March 2, 2012

If You Pay Them

Dubai, Quarterfinals

Having laboriously convened the most august congregation of men’s tennis players it could afford, the Dubai Duty Free Tennis Championships was today blessed by the finest assembly of quarterfinalists since . . . well, it’s been a while. However, despite fielding the personnel, highly promising first rounds either fizzed or devolved into minor upsets, which gifted all the seeds with eminently winnable second rounds. Apart from Mardy Fish, who proved powerless before Mikhail Youzhny’s all-court onslaught and all-face beard, each seed duly won through to the final eight. There was no getting around the fact that they would now have to play each other.

All four of today’s matches looked enticing, with the stand-outs being Andy Murray facing Tomas Berdych, whom he hadn’t beaten in seven years, and Juan Martin del Potro facing Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, which hadn’t happened in almost a week. Otherwise, Novak Djokovic took on Janko Tipsarevic, determined to overcome a one-match losing streak, and Youzhny faced Roger Federer for supremacy of the Seniors quarter. (Federer had already seen off Llodra and Feliciano Lopez, two dashing old-timers boasting a combined age of 61, and an aggregate record against the mighty Swiss of 0-12. Not to be outdone, Youzhny’s head-to-head coming into today’s quarterfinal was an imposing 0-11. Nonetheless, the Russian appeared to be in fearsome form, and there was of course that beard, which is of a lush density sufficient to conceal more WMDs than Iraq, which is to say some.) With the protagonists in place, the stage was set for the kinds of matches around which theatrical metaphors readily abound.

(3) Murray d. (5) Berdych, 6/3 7/5

Sadly, none of the performers had read the script. No match went to a deciding set, and even those that featured a single close set were balanced by a blowout in the other one. We were off to a bad start with Murray and Berdych, who managed to sustain disinterest through almost ninety minutes, right up until the final game, in which Murray wasted half a dozen match points and Berdych desultorily remonstrated with Mohamed Layhani over a Hawkeye ruling. That these were highlights should tell you all you need to know. Murray often clutched various parts of his leg – another highlight – though never after the points he won, which seemed odd. Afterwards he confessed that it was merely a niggle that in no way impacted on his capacity to play, which is really the ideal when it comes to injuries. It gave the Sky Sports commentators something further to discuss, saving them from having to talk about a player other than Murray. I cannot recall much of what Andrew Castle said, only that he said it at great length. His prolonged sermon was occasionally punctuated by advertisements for an insurance company, in which he starred.

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

Soon afterwards Federer achieved his 12th straight victory over Youzhny, four of which have occurred in Dubai. As anticipated, the Russian extracted some fearsome weapons from his facial thatch, although none were apparently equipped with a guidance system. There were many wonderful shots, but too few of them found the court. Nevertheless, some of the ones that did were certainly the best of the tournament so far, including a number of audacious passing shots, executed at outrageous pace. One forehand half-volley was slapped with such accomplished disdain that it might be called Federeresque, although Federer, stranded at the net, probably wouldn’t call it that. Otherwise the second seed served ably – aided by some woeful second serve returning from his opponent – and was sufficiently accomplished off the ground to earn eleven break points, whereupon he produced his usual effort in securing only two of them.

(1) Djokovic d. (7) Tipsarevic, 6/1 7/6

(8) Del Potro d. (4) Tsonga, 7/6 6/1

Meanwhile Djokovic tweaked his usual practice of building up steam as the match wears on by starting quickly against a wayward Tipsarevic, and never letting up. There was some fight from the latter towards the end of the second set, but by interleaving it with timely errors he guaranteed that late was too late. Djokovic will face Murray in the next round. Andrew Castle went on about it. Federer will face del Potro, who with Tsonga managed to turn the most promising of today’s matches into one even more perfunctory than the others. The Argentine looked weary, which is entirely understandable given how much tennis he has played of late. However, as he did last week in Marseilles, del Potro proved that he can see off the Frenchman merely by remaining steady. It helps that his version of steady incorporates one of the biggest forehands in the sport. Having run hot and cold to reach the first set tiebreak, Tsonga thereafter entirely gave up running hot.

It’s an impressive semifinal line-up. Without question, the matches will be incredible.

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February 29, 2012

Solid Gold Trousers

Dubai, First Round

The lowest seed at the Dubai Duty Free Tennis Championships this year – Juan Martin del Potro – would have been the top seed at the Regions Morgan Keegan Championships in Memphis last week, if only he had shown up. I might be biased, but the Dubai draw seems sturdier, despite the fact that both tournaments are of putatively equal standing. Perhaps you are as surprised as I was to learn that Dubai boasts even greater prize money. This helps explain the presence of eight out of the top ten players – only the Spaniards are absent, toiling or gambolling elsewhere – since to a man they have refused any appearance fee [citation needed]. Scurrilous rumour has it that each seed was gifted a pair of solid gold trousers upon arriving, but this can surely be discounted. Dubai’s field is always strong. It’s just the honest thrill of competition that draws them. I’m sure money has nothing to do with it.

This year it is stronger and more thrilling than ever, worthy of the Masters events soon to commence in North America. There were absorbing matches from the very outset, which I found almost as exciting as the fact that I could enjoy them before midnight, which is a rare treat for the Australian tennis fan. A shimmering blue vision before bedtime, punctuating these long arid months of huddled torpor beyond the witching hour; in every sense Dubai is an oasis. It’s an effect reinforced by the coverage, which never wastes an opportunity to send a helicopter past yet another 57 star hotel, each a madman’s confection soaring into the immense Arabian vault. Clearly, we’re not in Tennessee any more.

