even better than he can. It thus proved both laudable and hugely entertaining when he did just that, breaking Djokovic back in a spectacular second game that lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. Then it got tough, with both men trading savagely fought holds for a while, until Ferrer was broken again at 4/4. Djokovic came around to serve for the match, and was broken back in turn, courtesy of a daring forehand-volley-overhead combination from the Spaniard. For the first time in days, we had quality and drama.

Sadly the final tiebreaker proved perfunctory. Ferrer is a notoriously poor tiebreak player, considering his ranking, although not considering his serve, while Djokovic was among the best in history even before his 2011 season. Nonetheless, despite a flaccid conclusion, it was the finest match of the tournament so far. The hope is that it earns Ferrer more fans, since he deserves them. As for Djokovic, the first set alone should be sufficient to convince us that he has, for the first time in 2012, returned to somewhere near his level of last season.

Terrifying.

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March 29, 2012

The Tipsarevic

Miami Masters, Quarterfinals

(4) Murray d. (9) Tipsarevic, 4/6 6/3 6/4

‘Murray has now won eleven of twelve points on the The Tipsarevic’s second serve,’ declared Barry Cowan in the Sky Sports commentary. I’m not sure precisely when ‘Tipsarevic’ became ‘The Tipsarevic’, thereby transforming from a surname into a title, like the Dalai Lama or the Lord of the Dance. Perhaps it has always been thus, and something had been lost in the translation from Serbian. Either way, Janko, the current incarnation of The Tipsarevic, was having a bugger of a time defending his second serve in the deciding set.

Not unlike the Dalai Lama and Michael Flatley, Janko also has a gift for aphoristic concision roughly equal to Alfred Polgar’s, as reaffirmed in an interview that appeared on Tennis.com yesterday: ‘I am […] trying to make my life in a way that 2 and 2 and 2 and 2 adds up to eight. I am not trying to divide or multiply anything.’ If it came from my six year old daughter I doubt anyone would be very impressed, but few expect professional athletes to be so adept at basic arithmetic, nor to draw so subtle a parallel to their own lives: Oh, it’s a metaphor!

The same concision cannot be ascribed to Peter Fleming, who commemorated a missed volley from Andy Murray by remarking that ‘it merely confirms the axiom that the point is not over until the ball has bounced twice . . . or has bounced outside the court, I suppose’. Since he’d already abandoned sonority for accuracy, he probably should have mentioned some of the other ways a point can end. It’d be a hell of an axiom, as breezily epigrammatic as the ITF’s Rules of Tennis.

By the time any of this occurred, early in the third set, the match had settled into a predictable rut. Ceding to The Tipsarevic’s preference in such matters, we may express the mathematical equation as: slow Miami surface + superior defensive opponent = inevitable loss. Last year he went out to Gilles Simon, who is basically a smaller, less powerful and less creative version of Murray. In the game in question, which was the fifth of the third set, a couple of errors from the Serb eventually saw Murray break. Forgetting his own credo, Tipsarevic set about multiplying these mistakes, which more or less allowed the Scot to coast through to the set and the match. Tipsarevic would eventually amass a mighty 51 unforced errors. Many of these came at the end of lengthy, enterprising rallies, and thus weren’t unreasonable even if unforced. But these are the kinds of rallies that Murray is almost always going to win, and without redlining his game there was little Tipsarevic could do about it. His choice, once Murray got his act together, was between a reckless error immediately, or a desperate one eventually.

Through the early going, however, the strange thing had been that Murray had not been winning all that many of these extended points. The Scot’s foot speed is such that even playing badly he won’t concede many winners on a court like Miami, which means that an off-day will generally express itself in errors. Last year’s notorious loss to Alex Bogomolov Jnr at this venue was a squalid testament to this, as he tracked down everything, and then launched everything into the net. Today, he was broken in the opening game, but broke straight back. He broke again, and led 4/1. From there he dropped serve twice, and lost the set. Constant breaking of serve can be exciting, but today proved that it doesn’t have to be, as the women have been proving all week. Murray was listless, irritated, and clearly discomfited, which was initially easy to miss, since he wasn’t ostentatiously clutching at his leg, which is his usual shorthand signal for any ailment whatsoever. He fell behind an early break in the second set, broke back, and was broken again, whereupon he hollered for a medic.

Court-side microphones revealed that he couldn’t keep any fluids down, since there was too much air in his gut. The doctor worked his magic, which I think consisted of an antacid tablet and a kind word. The magic lay in the miraculous speed with which the tablet took hold. Almost immediately, Murray’s form picked up. He didn’t start playing like Djokovic, it’s true. But he did start playing like Murray, which enabled him to steady and remain in rallies long enough for The Tipsarevic to commence multiplying his errors. By the end Murray was playing exactly like himself. He next faces the winner of Rafael Nadal and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga.

As for Tipsarevic, he was due back on court in an hour, so that he and The Kubot might face Max ‘The Beast’ Mirnyi and Daniel ‘The Canadian Doubles Veteran’ Nestor.

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March 27, 2012

A Sudden, Fey Glint

Miami Masters, Third Round

(31) Roddick d. (3) Federer, 7/6 1/6 6/4

Roger Federer was tonight defeated by Andy Roddick in a strange encounter that balanced a first set in which the Swiss could hardly have played worse with a deciding set in which the American has rarely played better. The second set, in which Federer looked set to tear the match away from Roddick as he has so often before, defied expectations that it would prove pivotal, except insofar as it lulled the world No.3 into a fatal over-confidence. In the end he was punished for it by a veteran who played like he had nothing to lose, even when everything was on the line.

