June 10, 2013

A Monumental Accomplishment

French Open, Final

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

Rafael Nadal has defeated David Ferrer in straight sets in the French Open final, thus becoming the first man in the history of tennis to win the same Major tournament eight times. That he has done this from only nine attempts tells you all you need to know about the extent of his sustained dominance at this event, and on this surface, and further suggests that the tally won’t stop at eight. Matthew Stockman/Getty Images EuropeAfterwards, cradling the Coupe de Mousquetaires while the martial strains of the Marcha Real wafted through the stadium, Nadal’s face reflected a profound and easy satisfaction. One might hazard a guess at what he was feeling right at that moment, but very few men or women must know for sure.

Before we could arrive at this moment, however, there was a final to be contested. Thankfully, this final ended up being a tightly fought affair, with players splitting sets, before the final set escalated through a sequence of tense holds. Triumph for the younger player came seemingly from nowhere, at 7/5. It was very exciting. The upshot is that Matthew Ebden is now the Nottingham Challenger champion, having narrowly edged out Benjamin Becker. A short time later there was another final played in Paris, though that one proved rather less memorable. The three sets might have had their kinks, but they always straightened out at the end, and Nadal, as expected, never looked qualified to lose.

The degree of satisfaction one experiences upon essaying a correct prediction correlates closely to its degree of difficulty. Days of smugness can be achieved by forecasting an outrageous event, such as a stock market crash or a quarterfinal run by Tommy Robredo. At the other end of the scale, there’s little to crow about when one correctly anticipates that the latest Vin Diesel film will lack adequate character development or that Nadal will handily defeat Ferrer in the final of the French Open. I’d suggested that the final would for Nadal be the equivalent of the Tour de France winner’s procession through the final stage. I was pleased enough with the analogy, though I hardly believed the sentiment behind it to be unique.

About the match itself, there’s depressingly little to say. My post on the semifinal was the longest I’ve ever penned, stretching to over two thousand words, and inviting a charge of prolixity against which I have no defence, except that I felt like there was a lot to say. This post won’t run anywhere near as long, although I’d like to head off any idea that this reflects dismissively on Nadal’s achievement. The size of the monument doesn’t need to match the monumentality of the event. (Cynical readers will note that I’ve just padded out this post by another hundred or so words. They’re not wrong, but even small monuments deserve a plinth.)

It says a lot that the liveliest moments in the final occurred during its interruptions, several times by protesters and once by rain. The protesters, we’re told, were passionately opposed to gay marriage, and had thus adopted the predictably trite path of championing children’s rights: ‘Won’t somebody please think of the kids?’ What they thought invading centre court with a lit flare would achieve that a public suicide in Notre Dame hadn’t is open for debate. In any case, security hustled him from the court with an alacrity that put even Wimbledon’s ground crew to shame. (It was asserted by some that had this occurred in New York, the fellow would have been dealt with more severely, presumably by being extraordinarily rendered to a secret facility, and there forced to endure Rob Schneider films with his eyelids taped open. Others suggested that had Serena Williams being playing she would have dealt with him herself.) Thus distracted, Nadal took the following point with a savage forehand winner. Forget the kids, wouldn’t someone please think of Ferrer?

By contrast, the rain interruption lacked any overt political motive, though it did expertly match the mood of the final, which had been a nerve-ridden, dreary affair even before the clay thickened into mud. Rather too much is made of Nadal’s distaste for such conditions – that perennial urge to erect new obstacles for him to overcome – with an implication that other players somehow thrive in them. Djokovic happened to cope with the rain better in last year’s final, but that hardly makes him an exponent of wet-weather tennis. The world number one has repeatedly demonstrated a capacity to elevate his level in any conditions, and I think people have too readily ascribed it all to the weather (rather like the role of the roof closure in last year’s Wimbledon final). Nadal is still a great clay court player even in the wet. He’s not as good as he is when it’s dry and hot, but he’s still leagues better than Ferrer. He hit nearly three dozen winners.