(2) Federer d. Llodra, 6/0 7/6

With only a few exceptions, the top eight soared easily beyond the reach of their first round opponents, even quality opponents such as Alex Dolgopolov and Michael Llodra. Llodra’s encounter with Roger Federer – who boasts more pairs of golden pants than anyone else – was expected to be competitive given his recent run to the Marseilles final. However, Llodra fell to del Potro in France, who had in turn fallen to Federer the week before in Rotterdam. Therefore . . .

As a rule – or at least a guideline – I have no time for transitivity when applied to sports. The assumption that since Player A beat Player B, and that Player B beat Player C, therefore Player A will beat Player C is facile in the extreme, and ignores nearly everything that matters. But I can confess to feeling mildly pleased when it works out that way. I suspect we all are when reality confirms the silly myths we tell. A simpler and more effective formula would have been that Federer beats Llodra, no exceptions, although I was surprised to learn that this was only their second match. Anyway, Federer was far too good in the first set – some of those backhand passes were vicious – although it predictably grew tighter in the second. This seems to be the pattern of Federer’s matches these days. In his noisily lamented heyday he would start, proceed and end well. He still starts well.

(1) Djokovic d. Stebe, 6/4 6/2

It’s the exact opposite of how Novak Djokovic shapes his matches, which of course says a lot about both players’ approach to the sport. Djokovic gradually gets on top. There was a time when he couldn’t stay there for very long, but not now. Now he will ride you into the ground, and he doesn’t care how long it takes. Yesterday Cedrik Marcel Stebe kept his feet for longer than I had expected, but eventually he was driven nose-first into the dust. I’ve only watched Stebe play three times, and I’ve yet to see him win, but that doesn’t mean each loss wasn’t enormously promising. For his sake I hope what they’re promising is victories to come.

(3) Murray d. Berrer, 6/3 4/6 6/4

Andy Murray beat Michael Berrer. It is only a month since the Australian Open concluded, so he is to be commended. Usually he leaves off winning again until May. He has been adamant that his habitual post-Melbourne sojourn will not be repeated this year. Unfortunately he was no less adamant last year. Tennis players, like drunks and teenagers, are not at their best when permitted to analyse themselves. (Knowing this, it seems strange that they’re granted daily press conferences in order to do nothing else.) Anyway, Murray won, but it was not convincing. He won 29% of points on second serve in the losing second set, against a guy that could barely land a return on break points. That soared to 38% in the third set, a set that saw five breaks. Early in that second set, the English commentators had dared to suggest that, ‘like Djokovic yesterday’ Murray was now ‘getting on top after a tough opening set’. The remainder of the match was a gentle lesson in hubristic comeuppance. Murray was just lucky he wasn’t playing someone better than Berrer.

(4) Tsonga d. Baghdatis, 7/6 6/4

Am I alone in sensing a certain melancholy in Marcos Baghdatis these days? He seems to have lost his exuberance, his love of the competition. Of course, anyone sharing a court with Jo-Wilfried Tsonga is likely to seem dour in contrast. The Frenchman is mighty in his ebullience. After a tight first set – Baghdatis served for it, hopelessly – Tsonga ran away with the match. Like Djokovic yesterday.

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February 27, 2012

Forcibly Disarming

Memphis, Final

Melzer d. (4) Raonic, 7/5 7/6

Isn’t the ATP Entry System peculiar? This morning John Isner, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and Milos Raonic awoke to the thrilling news that the number representing their ranking had shrunk to be the smallest yet, despite the fact that they all lost on the weekend. Meanwhile David Ferrer and Juan Martin del Potro, who won on the weekend, saw their ranking either remain immobile or actually grow larger. I assume casual fans, if they knew or cared, would be baffled by this, although knowing or caring might disqualify them as casual. Lest any are reading, I’ll just say that it comes down to a muddled February schedule impacting on a 52 week ranking system, which is something of a cautionary tale for those advocating wholesale changes to the calendar. It’ll sort itself out before long, but until then for some players it hasn’t been enough simply to replicate last year’s results, even if it was impossible to do better.

Raonic, however, could have done better, even as he perfectly reproduced his breakout run of 2011 by retaining the San Jose title, and falling in the Memphis final a week later. The abundant,  trivial similarities – such as Monfils pulling out of San Jose both times – obscured the degree to which the Canadian has blossomed as a player. Last year’s run felt audacious, unlikely, and, finally, portentous. This year’s felt imposing and inevitable, although in this he was certainly helped by some frankly generous draws, especially in Memphis. Still, if the Memphis field was weak – and it was frankly anemic for a 500 – we can hardly begrudge Raonic that. You can only best the opponents that show up, and he did best all but one of them without dropping a set.

Nor should we belittle Jurgen Melzer for being that one (although it’s forgivable to deride his adidas kit, even if he has mercifully eschewed the matching shorts, unlike Tsonga and Verdasco). Of all the players who entered this disappointing event, the Austrian was still the only one to win it. In winning it he saw off Isner, Stepanek and Raonic, all of whom are aggressive players in rare form. Faced with this, Melzer is to be commended for remaining assertive himself, although he rarely plays any other way. It’s a tough balance to strike, and in Melzer’s case he struck it through being particularly belligerent on his returns, by forcibly disarming some of the most potent weapons in the game. I was courtside in the first round of the Australian Open last month, when he emphatically failed to do the same to Ivo Karlovic. He’d seemed beset and impotent that day – doubly so in the face of a hostile crowd – but in Memphis the spark and assurance had returned. The spark, and the footwork, which turned out to be saying a lot once it was revealed he was playing the entire event with a broken toe, an injury he sustained by twisting it in his bed sheets one night, a classic tennis injury.