To be fair, Federer was quite justified in entering the match that way, for all that he would insist, if asked, that he never under-estimates any opponent. A head-to-head of 21-2, the most lopsided in the sport, suggests that his estimation of Roddick has been more or less spot-on. And he was hardly alone. The main fan interest surrounding this match had been whether Roddick would indeed become the first man to achieve a 20 match deficit in a head-to-head. Most people were already looking farther ahead, to the semifinals. Numbers had been crunched in order to discover how soon Federer might replace Nadal in the No.2 spot.

The first set was an ugly affair, its hideousness made explicit by the numbers. Roddick was steady, and struck no winners off the ground. Federer was erratic, and found 17 unforced errors. Of course, both served well. The tiebreaker barely lifted, and was decided when Federer failed to put away an overhead, and lollied it back down the middle of the court. Roddick pounced, and tore the forehand pass across court. In many ways, this single point prefigured the final set – Federer playing too safe, and Roddick launching himself into each forehand.

The second set, by contrast, was clean and quick. Federer wrapped it up with three breaks in under half an hour, without doing anything particularly outstanding, merely playing within himself the way he generally does when facing Roddick. Roddick began to drift further behind the baseline, leaving himself open for the drop shot. Knowing looks were exchanged, in the stadium, in cyberspace. The commentators referred to their crib sheets, and astutely remarked that Federer uses the drop shot a lot more these days, whereas he used to disdain it. They started pointing it out about four years ago, and there’s no reason to think they’ll stop any time soon. The statistic that Federer has come back to beat Roddick four times after losing the first set was also duly paraded. Federer’s fans, momentarily breathless at the hitherto unconsidered idea that Roddick could actually win, began to breathe easier. When Federer opened the deciding set with an easy hold, and then moved to 0-40 on the Roddick serve, easy breaths gave way to sniffs of victory.

But Roddick, who’d been steady in the opener and outclassed in the second, still had his serve. He saved four break points in that game. This astounding turn of events tore apart the space-time continuum, which was already threadbare after a couple of successful Federer challenges earlier on, since reality cannot withstand that kind of treatment. Suddenly Roddick was eight years younger; the brash world No.2 who’d blithely outlined his game plan for besting Federer in their first Wimbledon final: ‘I’m gonna belt the crap out of the ball.’ Off balance, he ripped a 92Mph forehand winner up the line: 0-15. Roddick was suddenly up near the baseline, and looking to press.

Federer seemed unfazed, and oblivious to his peril, even though the sudden, fey glint behind Roddick’s eyes was hard to miss. Federer lost the next two points on suicidal approaches at the Roddick forehand, a shot that long experience has taught Federer not to fear. The American was hollering with guttural panache on each of them, a calibre of vehemence he usually reserves for Fergus Murphy. The crowd, who had initially greeted Federer with greater approbation, was now going nuts for their compatriot. There was a pronounced quality of stubborn brinkmanship in those two approaches in that game; neither was struck with adequate pace or depth, as though each dared Roddick to do it again. From nowhere, Roddick was at triple break point. Federer played a strong rally on the first, and moved to the net. But again, he played within himself, and did not stick the volley into the open court. Roddick sprinted to his right, and again hammered the forehand pass. From 0-40 down in the previous game, Roddick was now up the break. He had not hit his forehand like this in almost a decade.

From there it was tight. Federer went back to holding comfortably (the second game of the third set is the only service game in the entire match in which he struggled), although his percentages began to drop. He ended with 50% first serves in the third set, although it hardly mattered, since the damage had been done. Roddick’s, on the other hand, only rose, which mattered a great deal, and he first served his way to a famous and courageous victory.

Both men were gracious afterwards. Federer insisted that it hadn’t felt like he was playing the world No.30, but a former champion and world No.1. It is Federer’s first best-of-three loss since Cincinnati last August (to Berdych), and the first time he has lost to a player outside the top 20 since Halle in 2010 (to Hewitt). What was most disappointing, from my point of view, is that his innate aggression, lately rediscovered and much in abundance, was hardly in evidence. Throughout the entire match Federer appeared determined merely to do enough to win. It was understandable, and presumably no one knows better how to beat Roddick. Except this time he didn’t.

In Roddick, on the other hand, we witnessed a former top player playing the way everyone has been insisting he should for years. Particularly impressive was the way he reversed the trend of the second set, which was to retreat and hope Federer continued to miss. Big serving and big forehands are what got him to the top of the sport. As his career winds down, there are more and more things that will stop working the way they used to. But tonight he proved that the weapons that enabled his rise a decade ago are still there, if only he has the courage to use them.

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March 26, 2012

When Only Gods Remain

Miami Masters, Third Round

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

Unlike last year, when Miami suffered a minor Götterdämmerung that saw handfuls of lesser deities cut down in the early going, the divine ranks have this year held together remarkably well. Only three of the top thirty-two – Feliciano Lopez, Marcel Granollers and Juan Ignacio Chela – failed to reach the third round. However, having devoured the last of the mortals, it was inevitable that the gods would turn on each other, and that the greater powers would now feast on the lesser. When only gods remain, the weakest of them are fated to perish.