All the same, Ferrer had proved himself leagues better than anyone he faced en route to the final, a task he accomplished without dropping a set. For his runner-up troubles, he will return to the number four ranking, while Nadal, having won, drops back to number five. This is counter-intuitive, admittedly, though it’s explained by the fact that Nadal has ‘merely’ defended his title from last year, while Ferrer has improved on last year’s semifinal (in every way: in last year’s loss he managed just five game, while today he won eight). This, coupled with the way the All England Club determines its seedings, means that Nadal will be seeded fifth at Wimbledon in a few weeks. Some question whether this is fair. The answer is that missing half a season with injury has repercussions for one’s ranking. No doubt Nadal will return to the top four after Wimbledon. Plenty of people will be outraged on his behalf before then, especially if he’s drawn in a half with Federer and Djokovic.

Upon breaking for the last time – Ferrer’s final serve was a double fault – then comfortably serving out the title, the King of Clay collapsed briefly onto his back, before rising and jogging forward to receive his compatriot’s expressions of fealty. It was, understandably, a more muted moment than last year’s victory, though I don’t doubt it felt just as satisfying for the victor, and far less disappointing for the loser. Last year Djokovic’s campaign had concluded with a double fault and a dejected stumble towards the net. Ferrer appeared far more sanguine. I can’t imagine the older Spaniard had entered the match harbouring a realistic belief in victory. Even if he had, the last set had provided forty-two minutes in which to divest himself of such fancies.

Ferrer was characteristically gracious later on the rapidly deployed podium, praising Nadal in a ceremony enhanced by the unexplained presence of Usain Bolt and only slightly marred by the fact that he’d already said all of it to Cedric Pioline just minutes before. In fact the entire affair was very civilised, not to say stately, the way a procession should be. Nadal was as gracious in his response, delivering his speech with the consummate ease wrought by long experience. He’s been here many times before, more than any other man in history.

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June 8, 2013

No Feeling Like It

French Open, Semifinal

(3) Nadal d. (1) Djokovic 6/4 3/6 6/1 6/7 9/7

The final of this year’s Roland Garros will be contested by Rafael Nadal, who defeated Novak Djokovic in five supple and eventually thrilling sets, and David Ferrer, who saw off Jo-Wilfried Tsonga without much trouble at all. For Tsonga it was a discouraging manner in which to confirm the unhelpful assertion that no Frenchman can win his home Major, thus making it seem far more prophetic than it should be. For the world number one it was a crushing way to fall short of his career Grand Slam. For Ferrer the joy of reaching his first Major final was immediate and overwhelming, even if it is destined not to last. Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeNadal has now won fifty-eight matches at this venue, from fifty-nine attempts, a statistic that is only enhanced by the consideration that today was only the second time in nine years he actually looked in danger of losing.

The early rounds at this French Open were a polyphonic snarl, with discernible melodies only emerging in the third and fourth rounds. Depending on one’s tastes, these tunes grew wearying or comfortingly familiar by the quarterfinals, although even then there remained plenty of novelty at which to marvel. How the pundits gaped when the round of sixteen featured eight single-handed backhands and an average age near thirty. These proportions were sustained even into the following round. The quarterfinals retained four of these venerable chaps, whom we could term atavistic throwbacks, except that they are clearly vintage models, some in surprisingly mint condition.

Normal service was soon restored: the losing quarterfinalists were in each case the older man, and in every case boasted a single-handed backhand. So much for the breath of fresh air, or even a wafting old breeze. The air remained all but unstirred. Indeed, had Federer defeated Tsonga the semifinalists this year would have been identical to last year. It seems that no matter the path we take, nor the conveyances employed, we somehow end up in much the same place. Like life itself, in which we shed the immortality of youth only gradually, the end point of Roland Garros now feels inescapable. To death and taxes we can once more add Rafael Nadal hoisting the Coupe des Mousquetaires. He has certainly earned it.

It all felt rather less inescapable when he trailed Djokovic by a break in the fifth set of today’s semifinal, having failed to serve the match out in the fourth. Djokovic had trailed for most of the match, even, or especially, in the sets he’d won. Indeed, it had been another of those matches in which to secure an early break in a set was to court disaster (although Djokovic, ever the gentleman, was the only one to see this courtship through to its bitter end). The Serb had recovered a break once in the second set, and twice in the fourth, but now found himself in the perilous position of leading the match for the first time.