Today’s final commenced predictably enough. Service games trickled by with a burbling fluency, inspiring drowsiness and vague desire to relieve oneself. I did so, and didn’t miss much. Neither player looked like breaking, or like being broken. Rallies were rare, although Melzer was clearly better in them. He didn’t have the serve, but he had a serve, and everything else he had was better. By 5/5 the tiebreak seemed slightly more inevitable than it had at 1/1. Then Melzer made a few returns, with the happy result that rallies ensued. Raonic missed some forehands, and was duly broken. It wasn’t dramatic. They traded breaks in the second set, but all the games were tighter. This time the tiebreak did arrive, though by now Melzer’s overall superiority was sufficiently obvious that the title seemed but a few missed Canadian first serves away. Raonic’s first serve, as potent as any in the sport, had not faltered for two weeks. Finally, it did. It still wasn’t dramatic.

Elsewhere in the world there were bigger events than Memphis being decided, even if they boasted smaller draws, and leaner rewards. Nevertheless, Melzer’s joy upon winning was unrestrained, as he raced to embrace his coach. Somehow, it is only his fourth title, which is startling for a player of his abilities, with his firepower. Throughout a long decade on the tour, Melzer has undoubtedly graced countless tournaments even leaner than Memphis, but somehow he rarely won them. Casual fans, perhaps unaware that a tennis tournament actually took place in Memphis, Tennessee this week, and that an Austrian beat a Canadian in the final, will surely be ecstatic to hear that the victory has halved Melzer’s ranking, propelling him from No.38 back into the top twenty.

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February 26, 2012

The Nowhere Men

Buenos Aires, Semifinals

(2) Almagro d. (6) Wawrinka, 6/4 3/6 7/5

A good day of tennis will sometimes come at you from nowhere. When it occurs on the final Saturday of a slow week boasting nothing more glamorous than a few disparate 250 events (and a 500 event that shouldn’t be), then it can recede just as quickly into the more profound nowhere of lost memory. I suppose one must merely be appreciative as it happens, and to make note of it; a quixotic attempt to quell the surge of general forgetting. Too many of those lists purporting to recap a season’s best matches ignore too many of the truly best, just because they happened ‘nowhere’. Today was a good day of tennis.

Nicolas Almagro’s defeat of Stan Wawrinka in Buenos Aires today probably won’t go on to feature on any best-of list, even one compiled tomorrow. This is a shame, for it was a tremendous encounter, and among the more notable clay court matches I’ve seen in years. I am, admittedly, a sucker for a great one-handed backhand. (Late at night, alone, I’ll sometimes even settle for an average one, and dig up some old footage of Sampras or Henman hacking about, the aesthetic equivalent of Hugh Grant cruising the LA streets for ghastly hookers. Like Grant, who had Liz Hurley waiting at home, I sometimes just need a break from marvelling at Gustavo Kuerten. I’m not proud of it. But I digress.) Almagro and Wawrinka have two of the most attractive, secure and effective one-handers in the world. Both can create from the backhand, like a forehand, achieving angles and touch denied to their double-fisted counterparts. There were entire rallies, especially in that third set, without a forehand being struck. Anachronistic perhaps, but it was also a delight.

Until Almagro broke at the end, it was anyone’s match. Wawrinka seemed to have breakpoints in every game. Indeed, it is worth reminding ourselves that for all Almagro never loses in this part of the season to anyone but Ferrer, he does go to three sets a lot. His record seems dominant, but he rarely dominates. Often, he isn’t far from losing. That he goes on winning anyway – except against Ferrer – suggests greater mental fortitude that he is usually credited with. Nonetheless, the question of why he cannot reproduce these results in Europe is not merely a nice one, but an essential one. In tomorrow’s final, he faces Ferrer.

Marseilles, Semifinals

(4) Del Potro d. (1) Tsonga, 6/4 6/7 6/3

Llodra d. (3) Tipsarevic, 6/4 7/6

If neither of the fine Marseilles semifinals were quite as good as that ripper in Buenos Aires – a ball-tearer, my father would say – collectively they added up to something more. What they added up to was another succinct argument in favour of speeding up more of the hardcourt events. It was a curt rebuttal to the belief that doing so would return the sport to the serve-centric blitzkriegs of the 1990s. None of the four players involved lack a decent serve – Tipsarevic’s is a marvel given his size – yet there was no shortage of rallies.

The wonder, however, was that there weren’t only rallies. There was plenty of serve-volleying, especially from Llodra but also from Tsonga, and streams of aces. Returning also came into its own as an aggressive element of the sport, and not merely as a measure of how effectively the returner could negate the server’s inherent advantage. Within the rallies themselves there was ample variation, and buttressed the point that a three-stroke point is quite unlike a ten-stroke one, while most rallies beyond a dozen or so groundstrokes will come to feel the same. Variety is the key.