The exception, in so many ways, is Tomas Berdych. If he’s a god, then he is a deus ex machina, in the literal sense, although today, conveniently, he fulfilled that role in the dramatic sense as well, providing the plot contrivance whereby the stalled saga of Grigor Dimitrov might be permitted to develop. It hardly needs saying that Dimitrov’s story has been in sore need of a kick-start. His biggest win this year came at the Hopman Cup against Mardy Fish, which used to feel like a big deal. Unfortunately, the Hopman Cup lacks any ATP affiliation, and this performance was therefore of no use to his ranking, which has recently slipped back outside the top hundred. By reaching the fourth round in Miami, Dimitrov will rise to somewhere around No.85.  His humanity is evident in his smile and his infinite capacity to err, and for now he remains the only mortal to reach the Miami fourth round.

Today’s victory over Berdych is also Dimitrov’s first official win over a top ten player. There is a fervent hope among his followers that it is the break-through long anticipated, not to say prophesised. It certainly felt ordained, as though he couldn’t actually lose, no matter how many times he double-faulted – nine in all – or fell over, or generally faffed about. Berdych was having none of it, and went about his assigned task of becoming the Bulgarian’s break-through win with what might be termed single-mindedness, if it wasn’t so clearly a case of errant code producing a self-defeating feedback loop, a very crappy ghost in the machine. Last week the Czech was bagelled by Nicolas Almagro. It’s past time he was recalled to Ostrava for urgent maintenance from his team of Tengineers.

(Incidentally, doesn’t The Tengineers of Ostrava sound like a light opera from the nineteenth century, by Lehar or, more appropriately, Smetana? Imagine lots of twee ensemble pieces about building the perfect tennis robot. Talk about rich comedic potential. Unfortunately, a visit to Wikipedia has revealed that idyllic Ostrava is an industrial dump, among the most polluted cities in the EU, and that it was dubbed during the communist era, with typical whimsy, ‘the steel heart of the republic’. I now envisage a more avant-garde operatic treatment for Berdych, perhaps a constructivist take on The Golem. But I digress.)

(2) Nadal d. (25) Stepanek, 6/2 6/2

Speaking of golems, Radek Stepanek was due on court later that day, destined to provide no more than a light snack for Rafael Nadal, who’d barely whetted his appetite on Santiago Giraldo the round before. I’m sure both men were ravenous by the time they arrived in a main stadium from which Ana Ivanovic and Daniela Hantuchova had systematically drained all energy, via a match conducted at spectacularly low intensity. I’ve already remarked that the Miami crowd won’t rouse itself for anyone that isn’t from Latin America or the United States (Rafa and Roger excepted), but you’d think at least the men would find something in a match between two renowned beauties who’d taken the time to coordinate their outfits perfectly. Alas, no.

As the second set tiebreak ground down to match point, the crowd began gradually to rouse itself, their fitful yawns combining with the frantic gurgles of those sleep apnoea sufferers still trapped in slumber. The lucky few that woke in time saw Ivanovic seal the match with a mighty forehand winner, and might have felt a moment’s regret at the match they had just slept through. I’m happy to put their minds at ease, and reassure them that they hadn’t missed anything. The 17 points before that were all decided by unforced errors.  I only wish I was exaggerating.

Radek Stepanek was the oldest man remaining in the Miami draw, which is saying something, given the weary antiquity of the current top fifty. I would say he was evergreen, if he didn’t so closely resemble an old tree-root. Still, he’s very fit, and a dangerous prospect for many. The immense variety in his game means that Stepanek has a number of decisions to make when facing Nadal. Should he hang back and attempt to rally with the world No.2, and therefore lose fairly quickly? Or does he rush the net, get passed constantly, and lose very quickly? Decisions, decisions . . .

Through the first five games, he opted to trade ground-strokes, often successfully, and generally to the Nadal backhand, which was patchy. Any shot into the open court was followed in. This pattern lasted for almost five games, until Stepanek fought to break point on Nadal’s serve. The Czech built his attack thoughtfully, and worked his way forward with a scathing combination of strokes, ending with a backhand up the line. Nadal sprinted to his right, and nailed the backhand pass. From there, it didn’t matter much what Stepanek did. Nadal took firm control of a match that had really been so unlosable that even he could probably admit it, if questioned under duress. The Spaniard won the next seven games, and the last couple. Some of his passing shots, especially on the forehand and especially on the run, were magnificent.

I am consistently amazed at Nadal’s accuracy when catching the ball off-centre (slow motion replays attest to it). The Babolat AeroPro Drive GT is admittedly generous in this respect – I use this frame myself, and the sweet-spot is immense – but it is still remarkable, especially given the work he puts on the ball. (Regrettably Robbie Koenig was not on hand to talk us through the RPM graphics that flashed up on screen.) The most prodigious shot of the match was a darting forehand pass, struck at the full stretch, that he curled off the outer part of the strings (I doubt it would have been possible if he tried for the centre), that curved up and over and in. The crowd loved it. Stepanek, hopefully, learned a valuable lesson: if you approach to the Nadal forehand, and you’re certain it’ll be a clean winner, you’re wrong.