Nadal’s firm service hold at 2/4 now seems decisive, although I don’t recall anyone saying so at the time. In hindsight, it granted him a measure of momentum in the next return game, although this wasn’t enough to force the break by itself. It required special assistance from Djokovic. At deuce Djokovic found himself at the net, Nadal well out of position, with an easy put-away. He put it away, but, in a moment that will probably inspire shuddering recollection in the small hours for years to come, fell into the net before the ball could be declared dead by waiting paramedics. Nadal helpfully pointed this out for the umpire, the stadium, and a global audience in the millions, but happily Pascal Maria was on his game, and awarded the point to the Spaniard. Djokovic protested a little, for form’s sake, but he knew as well as the rest of us what the rule is. It would have brought up a game point, which he might not have taken, but instead brought up break point, which Nadal didn’t take, either. Nevertheless, momentum had definitely shifted, and Nadal broke back a few points later.

The parallel to last year’s Australian Open final was clear, although the tracks ran in different directions. In that match Djokovic had been steaming to victory before a derailment in the fourth set saw Nadal extend it to a fifth. The Spaniard then broke early, before later handing it back with a loose shot. It’s funny how these things happen, but also suggestive that fortune will fall a player’s way when he’s operating in the seat of his power. Djokovic has now won as many Australian Opens as anyone in the Open Era, whereas Nadal’s record at Roland Garros is unmatched in any era. Or it could just be an amazing coincidence.

Parallel or not, today’s match was considerably better than the 2012 Australian Open final, which mostly proved that anything can be adjudged epic given sufficient length. This reflected Nadal’s approach. Whereas in Australia he’d opened aggressively before reverting to the endless rallying that largely defines this match-up – Djokovic is complicit in this – today he was superbly offensive. He struck 61 winners, and only 44 unforced errors. Winner stats can be misleading, of course, because they tell you little of how the winners eventuated. A winner coming at the end of a twenty-five stroke rally in which Nadal gradually pushes his opponent off the court several times is quite different to one struck immediately and audaciously. Today Nadal was audacious, and was clocking forehands and backhands early in rallies from neutral balls, and repeatedly catching Djokovic out. Given that Djokovic through long habit has grown accustomed to points unfurling in a certain way, this counts as a tactical victory for Nadal as well as a purely technical one. His forehand was struck early, hard and often up the line. His backhand held up well, and was often penetrating. There were only a few lapses, although for these he was invariably made to pay.

Djokovic’s early winners mostly came from one-two plays featuring wide serves to the deuce court, finished off with inside-out forehands. His inside-in forehand was frequently over-hit and the backhand up the line was either directed safely inside the sideline, or pushed rashly beyond it, a combination of tendencies that seriously reduced his capacity to prise apart the court quickly. Consequently he was obliged to build points, although midway through the first set he set about demonstrating that building a point isn’t necessarily the same as constructing one. Often the intent was muddled. The proven tactic of pounding on Nadal’s backhand until it leaks an error or a short response – the tactic that yielded such rich rewards in 2011 – was abandoned early, and only occasionally rediscovered. There was a widespread feeling that Djokovic had come out without a sufficiently clear plan, although Patrick Mouratoglou’s assertion that this cost Djokovic the match was reductive. The Serb did lead by 4/2 in the fifth set, after all.

Anyway, it was all building towards a fittingly titanic climax; Djokovic was holding repeatedly and masterfully to keep the match alive, while Nadal was in the happy position of knowing that under no circumstances would he have to serve out the match. As he has in the past on Philippe Chatrier, Djokovic was troubled by his footing at the back of the court; recall his constant slips in the semifinal against Federer two years ago. At the change of ends at 7/8 he and Pascal Maria engaged in a heated exchange about the need to water the court beyond the baseline, a request to which the umpire would not accede. Matthew Stockman/Getty Images EuropeFatally unfocussed, Djokovic stepped out, put together his worst service game in hours, including two unusual forehand errors, and was broken to love. Suddenly, like that, the match was over. Nadal looked pleased; Djokovic, less so. It was not, it must be said, a classic finish.