Nonetheless, it probably wasn’t the key for del Potro, whose best bet against Tsonga will almost always be to maintain equilibrium while the Frenchman cools and combusts from point to point. At his best del Potro retains control while essaying minor elaborations on a theme of tremendous pace. He can hit players from the court without seeming to take undue risks. His shortcoming is that he cannot go with the best players when they lift to vertiginous heights, as we saw last week in Rotterdam, when he mostly matched a merely good Federer in the second set, but was scrambled by a great one in the first. That match only reinforced a tendency in del Potro’s game to start slowly, and thereafter recover. Although fans might prefer it otherwise, as a pattern, it is certainly better than the inverse, of fading after a strong opening. At least his recoveries give him something to work with, and are a testament to his underlying commitment and resilience. That was again much in evidence today after he’d lost a match point in the second set tiebreak, but then went on to break Tsonga early in the third, and run away with the match.

Tomorrow will be del Potro’s second final in as many weeks. He will face the newly shaven Michael Llodra, whose one-handed backhand and virtuosity at the net would mark him as a throwback if his advanced age didn’t instead reveal him to be the last of a dying breed. The modern game has driven the Frenchman to doubles, although he still emerges for the odd run at a fast indoor event. Tomorrow’s final with thus represent another rarity in the modern game – a true contrast in styles. If del Potro wins – and he likely will – it will be his first indoor title, a rare first in this nostalgic week, the nowhere week of fast indoor courts and one-handed backhands.

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February 24, 2012

Pinecones in a Brushfire

Marseilles, Second Round

Olivetti d. (2) Fish, 6/3 3/6 6/3

Mardy Fish today lost in the second round of the Open 13 in Marseilles, having survived a bye in the first. He lost to Albano Olivetti. Casual fans will be forgiven for asking ‘Who?’ Hardcore fans have been asking the same thing. The trusty internet reveals that he is French, a qualifier, ranked No.388, aged 20, and stands at 6’ 8’’. The tournament organisers are probably asking whether Fish’s appearance fee – purported to be somewhere north of $300k – has been justified. It begs the question of whether it would have been worth it even had Fish somehow won the event, assuming he’d received five byes instead of one. It seems a very strange business indeed, for a minor French tournament that had already procured the services of Tsonga and del Potro, not mention Gasquet and Dolgopolov. Does Fish have a sizeable underground French fan base that we know nothing about: L’Ordre du poisson?

I cannot remember the last time a top ten player losing to an opponent ranked 380 places lower engendered so little surprise. Fish, afterwards, appeared as accepting, or perhaps disinterested, as everyone else. Cynics might be inclined to read between the lines, and suggest that he did just enough to guarantee his fee. However, the lines were in a song book, and Fish wasn’t deviating from the tune as written. He waxed loquacious about his opponent’s first serve, which he stridently insisted was the hardest he had ever faced, eclipsing that of Karlovic or Isner. He was predictably keen to add that Olivetti would not be ranked so low for long – the Frenchman will indeed ascend about 100 spots even if he falls to Llodra in the next round – since no one will concede they went out to a clueless duffer. Instead the American has recast his loss as a tough encounter in which he didn’t play his best, and was bested by a rising youngster with the world’s greatest serve. No shame in that.

Memphis, Second Round

Rochus d. (WC) Harrison, 6/4 7/5

Fish was the highest seed to tumble anywhere today, but he was far from the only one. Still in Marseilles, Dolgopolov fell to Llodra, while over in Memphis Anderson went down to Querrey. It’s hard to call either of those results upsets, since both winners are recent champions who’ve fallen on hard times. Speaking of which, Nikolay Davydenko was forced to retire against del Potro when he sustained a foot injury in the second set. If history is any guide, del Potro is therefore due to bugger his foot in the coming days.

Meanwhile in Memphis, Ryan Harrison has just lost to Oli Rochus. Neither man was officially seeded, although I suspect Harrison was in his own mind. A mostly pedestrian affair only came alive in the final games, amidst a flurry of breaks, double faults, scampering rallies, monstered returns, deft volleys and some sumptuous topspin lobs from the Belgian. Rochus let out a sharp bellow on Harrison’s final backhand error, momentarily drowning out the tepid applause from the dozen or so onlookers.

Buenos Aires, Second Round

Andreev d. (7) Verdasco, 7/6 6/3

Berlocq d. (3) Simon, 6/2 6/1

Nalbandian d. (5) Monaco, 6/3 6/1

However, it was Buenos Aires that witnessed the most vigorous release of seeds, like a pinecone in a brushfire. I am apparently not allowed to say mean things about Verdasco, because he has tendonitis in his knee, and therefore shouldn’t be upbraided for opting to play consecutive clay court tournaments, and thereby lose to a procession of chumps. He’ll presumably turn up in Acapulco next week: another masterpiece of scheduling. Today he was hit off the court by Igor Andreev, who, it turns out, has a big forehand. Nonetheless, Verdasco’s loss was nowhere near as comprehensive as those of Simon and Monaco, who collectively managed just seven games against Berlocq and Nalbandian respectively. Berlocq was, according to eyewitness accounts, flawless, while Simon, by his own account, is on holiday. As he has done for a decade, Nalbandian is looking like the best player in the world, and will continue to do so until he doesn’t. As ever, his ranking – currently No.85 – bears no relationship to his ability, form or general interest. It was the same when he was ranked in the top ten. I suppose he and Mardy Fish have that in common.