Kiss Cam strove but sadly failed to add much to proceedings. It didn’t help that through the early rounds Miami has lacked the star power of Indian Wells, which was always going to be the case since famous people notoriously prefer deserts to swamps (I think David Attenborough covered this in an episode of Life on Earth). I only bring this up because of an incident back in California, in which Kiss Cam allowed Ben Stiller  to prove the maxim that celebrities are better than normal people, as he lunged without hesitation past his wife and kissed the lady next to her. He has kind of ruined it for everyone else.

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March 25, 2012

Forced Perspective

Miami Masters, Second Round

(28) Anderson d. Querrey, 6/3 6/7 6/3

(11) Del Potro d. Karlovic, 7/5 6/4

When Kevin Anderson broke Sam Querrey for a decisive 5/3 lead in the third set of their second round encounter, the American launched his racquet furiously at the court. I didn’t see it, since the camera had already cut away to the exultant South African, but the sharp, repeated crack of the Babolat frame against the surface was clearly audible, even over the crowd. Anderson’s heroics in gaining the decisive break had been met with a stony silence that was more or less total. The Miami crowd is arguably the most partisan on the tour, and the American wasn’t winning.

This is not to imply that this crowd will only support locals. Far from it. To those who complain that the United States doesn’t deserve to host three of the nine Masters 1000 events each season, the reasonable response is that in the case of Key Biscayne, hosting is all it does. As far as the loudest parts of the crowd are concerned, the event belongs to Latin America. Yanks who had foolishly assumed otherwise have traditionally been educated with eager rambunctiousness. Recall – or perhaps forget – Roddick’s dismal loss as defending champion last year to Pablo Cuevas. Or, more thrillingly, think back to Pete Sampras’ potently atmospheric and pulsating victory over Gustavo Kuerten in the final in 2000. Even today, Mardy Fish’s win over Frank Dancevic earned warm applause, but the subsequent announcement that Juan Martin del Potro was next up inspired frenzied roars and closely-harmonised soccer chants. As Doug Adler remarked from the commentary booth with unhelpful resignation, ‘That’s just the way it is.’ Robbie Koenig, seated beside Adler, said nothing, having already explained at length why he is permitted to cheer for Anderson. That’s just the way it is, and Querrey be damned. Anderson served it out at love, to a dismissive smattering of applause. South Africans clearly rate nowhere in the Miami crowd’s affection.

When del Potro did arrive on court, he was met with a vibrant chorus of adulation – the population of Tandil had apparently turned out, and they’d been rehearsing – and faced with Ivo Karlovic in some rather snazzy shades. We viewers were faced with the brain-twisting sight of the Tandil Tower looking dwarfed: more a Buenos Aires Bungalow. Perspective is a strange thing. There is a tendency, when an absurdly tall player takes to the court, for your mind to reject such size, and to compensate by diminishing the opponent, and pretending he is in fact unusually short. Thus Federer, strangely, looked like a midget against Isner in last weekend’s Indian Wells final, even though he played like a giant.

It had thus been strange to watch Anderson and Querrey together on court. The former is 6’8’’ and the latter 6’6’’, and yet within minutes the visual evidence overwhelmed my brain, such that both men looked completely normal, but for the fact their match was apparently being officiated by gnomes (a particularly cheeky gnome in the case of Mohamed Lahyani). Apart from their powerful serves, their tennis hardly looked like big man tennis, either. Mostly they were content to slug it out from beyond the baseline. This could perhaps be construed as comment on the speed of the Miami hardcourts, notoriously amongst the slowest on tour. But I don’t think that’s the case. Querrey’s game is just fatally short on variety, although like every modern player he can pass well enough when his feet are set. Anderson is considerably more versatile, and this began to tell as the deciding set wore on. He’d had little luck in forecourt through the early going, but his forays to the net began to yield results as the pressure wound tighter, and Querrey began to pull up on his passes, framing a bunch. This presumptuous frame was duly punished for its impudence, and met its end in the penultimate game. Still, I found Anderson’s finish impressive, even if the eerily quiet crowd did not.

I wonder if players ever grow distracted when their accolades are recited over the loudspeaker during the hit-up, and if it is especially off-putting when the details are wrong. Did del Potro notice when the announcer declared that he had won the 2010 US Open (he won it in 2009)? Or is it only fans that are outraged by this, on behalf of their hero? The crowd on hand didn’t seem to mind. Most of them were just delighted by the fact that he was Argentinian, and therefore South American, and that they therefore loved him unreservedly. In any case, it didn’t put del Potro off, as he navigated a potentially tricky encounter with the potentially tricky Karlovic, without even requiring a tiebreaker. Karlovic, the biggest man of them all, did play big tennis for the most part, smashing down first serves and loping in behind them. Del Potro was compelled to play a lot of passing shots, so he did. The crowd went bananas.

(1) Djokovic d. Baghdatis, 6/4 6/4

Not to be outdone by mere amateurs, Novak Djokovic took up the challenge of nutcase celebrations, after defeating Marcos Baghdatis in a straight sets match that was conducted in good spirits, and which the world No.1 never once looked like losing. His chest-beating antics afterwards were roughly commensurate with those following last year’s Rome semifinal, in which Djokovic had battled through exhaustion and saved match points to defeat Andy Murray in an true epic. Sometimes, I suppose, you’re just running on adrenaline. Not tonight, though. It was all very strange.