Whether it was a classic match is a nice question, although it’s one that should only be answered in time. It’s with a stultifying lack of surprise that I note the demands for a more immediate assessment. Even while it was going on un-level heads were proclaiming it the match of the year. For some reason this is important, as though the quiddity of a sporting contest must be nailed down at the time, lest it be rapidly forgotten. It could be that I’m out of the loop, and there’s a substantial cash prize awarded to the first person to prove the greatness of a given tennis match. But if there is no prize, I can’t see the advantage in eschewing the advantage of a longer view. Ignoring one’s sense of perspective is a kind of conceit. Not for the first time, and nor for the last, I don’t see how it matters.

Nadal will now face Ferrer, whose feat of reaching the final without dropping a set will be largely forgotten when he loses three of them on Sunday. It’s conceivable that he’ll win one himself, but even that seems unlikely. Naturally he’ll give it everything: that’s the thing that he always gives. But they played here last year, Ferrer gave it everything, and Nadal lost five games. That was a semifinal, and this is a final – Ferrer’s first at this level – meaning the gap in their respective experience has expanded to become an unbridgeable chasm. There is a sense in which the first of today’s semifinals was the real final. There’s an even more profound sense in which it doesn’t matter. Once again I find myself astonished by how much some people seem to think it does.

The initial outrage that Djokovic and Nadal might meet in a quarterfinal was quickly rendered irrelevant by the latter’s ranking and Andy Murray’s back. But even before the French Open began this discontent had already expressed itself via stentorian proclamations that any meeting before a final would constitute an offence unto the gods. This view has hardly lost steam now that the match has turned out to be as grand as had been hoped for. Twitter, tapping into this, flexed its comedic muscle by loudly wondering when the trophy ceremony would get under way. (Somehow this query didn’t grow funnier the more it was said.) I can understand why television executives maintain a strong opinion on the matter, since they’re obliged to experience tennis through the drearily smudged lens of ratings. For everyone else, it’s hardly cause for lamentation.

Lopsided draws have always been a factor, although they’ve grown rarer in the current era of top-four domination. At the 2001 Australian Open Andre Agassi and Pat Rafter duked it out for the chance to beat up Arnaud Clement (or Sebastien Grosjean) in the final. In 2005 at this very event Nadal and Roger Federer fought for the chance to thrash Mariano Puerta (or Nikolay Davydenko) for the title. In one important sense it worked out for the best: for all that the finals were anticlimactic – notwithstanding Puerta’s early challenge – the semifinals in every case had the potential to be great, and largely delivered. Perhaps I’m unique in this, but I’ll always take two intriguing matches followed by a foregone final over a pair of duds and a close final. Imagine for a moment that Nadal and Ferrer’s places had been swapped in the draw, a configuration that would almost certainly result in a Nadal – Djokovic final. Also assume that any match between the world number one and the defending champion was going to be pretty good, or at least very long. I’d rather have two chances at memorable matches on the last weekend than one. Of course it didn’t work out that way, which is a shame. (I blame Tsonga, although probably not as hard as he blames himself.)

Anyway, there is another notable advantage to having a final whose result is already known. The Tour de France discovered long ago the ceremonial value of making the last round a procession rather than a contest. Facing Ferrer for his eighth title will be for Nadal the equivalent of a cruise down the Champs-Élysées in the gold jacket. Everyone who’s done so insists there’s no feeling like it.

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June 6, 2013

The Sound of Inevitability

French Open, Quarterfinals

It was probably naïve to believe that the drama, excitement and quality that so enriched the first four rounds of this year’s Roland Garros would be sustained all the way through to the end. Such things are sadly not designed to last. Matthew Stockman/Getty Images EuropeThere was bound to be a letdown at some stage, and it was always likely to come when those who’d earned their passage via desperate heroics collided with those who prove their readiness for travel every week.