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February 22, 2012

The Wrong Place

I’ve always maintained that Nicolas Almagro is the best clay courter in the world until the better ones turn up. It was an uncontroversial opinion usefully illustrated during last year’s Golden Swing, as Almagro conducted a stately procession through Brazil, Argentina and Mexico, winning everything until David Ferrer showed up in Acapulco to rain on his compatriot’s golden parade. It was also illustrated in Europe a few months later, when Almagro’s abject efforts in the tournaments that matter were punctuated by a title in Nice, which doesn’t.

So far this year Almagro has looked like repeating his efforts. He has already defended his title in Brazil, untroubled by the relocation from Bahia to São Paulo. With confidence sloshing over the cup’s rim, he turned up in Buenos Aires in fine fettle, only to discover that Ferrer had landed in the Americas a week early. To Almagro, who’s gone native, the senior Spaniard is surely about as welcome as Cortés. Protestations that the world No.5 has jumped the gun were summarily dismissed. Ferrer retorted with an icy patrician patience that the reshuffled February tour was at fault. He always plays in the fourth week of February – by God! – for his schedule is predicated on the eternal shifting of the seasons, and pays scant heed to anything so laughably changeable as the ATP calendar.

It merely crowns the curious theme of the week, which is of players turning up in unexpected places. Kei Nishikori is at his best on hardcourt, and his only title came at Delray Beach some years back. Yet he too graces the Copa Claro this week, where he has already seen off Juan Carlos Ferrero, who two years ago produced an Almagro-like run through South America. Meanwhile, I note that Alejando Falla is not in Argentina but in Memphis, surely an ideal choice for a game like his, so beautifully tailored to a fast indoor hardcourt. Also absent from Buenos Aires is Juan Martin del Potro – he’s in Marseilles – although I cannot say if this has ruffled any plumas back home. I recall Stan Wawrinka copping a hard time a few years ago for playing Valencia over Basel.

Perhaps most surprisingly, Mardy Fish is in Marseilles – he’s seeded second behind Tsonga – making him the only American to skip Memphis, by which I don’t just mean American tennis players. Like those events that kick off the US Summer Series, the draw appears to be almost exclusively composed of locals. All four qualifiers are American – Ginepri, Levine, Kendrick and Reynolds – suggesting that the rest of the qualifying draw was, as well. All three wildcards are, too (Sock, Querrey and Harrison), and so are the top two seeds. Fish, presumably, had to get away so badly that it trumped his innate aversion to playing away from home. It could be that he is avoiding Falla.

Surveying the weak Memphis draw, especially beside that of Marseilles, and taking into account the ‘intimacy’ of the venue and the lack of Hawkeye, one has to wonder precisely how it warrants 500 status. Marseilles is merely a 250, and boasts four of the top ten. The top seed in Memphis is Isner, ranked No.13. Whatever is wrong with tennis in the United States – since I’m not American I don’t find this topic anything like as crucial as those pundits who are – one can hardly say they haven’t been given every chance.

Speaking of which, I note that both Grigor Dimitrov and Bernard Tomic contrived to salvage defeat from deep in third set tiebreakers, from Donald Young and Ivan Dodig respectively. Tomic blew several match points, which is breaking new ground, although Dodig saving them isn’t.  Sadly, Dimitrov’s loss merely continues a trend that had been developing for some time. The Bulgarian has now lost six consecutive tiebreaks, including a couple in his painful capitulation to Kevin Anderson last week in San Jose. I submit that the issue may be mental. At this time last year I admonished him for lingering in Europe when there were soft American draws to exploit. It was initially gratifying that he took my advice. This year, in a week when half the guys seem to be playing in the wrong place, I believed that at least Dimitrov’s decision to play Memphis was the right one. Shows what I know.

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February 20, 2012

The Twilight of the Ponies

Rotterdam, Final

(1) Federer d. (3) del Potro, 6/1 6/4

For no defensible reason, Juan Martin del Potro remains inextricably connected with Nikolay Davydenko in my mind. There are, of course, the striking physical similarities (I’m astonished Ivan Reitman has not yet cast them in Twins 2, a sequel begging to be made). However, in looking past this, I am faced with only incidental similarities, although these still add up to something; perhaps only the elementary realisation that even a meaningless association can be hard to rupture, assuming I had any reason to try.

They finished 2009 as the most fearsome two players in the world, with del Potro the US Open champion, and Davydenko the winner in Shanghai and London. Indeed, they squared off in the final match of the regular season – which is the last time they played – with the Russian inspiring an awestruck del Potro to his famous assertion that facing Davydenko was akin to playing a PlayStation on hard mode. I discoursed at some length the other day on Davydenko’s subsequent plummet, which commenced about seven weeks later, in mid-afternoon in Melbourne. Del Potro’s fall occurred almost simultaneously, as he lost to Marin Cilic three days earlier, stricken by the wrist injury that ended a season he’d barely begun. Davydenko’s disappearance also featured an injured wrist, though whereas del Potro’s was definitive, the Russian’s was more pretextual for some unfathomed existential malaise.

Two months earlier and half the world away, both men had beaten Roger Federer at the O2, and remain the only ones to have done so. Indeed, since that moment Federer has compiled a 36-1 record on indoor hardcourts. The sole loss was to Gael Monfils at Bercy in 2010, after holding five matchpoints. The most recent of the wins were against Davydenko in the Rotterdam semifinals yesterday, and against del Potro in the final today. I know well enough that mere juxtaposition does not necessarily constitute meaning, but when coincidences pile up high enough, the mound can sometimes look like an intended structure.