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March 23, 2012

The Unwatchables (Part Two)

The Miami Masters tournament is underway, although you might not know if it if your engagement with professional men’s (and women’s) tennis was somehow limited to watching it; if you’d somehow dodged the unusually dull lead-up coverage and the ubiquitous draw-dissections, and had therefore avoided exposure to the most potent soporific known to man (or woman). As was the case at Indian Wells, the initial days at Key Biscayne are not televised.

There is little to say about this that I didn’t say last week. Both events continue to outdo each other in strident declarations of their status as the unofficial ‘fifth slam’. But the other four slams don’t gift all 32 seeds a first round bye, and they provide coverage from the get-go, including qualifying. (So does the Dallas Challenger, for that matter.) There is invariably simmering discontent over this, since it disadvantages the lower ranked players, who would surely appreciate some extra exposure. This year, however, fan frustration has been compounded by the retirement of Fernando Gonzalez, who’d been given a wildcard into Miami for his final tournament. He was then scheduled to play the final night match on day one, meaning that only those present bore witness to the Chilean’s last match, which he lost 5/7 6/3 6/7.

Nicholas Mahut was the villain of the night. To the contractually-stipulated reminder that the Frenchman was the guy up the other end when John Isner won the most absurd match ever, commentators may now add the fact that he was last man to survive the game’s most menacing forehand. Mahut is a pretty intriguing character in his own right, boasting a niche fan-base all his own, but at this rate he is destined to be remembered as the guy up the other end when big things happened. It can be a tough role to shrug off. Just ask Benjamin Becker.

Apparently, and characteristically, Gonzalez bowed out with class. Reporters embedded in the raucous first night crowd have confirmed that his final match was as exciting as one could have wished for. He saved three match points, and even hugged Carlos Bernardes in lieu of a handshake. There was an on-court presentation, and a tribute video in which most top players wished him well. Immediately afterwards, as the well-wishing tweets swelled to a cacophony, Gonzalez simply announced ‘Game Over’. It was hard to top for succinctness. He will be sorely missed, not merely by the other players, but by the same worldwide audience that couldn’t watch his final match.

Other doings of note that almost no one saw: Ivo Karlovic beat Lukasz Kubot for the first time in four meetings. There are such things as bad match-ups in tennis, and sometimes they’re difficult to fathom. Kubot had never before lost a set to Karlovic, and had beaten him four and two last week in California. Speaking of which, for the second time in two weeks, Kubot lost after serving for the match. Last week it was to Andy Roddick, which can arguably be excused on the grounds of pressure and the vast experience of his opponent. But today . . . Whatever Karlovic’s considerable charms off-court, and the fearsome array of serves at his disposal while on it, there are surely no worse returners in the top hundred.

Speaking of match-up issues, Nikolay Davydenko posted his first win over James Blake in eight meetings – another match that surely no one wanted to see, especially in this era when fan’s veneration for veterans partially drives the sport’s popularity. Grigor Dimitrov actually defeated a player he should in Mikhail Kukushkin – and quite handily, too – and will consequently return to the top hundred. Baby steps, I suppose, but the giant leap will surely have to come soon. If his ranking slips further, he may have to qualify for Roland Garros and Wimbledon, mountainous hurdles for a guy who has proved he can stumble over mole-hills.

Bernard Tomic, meanwhile, saw off Sergiy Stakhovsky in straight sets. Tomic’s ranking remains in the mid-thirties. His immediate goal should be No.32, and a seeding for the year’s second major. Mention must also be made of Cedrik-Marcel Stebe, who today recorded his first tour-level victory of the year, and his first ever on hardcourt. Stebe – some may recall his tussle with Lleyton Hewitt at the Australian Open this year – provokes interest for a number of reasons. Firstly, his game is fairly attractive in its own right. Secondly, this is a guy who has wrung nearly every possible advantage from the Challenger circuit, including his quite improbable win the the Challenger Championships last year. He can barely win a match at tour level (surprisingly), yet his current ranking of No.91 is one spot above Mahut, who attentive fans may remember was the guy up the other end for Gonzalez’ last match.

The second round begins tomorrow, and the cameras will finally be turned on. Hooray.

My kind-of tribute to Gonzalez can be found here: Remembering Gonzo.

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March 19, 2012

A Flash of Light

Indian Wells, Final

(3) Federer d. (11) Isner, 7/6 6/3

It is difficult to imagine how this weekend could have been more satisfying for Roger Federer, who has for almost a decade masterfully balanced the clichéd necessity of negotiating each point as it comes with the enervating task of pursuing history. Between the ball in his hand and the alps on the horizon, between a moment and a career, there is a gulf of weary space in which to become lost. Somehow, he has never tired, and only very rarely strayed. For fans, endless delectation is found by surveying both the solid mass of the career and the thousands of moments that make it up. For the former, the fun comes from simply recounting the numbers, or of tallying up the myriad records he holds (there is a studiously tended Wikipedia page for this alone). For the latter, unnumbered Youtube highlights clips prove that the greatest career in men’s tennis cannot be solid, because it is composed of endless flashes of light.