Stanislas Wawrinka, Tommy Haas and Tommy Robredo had each eked out the narrowest of victories in the rounds before, only to arrive, haggard and ragged, at the station, and there discover three elite players who’d never looked like losing. The latecomers were promptly shoved onto the tracks, there to await their doom. The exception, in every way, was Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, who’d easily out-paced his early round opponents, reached the station at a dead run, and barely paused as he barrelled into a distracted Roger Federer, who was busy tying his shoelace. That onrushing roar was the train they’d intended to board; the sound, Hugo Weaving once insisted, of inevitability.†

All four quarterfinals ended in straight sets, and none of them took very long. The whole affair could only have been quicker if had Roland Garros scheduled them all to be played simultaneously. To be fair, the tournament did its level best. As it was, the baffling decision to run two of them side by side combined with the sense of crushing inevitability – except in the case of Federer, whose defeat was crushing for other reasons – to ensure that a hitherto fascinating tournament foundered mid-way through its final week. One hopes, with diaphanous naivety, that things pick up for the semifinals.

(6) Tsonga d. (2) Federer 7/5 6/3 6/3

The concern coming into the quarterfinals was that Federer’s imposing early performances had come against undeniably weak opposition – a pair of qualifiers and a hobbled Julien Benneteau – thereby distorting one’s perception of his form. Even in struggling to see off a gallant Gilles Simon, the Swiss had looked easily superior when he was playing well, although he’d worryingly punctuated these periods of dominance with a patch in which he could barely have played worse, thus padding the match out to five sets. The hope among his innumerable fans was that this merely reflected the issues he traditionally has with this particular Frenchman, and that they would evaporate when faced with another particular Frenchman. To the contention that Federer had not yet faced a player like Tsonga in this tournament, the reasonable response was that nor had Tsonga faced a player like Federer. At least it had seemed reasonable.

As it happened, I doubt whether Tsonga had ever faced a Federer quite like the one he encountered on Tuesday. If he had, he would certainly have won more than three of their twelve matches. On the other hand, Federer has encountered this version of Tsonga before. It was glimpsed for a few sets in Melbourne in January, and for three definitive sets at Wimbledon two years ago. It is the version in which Tsonga swings as hard as he can at everything, and doesn’t miss. Word is that conditions were playing fast, but it’s hard to imagine conditions that would play slow when a guy this powerful and athletic sustains that calibre of attack, from both wings and everywhere in the court. The only clue that this was clay court tennis lay in the visual evidence that they were actually playing on a clay court.

Federer led by a break early in the first set, but that provided little comfort, since it had come entirely in defiance of the run of play. The four points Tsonga had lost on serve to be broken were almost the only ones he’d lose for the set (there was one other on an unlucky netcord). He served near eighty per cent throughout the first set, and never dropped below seventy per cent for the match. Meanwhile Federer barely had an easy service game all day: Tsonga, typically a weak returner, was virtuosic even in this area. Federer admittedly didn’t serve well – both pace and percentages were low, and I cannot recall another match in which he served no aces – but this was largely in keeping with the rest of his game. It vaguely recalled the heavy losses in Indian Wells and Rome. However, whereas the first of those was heavily influenced by a back injury, and the second by suicidal aggression, this latest was simply a matter of playing badly against an opponent when only the best would have sufficed. In truth, Federer has hardly played well since Cincinnati last August, which he won without dropping serve. Since then he hasn’t won a title, and is now 3-10 against top eight opponents. Those who point to Federer’s poor season would do well to lengthen their perspective.

Hope for Federer briefly flared when he broke Tsonga at the start of the third set, but it was only a break back, and it only monetarily delayed a result that was by now seeming inevitable as well as crushing. Interviewed afterwards, Federer, amidst heartfelt praise for his opponent, professed himself ‘sad’ at the way he’d played. It was an unusual but not inappropriate description: not angry, or disappointed, or frustrated, or chagrined, but saddened. Tsonga, on the other hand, was jubilant; he does jubilation as well as anyone, although Roger Rasheed’s proud tears ran him close. What was especially gratifying about his performance was how consistent it was, not merely throughout the duration of today’s match, but with his other performances this week. He’d looked great already, but he hadn’t faced anyone like Federer. Now he has faced someone like Federer, and he still looks great.