Until he crumbled today, the Tower of Tandil – del Potro’s unlovely, and presumably formal nickname – had looked to be an imposing edifice indeed. He had seen of Viktor Troicki in the quarterfinals for the loss of just one game. He had thrashed the in-form Tomas Berdych in the semifinals, the Czech’s second loss for the year. He had every reason to think he was a strong chance in the final, especially when Federer’s wins over Nieminen and Davydenko had been sternly fought, and not entirely convincing. Prevailing wisdom had it that he remained bruised from his loss to Isner last week, and he’d touched down in Rotterdam to a circling media pack demanding an explanation for a few poorly translated remarks at the Davis Cup. Furthermore, the consensus was that Federer’s crushing win over del Potro at the Australian Open could be explained away as a bad day in savage conditions. A tight final was expected.

The opening game only confirmed this. Federer was serving first, but he wasn’t first-serving. He could barely find one, which was of concern, as his serve has lately provided a sure foundation, even when the structure above proved shaky. Del Potro looked assured. I suppose Federer did, too, but the Argentine’s game backed it up. There were break points, but they were saved. Eventually Federer found a first serve, and held. It wasn’t easy, as almost no service game today was. I can hardly recall Federer holding to love, which is hardly surprising, given he landed first serves at any uncharacteristically abysmal 49%. But then, del Potro wasn’t serving much better. The Argentine was broken in the next game, and again two games later. Federer moved to 5/0. Del Potro dodged the bagel by holding for the first, but copped a breadstick the next game. Suddenly Federer was hurling down baked goods with an assurance that matched his expression.

It would be wrong to say Federer’s game plan never varies when he faces a big man, because vary is exactly what it does. Spins and depths are perpetually altered, handcuffing flat drives are driven up the middle, and followed by gasp-inducing forehand drop shots – some crowds gasp at anything – which are themselves followed by Federer, gliding net-wards. As he does when facing Soderling, Federer’s idea is to never allow del Potro to plant his feet, even if it occasionally brings him undone. Several times in today’s final he sought the space behind the loping Tower – inanimate sobriquets always run into metaphorical trouble – only to find it hadn’t moved an inch. It’s hard to go behind a guy who doesn’t cover the open court. One forehand was held for an absurdly long time, as Federer waited in vain for his opponent to amble to the invitingly pristine hectares in the backhand corner. Whether through design or laziness, Del Potro stayed put, and eventually won the point. But for each of those, and for each enticing low slice that del Potro belted for a winner, there were five or ten others that eventually won Federer the rally. There is a winsomely innocent tendency for Delpo’s fans to believe their man saves his worst for Federer, but it has happened enough times in the last twelve months that ignoring his opponent’s role in this matchup has come to seem perverse. There is a reason why del Potro could so viciously maul Troicki and Berdych, and yet today could not get his claws into any of the seven breakpoints he earned, even against a serveless Federer. The reason was Federer.

The second set was closer, as Federer’s standard off the ground dipped, and his first serve continued its merry bender elsewhere. Each game became a discrete, miniature drama. The top seed broke for 3/2, but it felt counter to the run of play. Del Potro blew break points in every other game. Errors began to flow from the Federer forehand, and cries of Allez! from his mouth when the big ones went in. He was less assured now, but so was del Potro. Down a break, the third seed’s opportunity was stuttering and sliding away. At 3/5 Federer lifted on return, and moved to 15-40: two match points. Del Potro, from nowhere, found his serve, and saved the game. Federer stepped around to serve it out. The score line tells us all we need to know, except that the final game was just like all the others. It was not done easily, but it was done well.

Rotterdam is Federer’s 71st career title, and his first for 2012. The trophy looks like a decorative hubcap, although it is the Platonic ideal of elegance compared to the usual European indoor efforts. The names of past champions are inscribed around the walls of the Sportpaleis. The camera picked out ‘2005 Federer’ at one point. ‘2012 Federer’ had been added before the trophy ceremony was complete. Richard Krajicek, the tournament director, proudly pointed this out to the champion on the podium. Federer looked bemused. What do you say to that? To del Potro, he said all the right things, in particular that he hoped to see the Argentine at the World Tour Finals in November. It’s a long way away, but based on this week if not this day, the world No.10 is travelling in the right direction. The unspoken assumption was that Federer would be there, too. Some determined or capricious souls sought to paint this as arrogance. But based on this week – based on this career – to pretend otherwise would be to insult our intelligence.

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February 19, 2012

A Fine Week in Holland

Rotterdam, Semifinal

(1) Federer d. Davydenko, 4/6 6/3 6/4

The last time Nikolay Davydenko took a set from Roger Federer was in the quarterfinal of the 2010 Australian Open, a notorious match that remains almost unique in the history of men’s tennis. Like the exquisitely preserved clay pot whose hitherto un-guessed-at technical perfection demands we reassess an entire civilisation, this match’s archaeological value is incalculable. For the first time, we are able to pinpoint the precise moment at which a fine career collapsed, even if we cannot say why.