With all of this to worry about, it’s doubtful whether Federer has much time for revenge. Nor, one imagines, does he have the will. If he did, then that urge would also have been amply satisfied in the last two days. Since the US Open, Federer has won 39 matches, and lost only two. Those two came consecutively, to Rafael Nadal at the Australian Open and to John Isner in Davis Cup. Given the gravity of those occasions, they were massive losses, in the literal sense. (They should have dragged him down. And yet he proved typically buoyant in Rotterdam the following week, soared to the win, and commenced the streak that has nearly ruined Juan Martin del Potro’s year.) His two victories this weekend, both in straight sets, have been over Nadal and Isner. I’d like to say you couldn’t write it, but the fact is you could, easily. You’d simply be excoriated as a bad writer, since good ones are better at disguising their outrageous coincidences.

Federer’s relationship with Nadal, hitherto warm to the point of cloying, has lately gained a frosty edge. His relationship with Isner is nothing like that, even with a painful Davis Cup win to work through. On court with Isner, there’s just no time. Both men serve too well. The games that were not love holds were still quick, since the points were all short, and both men hardly dallied between them. Federer managed to hold in under a minute at least once, and Isner must have come close. Despite some initial difficulties, the games soon settled into the metronymic tic-toc of the old school shoot-out. Conditions were glacial – frigid and crawling – yet the play evoked Sampras and Ivanisevic. Two men, duelling with ordnance, one with a sniper rifle, the other a Howitzer. Now, as then, one break would prove decisive, if only it could be found.

It almost decided things on Isner’s serve at 5/6, when a break for Federer would have granted him the set. Isner erased the break point with a mighty serve, and the scores were tied. Luckily tennis has a mechanism with which to break such ties, and the players seemed content to resort to it. Isner is an exceptional tiebreak player – something to do with his serve? I don’t know – and just yesterday took Novak Djokovic out in a pair of them. Nonetheless, while Djokovic may be the best returner in the world, and among the best ever, I have never known anyone better than Federer at negating monster serves. This first set tiebreak marked the moment at which Federer finally began to read Isner’s monstrous delivery. All the same, minibreaks were traded regularly, set points arrived, mooched around, departed, came back for food. The last one came as Federer shanked a backhand pass at Isner, leaving the American with a difficult decision: do I put the volley away and make sure of it, or, on this blustery day, do I leave a wobbling, framed mishit and just hope it goes long? It turns out this is a pretty easy decision in hindsight, or when you’re merely a spectator. At the time, in super high-definition real-time, Isner opted to be a spectator, too, and was surely as interested as the rest of us when the ball landed on the line. Federer served out the set.

With the tie duly broken, the games returned to their steady rhythm. The metronome had been dialled up from scherzando to presto, although for Federer they remained largely comodo. The attack came suddenly, at 3/3. The world No.3 had grown progressively more confident returning Isner’s first serve. Isner served five of them in this pivotal game and lost four of the points, mostly via Federer’s trusty tactic, so far unused, of yanking his opponent forward with a low slice, then carving him up with the pass. The first was a flashing inside-out forehand, the second a backhand knifed up the line. The break came from a backhand at the ribs, fended meekly into the net. Scarlet billows spread, and Federer smelled victory. Another lightning hold sealed the break, and another break sealed the title. Federer thrust his arms aloft.

Isner, afterwards, was less thrilled than he might have been. Where so many have looked pleased just to be there, or merely resigned, the quiet American was disappointed: ‘I’m definitely not content.’ His discontent was directed at his relative passiveness in today’s match, but it was not limited to it. He was also not content merely to have reached his first Masters final. He believes he should be winning these things. It’s a daring belief to have, since almost no one outside the top four has won one for almost two years. To win this one he only needed to get through Djokovic and Federer back-to-back. That he believes he could have suggests his self-belief is genuine.

Federer, on the other hand, has claimed the last two Masters tournaments, and tied Nadal’s record. Indeed, since the US Open last October the Swiss has won six titles, and amassed more victories and points than anyone else, Djokovic included. Encouragingly, the last two of those titles have come outdoors. This is the first time he has won Indian Wells in six years. Before that he seemed to win it all the time, much as he used to win everything all the time. For those who subscribe to the general discourse of decline, with its cheap sepia-effects and noisome Weltschmerz, the temptation to view this as a late-career resurgence, an Indian Wells summer, must be irresistible. But there is a subversive counter-claim that Roger Federer might be better than ever, and that those innumerable flashes of light never dimmed.

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March 18, 2012

It Was An Ace, It Was Victory

Indian Wells, Semifinals

(11) Isner d. (1) Djokovic, 7/6 3/6 7/6

(3) Federer d. (2) Nadal, 6/3 6/4

The worst thing about the constant finals between Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic is not necessarily the length of the matches (which is interminable), or the standard of tennis (which is fine). It is the dreary sense of inevitability, the realisation that no matter how the rest of the narrative plays out, and irrespective of the trials surmounted along the way, the identity of each protagonist is never truly in question. The best part is that those of us destined to write about the final can start doing so even during the quarterfinals. The worst part of having that final not take place is that those theoretical paragraphs I may or may not have pre-written may or may not have to be discarded.

It was unlikely to be a problem. Coming in to today’s semifinals, there was little chance that Djokovic or Nadal would lose. Know-it-alls were already thrashing out precisely how the No.2 might ensure that no one beats him eight times in a row. John Isner had been commendable in reaching his second consecutive Masters semifinal, but, realistically, a guy who barely scrapes by a sub-par Gilles Simon is unlikely to trouble the world No.1. Meanwhile, Roger Federer is hardly equipped to overcome a career head-to-head of 9-18 against Nadal, especially outdoors. The specifics of the match-up – Nadal being in Federer’s head even as he kicked heavy balls over his shoulders, an anatomical miracle – no longer even required discussion. They were now simply a given.