(4) Ferrer d. (32) Robredo, 6/2 6/1 6/1

One hopes he still looks great against David Ferrer, whom he faces next. Ferrer accounted for Robredo with an ease that would be termed effortless if it was anyone else. It was effortful, but inexorable, although I wouldn’t say it was necessarily very interesting. When Ferrer moved ahead by two sets to none, commentary and social media united in entirely expected proclamations that Robredo now had him precisely where he wanted him. This provided momentary interest, in that it invited the question of whether a joke is fundamentally less funny when everyone makes it at the same time. The answer, we now know, is that yes, it is. There isn’t much more to say about the match – believe me, I’d like to – except that Ferrer did all those things he normally does, and that he’s better at all of them than Robredo is. He’ll fancy his chances of pushing through to the final, although I’d be neglectful if I didn’t point out that he, like Federer, hasn’t faced anyone like Tsonga yet.

(1) Djokovic d. (12) Haas, 6/3 7/6 7/5

Novak Djokovic had faced someone like Haas just the round before, in the form of Philipp Kohlschreiber. They’re both gifted German shotmakers, though they of course have their differences. Kohlschreiber, for example, managed to grab a set from Djokovic before submerging into a deep dirty puddle of squandered break points. Djokovic was better today than he’d been on Monday, especially early, and was thus better-equipped to fend off another gifted German shotmaker making shots. He never looked like losing: it wasn’t anything like as close as the scoreline suggests, since all the excitement was confined to the German’s service games, at least until the end.

Before the match there’d been sufficient talk of Haas’ victory over Djokovic in Miami that were we given the merest hint of the hype that would have accompanied a third round encounter between Nadal and Lukas Rosol, inspiring one to thank heaven and Fabio Fognini that this match never eventuated. Djokovic had already gone through it with Grigor Dimitrov, to whom he’d lost in Madrid a few weeks ago. I’m not sure if people really expect lightning to strike twice, although it’s probably just a feeble effort to drum up interest by pretending that the men who audaciously upset the world number one in a best of three Masters event would somehow reprise that effort in a Major. Naturally anything can happen in sport, but Djokovic had reached the semifinals or better at eleven consecutive Majors, and this is the one he now desires the most.

(3) Nadal d. (9) Wawrinka, 6/2 6/3 6/1

At least Haas had actually beaten Djokovic a few times. Wawrinka hadn’t taken a set off Nadal in ten matches, the most recent of these in the Caja Magica last month. On a day in which the all the results felt pre-ordained – Maria Sharapova’s strange first set notwithstanding – this one felt the least intriguing of the lot. And so it proved. Again, I’d love to say more, but like Ferrer’s win over Robredo, this match consisted of Nadal doing all those things he does well in general, but especially well on clay, and incredibly well at Roland Garros. He started slowly in his first three rounds, but seems to have abandoned that strategy, probably for the better. Today he started quickly, and never faced much opposition from an over-matched Wawrinka. The Swiss had survived a very long match the round before, but any chance that his resultant weariness would affect today’s outcome was rendered negligible. Perhaps with more spring in his legs he might have leapt aside as the train bore down, but really, there simply wasn’t time.

† While we work through that image, take a moment to consider how fabulous an addition to the Radio Roland Garros team Agent Smith would make, especially calling Kevin Anderson’s matches.

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June 3, 2013

Heraclitus’ Children

French Open, Day Seven

Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and David Ferrer both progressed to the Roland Garros quarterfinals today, defeating Viktor Troicki and Kevin Anderson in respective straight sets, but that wasn’t the story of the day. Nor was it Roger Federer’s five set tussle with a gratifyingly enterprising Gilles Simon, for all that their match was tremendously diverting. Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeThe day’s centrepiece was the electrifying encounter between Nicolas Almagro and Tommy Robredo, in which the older Spaniard recovered from a two set deficit, while the younger once more proved Heraclitus’ dictum that character is destiny, and destiny character.