The decline of a great player is more usually a vague, circuitous and debated procedure, defined by false trails, sudden collapses, sunsets mistaken for dawns, whispered speculation, soul-abrading media scrutiny and strident assertions of business-as-usual. Admittedly, Davydenko’s plummet has included all of those, but really, the consensus is that it began as the Russian led Federer 6/2 3/1, and riding a two-match streak against the sport’s greatest player. From there he lost 13 straight games, the match, and his will to compete. But if we can isolate the moment, we still cannot explain it. Until 3/1 in the second set, Davydenko was arguably the most in-form player in the world, and the purest ball-striker in the sport. Suddenly, he wasn’t.

This week in Rotterdam Davydenko has, for the first glorious time in two long years, looked like his old self. His assured victory over Richard Gasquet, who played well and is justified in having designs on the top ten, was particularly impressive. Davydenko’s momentum, eerily, lasted until he again lead Federer by a set and 3/1. Federer had been outplayed until that point, but lifted to take the following five games, and the set. (Davydenko cunningly threw in an ill-conceived medical timeout in order to stall his own momentum). This was Davydenko’s cue to fade. It is to his credit that he reapplied himself in the third.

The tennis was superb and desperate, owing to a pair of committed shot-makers on a delightfully-paced indoor court, and to a delirious Dutch crowd. Davydenko’s hands and Federer’s feet were the standouts, as the Russian annexed the baseline and redirected the world No.3 to the corners. Federer’s desperation was admirable, his effort unstinting, and his brilliance undimmed. He grabbed at a handful of breakpoints, but Davydenko grasped each firmly, wrenching them back. Then, at 3/4, Davydenko moved to 0-40 on Federer’s serve. He only had a look-in on one of the three, and looked at a clean pass up the line. His backhand found the net. It proved decisive. Federer served his way to the hold, then broke Davydenko to love, a run of nine straight points. Was this the new Davydenko asserting himself once more? Let’s not forget that before beating Federer twice, he had lost to him twelve times in a row. The old Davydenko generally fared no better.

If the 2010 Australian Open clearly precipitated Davydenko’s fall, is it too much to hope that 2012 Rotterdam signals some kind of resurgence? Most narratives are of course false, and the best of them achieve perfection via a hermetic circularity such as this. Real life is much richer, and its comings and goings harder to discern until later, when they are subsumed into the narrative we call the past. In LA Story, the great philosopher Steve Martin, curiously echoing Sartre, wondered, ‘Why is it that we don’t always recognize the moment when love begins but we always know when it ends?’ Davydenko, now thirty, is probably made of the wrong stuff to commence an Agassi-like second career, for all that the two broadly share a game-style and a hairstyle. However, if Davydenko was somehow to return to the top twenty, or even the top ten, we might one day come to believe that a fine week in Holland was where it began, again.

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February 17, 2012

Worst-of-Three

Sao Paulo, Second Round

(3) Verdasco d. Marti, 6/4 6/7 7/5

Fernando Verdasco, in cahoots with Rafael Nadal, last year produced what was by broad consensus the worst tennis match of 2011, at the Cincinnati Masters. They are compatriots but they aren’t friends, yet they set aside their mutual antipathy to prolong a merely tedious encounter into a three and a half hour epic of suck.

Although nominally a best-of-three match, it sent a clear warning that not only should woman be excused from playing best-of-five matches at majors, quite a few of the men should be debarred from doing so, as well.  One’s heart quailed at the thought of two more sets. It was also a clear reminder that many players who share a nationality also submit to an informal hierarchy. As the match entered a third tiebreaker, it became obvious that there was no depth to which Nadal could sink that Verdasco could not exceed, until their race to the bottom reached the silt, muck and abandoned car bodies at the bottom of the mire. It turned out that Nadal can no more lose to Verdasco than Djokovic can lose to Troicki, or Federer to Wawrinka.

There are many things a match must have in order to rank among the very worst. In some respects, the worst matches are simply inversions of the best, those respects being the quality of the play and desperation of each player’s endeavour. In others however, the worst matches share qualities with the finest, such as the resplendence of the occasion – poor quality is only magnified by the big stage – or through sheer length. However, regarding length, there is subtle point to be made. The is a real risk that a poor quality match, once it extends past 6/6 in the fifth, will gain a certain cachet, and thereby attain grandeur in spite of the quality of play. Clement and Santoro proved this some years ago at Roland Garros. Notwithstanding the odd execrable four-setter, it seems generally to be the case that the worst matches are senselessly long best-of-three setters. Or worst-of-three, as it were.

Any survey Verdasco’s career conducted with less than total sympathy demonstrates his proven mastery of the worst-of-three format. Aficionados will recall his loss to Soderling in Rome last year, when he blew three match points, and the match, in a flurry of double faults. From memory, a bug also flew into his eye, and the lights went out. His sobriquet – Fiasco – was not earned ironically.

Today in Sao Paulo an early yet firm frontrunner for worst match of 2012 emerged, and Verdasco of course featured. Again the match was against a countryman, but, for a wonder, it was Verdasco that emerged the victor. Perhaps ‘victor’ is a bit strong. Let’s just say he emerged as the guy who didn’t lose, struggle though he did. Verdasco was surely as puzzled as everyone else by this outcome, but it was a case of the master being outdone by a true prodigy. A star is born, and his name is Javier Martin.

Fans of mind-searing, scrotum-tightening choking must have caught their collective breaths, stricken with wonderment. Verdasco – the undisputed master in this area – was a helpless onlooker as twenty-year-old Marti trumped his elder compatriot’s efforts to lose at every turn. Verdasco, serving at 2/5 0-40 in the final set – once again he had deployed the double-fault lavishly – surely imagined he had found the bottom. Marti, equipped for the long haul, never allowed his inexperience to get the better of him. Squaring his shoulders, he actually burrowed deeper, discovering a hidden, decade-old cache of medical waste below the swamp-bed. From triple-match point up, Marti won barely three or four points in the next five games. Now that’s how it’s done.