Isner’s victory over Djokovic can feasibly be paraded as the upset of the year so far, bearing in mind that the world No.1 has not truly lost a match at this level since Paris 2010, and that his only loss at a Grand Slam in the last 18 months was to Federer.* You might contend that Isner beating Federer on clay in Davis Cup in Switzerland was more noteworthy, and you’d have a case. You might also point out that ranking upsets is fairly pointless.

Still, today’s result wasn’t utterly beyond imagining. Djokovic has not quite seemed himself lately, or, more accurately, he has seemed closer to the erstwhile, fallible version of himself, the one we used to make fun of before he became terrifying. Secondly, Isner has been in good form, and will now enter the top ten even if he loses in the final. He’s no chump. Thirdly, the conditions were tricky – gusty, damp, and 12C – and Isner could hit through them, while Djokovic couldn’t.

Nonetheless, when Djokovic broke early in the first set, he looked like coasting it out; until Isner broke back, forced a tiebreak, and won it. Djokovic cunningly saved his break for later in the second set, and this time defended it. 2011 taught us that the world No.1 would accelerate beyond the American’s titanic reach in the third, but somehow it never happened. There was always that serve to even things up. Isner earned a match point at 5/6, but couldn’t convert. Another tiebreak ensued. From that point, his serve kept him level, but courage on his forehand put him ahead. Djokovic toiled under the increasingly fissured certainty that Isner would start missing. Isner didn’t, and a 144Mph serve brought up three match points. Sadly for Djokovic, he would only be permitted to serve on two of them (the rules are clear on this). He did what he could, and erased a couple. Isner’s fourth match point was the first on his own serve. For the first time today, but not the last, victory was sealed with an ace out wide to the ad court.

Isner was exultant, the unashamedly partisan crowd went off its collective nut and Djokovic fled the court. As if on cue, the sky wept torrents, and there was no more tennis. Commentators returned us to studios, whereupon the result was duly dissected, and its key role in the developing renaissance of American tennis considered. Before long we were treated to replays from yesterday. Hours later, Nadal and Federer appeared, to fierce adulation. Federer received slightly more frenzied applause, although Nadal had Ben Stiller in his box. We’ll call it a tie.

Federer, as ever, commenced with the utmost assertiveness, and swept imperiously through the opening three games. Nadal, as ever, responded, and won the next three. Federer came back again, and won another three, which brought his tally to six. He immediately cashed these in for a set. Throughout, the Swiss deviated only rarely from the sensible tactic of pummelling Nadal’s backhand almost without relent. In Melbourne Federer had erred by relenting often – the constant net approaches to Nadal’s forehand had been a particular highlight – but today, for a change, he opted not to abandon a winning plan. He carried it through to the second set, and Nadal’s backhand began to break irretrievably down, thanks in equal parts to the unrelenting barrage and the unsteady zephyr.

Federer broke twice, and arrived at 5/2. Suddenly, inexplicably, he did relent, and Nadal began to lash the lines, tripling his forehand winner count – it reached three – to retrieve one of the breaks. The Spaniard then held, and dashed for the toilet. The arch suggestion of gamesmanship was aired, seemingly ignoring the inconvenient fact that Nadal managed, heroically, to relieve himself adequately within the allotted span, and return to court in good time. Federer stepped up to serve for it again. A desperate rally at 30-30 ended with Nadal netting a makeable forehand. Match point, and a final twist. The misting drizzle deepened into dull rain, and the players stalked to their seats and zipped up their very stylish Nike jackets. Both had much to consider. Federer: where he would serve. Nadal: where Federer would serve. They returned to court a few minutes later, whereupon we discovered that Federer had been set on a heavy flat one out wide, an homage to Isner. Nadal didn’t see it coming. It was an ace. It was victory.

*Djokovic withdrew from Bercy last year, and retired in the Cincinnati final.

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March 17, 2012

The Usual Rules of Taste or Sanity

Indian Wells, Quarterfinals

(3) Federer d. (9) del Potro, 6/3 6/2

(2) Nadal d. Nalbandian, 4/6 7/5 6/4

The quarterfinals at the Indian Wells Masters are now complete. The question of whether anything new can be said of Roger Federer defeating Juan Martin del Potro in straight sets has now moved on from being vaguely theoretical. It is suddenly pressing. The same goes for David Nalbandian, and of how he can be the best tennis player in the world for almost, but not quite, as long as it takes to win a tennis match. Both questions have suddenly gained greater immediacy. The answer in both cases is hopefully.

Federer has now taken eleven consecutive sets from del Potro. Nine of those have occurred this year, across four matches in three months. Stern numbers, which seem downright grim when we consider that Federer has only played five tournaments so far this season. Really, it’s amazing they didn’t face off in Davis Cup a few weeks ago, for all that Switzerland wasn’t hosting Argentina. Last year Federer and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga set some kind of record by playing eight times in a season. It’s still only March, so Federer has a chance to top that. Based on today’s performance, I’m sure del Potro and his fans can imagine nothing worse.