Verdasco must have felt terribly old, as though the game was passing him by. This is what choking will look like in the future. How can he hope to compete? However, in a way, he should feel complimented, for imitation is the highest form of flattery. Marti has clearly studied his opponent at considerable length. Verdasco’s influence was subtle and yet pervasive, evident in the sudden torrent of errors from the forehand, or the way Marti saved his final double fault for a key moment. One way or another, the legacy will live on.

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February 15, 2012

Empty Bleachers

Sao Paulo, First Round

(Q) Andreev d. (WC) Gonzalez, 6/2 6/3

Although the chances are good that later events will run it close, the award for least surprising news of the week must so far go to Fernando Verdasco’s decision to forgo the SAP Open in San Jose. Notwithstanding that he was the 2010 champion – the fourth of only five career titles – I can see how he might have soured on the place.

Last year San Jose became the ninth of Verdasco’s eleven career runner-ups, and it was arguably the most memorable of the lot as he screwed falling short to an agonising new level of intensity. Especially unforgettable was the surliness with which he finally succumbed to the virginal Milos Raonic, and his subsequent self-righteousness in blaming everyone but himself. He then enshrined the result by losing again to Raonic in Memphis the following week, although this only confirmed the Spaniard in his certainty that he was losing because his opponent refused to play ‘real tennis’, an unworthy thought he foolishly relayed to the attendant press. It was a performance and an attitude ill-befitting a member of the top ten, and so it was in some ways appropriate that his inexorable descent from that lofty position began immediately. He has since plummeted all the way to No.27, but San Jose was wherethe slide began.

This year he finds himself in Sao Paulo, where a relatively weak draw has yielded Verdasco the No.3 seeding. Nicolas Almagro returns to mount a title-defence. Thomaz Bellucci is the local hope. Nevertheless, the main story was all Fernando Gonzalez, until he lost. It’s hard to say what the story will be now. I’ll offer the controversial opinion that David Nalbandian is a better player than his ranking of No.84 suggests, and the bold prediction that he will meet Almagro in the final. The rather shorter view is that his first round match against the outrageously talented Benoit Paire will be worth staying up or waking up for, depending on your location. Brazilians or those in geosynchronous orbit will make their own arrangements, I suppose.

Rotterdam, First Round

Youzhny d. Kunitsyn, 6/0 6/7 6/0

There are three tournaments running concurrently this week, although it’s unfair on two of them that the third is Rotterdam, which usually ranks with the best of the 500 events. The top draws are Roger Federer, Tomas Berdych and Juan Martin del Potro, who has finally returned to the top ten, where he truly belongs, though not to the top four, where so many are convinced he belongs. Three of the eight seeds have already departed – Dolgopolov, Lopez and Granollers – as have most of the locals. Mikhail Youhzny has already won his first round match, with the most curious double bagel. Since claiming Zagreb a week ago, the Russian’s beard has already evolved from merely magnificent to downright vengeful. Sadly, Ljubicic’s farewell tour is going about as well as Gonzalez’. He’s out too.

San Jose, First Round

(6) Anderson d. Dimitrov, 2/6 7/6 7/6

Meanwhile, over in San Jose, Grigor Dimitrov’s young career has already progressed from narrowly choking away tough matches he should probably win, to blowing ones he certainly should. In his determination to emulate Federer’s career, he appears to have skipped the outrageously successful and absurdly long part in the middle. He was superior to Kevin Anderson in almost every aspect of the sport, with the sole exception being the tiebreak. The first set recalled Dimitrov’s hiding of Mardy Fish at the Hopman Cup. The second and third sets recalled too many other Dimitrov moments to mention. He looked assured and elegant throughout, until the tiebreaks, when he looked inexperienced, which is ironic because these are exactly the situations he constantly finds himself in. The trick is to win before the sudden-death moment. That way you don’t have to suddenly die. I don’t mean to shrug off Anderson so lightly – to consign him to obstacle status the way so many people do for Ivo Karlovic – but he began slowly and never really sped up. He played about as well in the third set as he had in the first. I suppose that’s the point: Dimitrov didn’t. Last year I suggested he should be in North America rather than Europe. Now I don’t know what to think.

The organisers of the SAP Open have once again obtained the use of the HP Pavilion, which is apparently otherwise used to store empty bleachers. One presumes that by not clearing these away, the tournament received a discount, and saved themselves considerable effort. Certainly it sets off the action much better than having actual human beings watching.

As ever with American sporting events, there appears to be a concern that more than a few seconds of inactivity will cause the crowd to succumb to rigor mortis, or to develop revolutionary leanings, or something. As a consequence, sensory assault was visited upon the dozen or so people in attendance at each change of ends. The best moment came when they were invited to watch a trio of animated tennis racquets bounce on the Jumbotron, each emblazoned with a HP logo. The aim, I assume, was to see who could stare at flagrant self-promotion the longest without weeping. This was enlivened by a corny announcer explaining things in  infantile detail via a boneshaking sound system. At one changeover Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ crooned out. The stream went down for a little while after this. A Rickroll of this magnitude was enough to break the internet.

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