Indeed, I wonder how for much longer their matches can be hyped as potential epics. The answer, probably, is forever. Hype doesn’t follow the usual rules of taste or sanity. In a way, of course, the 2009 US Open final is the culprit. Had del Potro lost that match, then it’s hard to imagine everyone would get so excited for his latest set-to with Federer. But he did win, and remains the only man besides Rafael Nadal to have defeated Federer in a major final. Fans have not been slow in declaring that next time they won’t get excited at the chance to watch these two play, which I imagine is intended as some kind of threat. (It used to be that blathering idiocy came at us piecemeal, if not daily. Now, thanks to the Internet and its surrogates, it is a constant stream.) Of course they’ll tune in. I will.

Much was also made of the Hawkeye issue in the opening game, although it’s fair to say that it did have some bearing on the match, since it took del Potro so long to get over. Briefly: Federer served to the deuce court. The ball looked wide, del Potro challenged. Federer clearly expected an overrule, and readied a second serve. Unfortunately, when Mohamed Layhani requested the replay, none was forthcoming. The internet had gone down (not all of it). Layhani – whose shorts have revealed a comely set of pins – was suitably contrite, admitting he hadn’t been watching, but that he totally believed del Potro that it had been out. Unfortunately, the rule is that the original call must therefore stand. Ace: game point, Federer. Del Potro was considerably more flabbergasted than he needed to be, argued for longer than he should have, and was thus distracted while the rest of us watched his game temporarily fall apart. Federer broke immediately, and then rode it to the end of the set, Sampras-style.

As he has all week, Federer broke immediately to open the second, although the fact that he hadn’t already lost the first was doubtless a pleasant change. He initially looked like riding that one out too, but by now he was well astride the Argentine, and broke again. Both breaks were sealed with majestic forehand winners – the first crosscourt, the second inside out. At 4-1, the commentator was heard to utter: ‘Watch and see if Del Potro makes a charge here.’ 65 seconds, three aces, and one volley winner later, and it was 5/1. They say you’ve never really held serve until you’ve bludgeoned your opponent with a sack full of doorknobs. Federer tightened slightly upon serving for the match, losing the requisite two match points. Del Potro picked up his game momentarily, but he isn’t Djokovic (yet), and Federer served it out.

That was that.

Nadal and Nalbandian ambled onto court about an hour later, and immediately set about assembling a finely-wrought contest that was if anything closer than the scoreline suggests. The components of this potential masterpiece were the Argentine’s backhand, simultaneously silken and robust, and Nadal’s forehand, which, according to Robbie Koenig, imparts more revolutions onto a tennis ball each minute than any other, ever. I vaguely recall that a professor at Stanford or somewhere proved this scientifically a few years ago. Thankfully some genius has discovered that Hawkeye can track this spin, and churn out entirely useless graphics to illustrate it. Of all the ways in which Hawkeye has enriched our lives, this rivals Channel 7’s decibel meter for sheer gratuitousness. A breakdown of Nadal’s victory over Alex Dolgopolov yesterday imparted the stunning discovery that he hit no flat shots (that’s 0%), but that 74% of them would have rotated over 3,500 times had they remained aloft for a full minute. To put that in layman’s terms, Nadal hits with a lot of topspin. Not to sound smug, but I already knew that. Still, Koenig couldn’t get enough of it. He must have brought it up three or four times, lavishing upon it the emphatically clipped enthusiasm he usually reserves for phrases like ‘considerable aplomb’, ‘an oil-painting of a forehand’ and ‘more angles than a South African diamond-cutter.’

A large part of Nadal’s problem with Nalbandian is that even he cannot spin the ball out of the Argentine’s backhand strike zone. Like Djokovic’s, it is simply too good a shot, even above shoulder-height. Nadal has previously conceded that he probably pays Nalbandian’s backhand too much respect, but you can see where he’s coming from. Nalbandian was handling the spin easily today, at least through the first two sets.

Like so many players, Nalbandian appear to believe he has only one chance at beating Nadal, and when that chance passes, he resigns himself to defeat. Today, that single chance came late in the second set. The first set had been remarkably even until Nalbandian broke brilliantly to end it, with a deft drop shot and a forehand winner. He rode that form through the second set, but could not secure a break. Games continued on serve until 4/5, with Nadal serving. This was precisely the moment when Nalbandian had pounced in the first set, and he looked eager to do so again. They moved to 30-30, and Nadal was two points from exiting. A short, furious exchange ended when the Spaniard pounded a heavy forehand onto the baseline. I could sense Koenig’s knowing nod from across the Pacific: a mere 3,400RPM would never have dragged that bastard down. No way. That shot had needed the full 3,500, with change. It turns out topspin has uses beyond kicking balls up over Federer’s shoulders.

Nadal held, and Nalbandian, with dull predictability, permitted himself to be broken. At 30-30, where Nadal had previously launched a decisive forehand, Nalbandian opted in turn to flub a pathetic drop shot into the net. For poetic succinctness, only a double fault could top it, and so he served one. There went the set, and the match.

Nadal moved to a 5/2 lead in the third. Fergus Murphy pointlessly issued a time violation, figuring that it was now late enough that he would never need to follow it up with an actual penalty, even as Nadal showed no sign of speeding up. Nalbandian broke, held, and then moved to break points as Nadal served for it a second time. It was terribly exciting. There were break points, but Nadal saved them. The final scrambling point summed up this fine match perfectly – Nadal’s forehand blooming into dominance, and Nalbandian, in the end, not quite making the ground.

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