(32) Robredo d. (11) Almagro, 6/7 3/6 6/4 6/4 6/4

With his limits thus circumscribed, it’s entirely appropriate that so many of Almagro’s matches seem scripted by Aeschylus. The Spaniard certainly fits the part, with his preternaturally clear skin, careworn brow and boundless capacity to generate disaster. If there isn’t a statue of Almagro somewhere already, there should be; it should be carved from finest Carrara marble, and depict the precise moment he has irreversibly blown a seemingly impregnable lead. (Perhaps it’s one for Kickstarter; sillier statues have gained funding.) In Melbourne Almagro blew the lead against Ferrer, who he at least had never beaten. In Paris he did so against Robredo, to whom he’d never lost. Against Ferrer he served for the match repeatedly, but not well. Today he led by a break in each of the three sets he lost. I wasn’t alone in wondering why he bothered, since breaking early was so clearly a recipe for failure. Hope may spring eternal, but destiny cannot be gainsaid, especially when it springs from within.

Robredo in his turn has become the first man since the Battle of Marathon to win three consecutive matches from two sets down. His heroics in merely reaching the fourth round were noteworthy, especially since one of his victories had come against a resurgent Gael Monfils. But Almagro was surely a different creature, if not a divergent species. Before today Robredo had taken only a single set from Almagro, and that was in their first meeting six years ago. As he clawed his way back in that third set, eventually serving it out, the prospect of yet another audacious recovery was aired. Commentators of course do this all the time; no fifth set can attain 6/6 these days with Isner-Mahut being brought up. On the face of it the idea appeared ludicrous, especially when Almagro broke again near the start of the fourth set. Alas, for him, it didn’t stick. They traded breaks again in the fifth, but Almagro, despite his superior firepower, somehow couldn’t finish off enough of the crucial points. Robredo, defying the odds and his age, was getting to everything. His legs, along with Almagro’s brain, were arguably the story of the match. His passing shots were particularly fine. Almagro’s visits to the net – dicey at the best of times – became exercises in futility, and he was passed again and again.

It must be nice for the commentators when their bold early move to establish a narrative pays off so handsomely. They get to look particularly prescient, although not as prescient as Heraclitus, who, transported by misanthropy and a diet of grass and manure, managed to anticipate a Spanish tennis player two and a half millennia in the future. Jason Goodall isn’t quite at that level, but he still sounded eminently satisfied as Robredo expertly served out the match. Afterwards, the crowd went crazy and a global audience wondered aloud why so many broadcasters besides Eurosport were staying with Tsonga’s frictionless procession on the main court. Robredo could barely contain himself (there were tears). He’ll next face Ferrer, meaning a fourth consecutive two-set comeback is impossible. Just like the third one was.

(2) Federer d. (15) Simon, 6/1 4/6 2/6 6/2 6/3

Mats Wilander made a convenient slip in his introduction to today’s other five-setter, between Federer and Simon, initially describing the Frenchman’s game as ‘dull’, before backpedalling sharply. This was later revised to ‘one-dimensional’. One cannot quibble with either description. Simon’s defenders insist that his matches reveal a profound grasp of strategy at play, but I’ve watched a lot of them, and as far as I can see they mostly consist of lots of running and near-infinite patience. The length and outcome of most rallies are usually determined by the endurance of his opponent, or potency of their attack. When the opponent is of a similar predisposition to Simon, and has nowhere else to be, the match can go on forever. Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeHis encounter with Monfils in Melbourne this year is still whispered about. It might well rank among the most famous matches no one will ever watch again, although there are rumours the CIA uses it to extract confessions from those who’ve grown inured to traditional forms of torture.

Naturally, Simon isn’t the only person who plays like this. Indeed he is rare only in the success he has enjoyed doing it, and the extent to which it seems to be a matter of choice, not necessity. For a conscious choice it seems to be. He doesn’t need to play this way, and demonstrates this two or three times each season: he’ll take to the court in a fey mood, and go after all his shots, varying angles and paces, using the net, and generally controlling the baseline. It’s downright exciting to watch, but as suddenly as it appears, it vanishes, not to be seen again for months. From the perspective of a tennis fan – especially a fan of attacking all-court tennis – it’s as though Simon has unrestricted access to a treasure room, but rarely ventures inside, despite the only requirement for entry being the ability to notice the door and the willingness to turn its handle.

Thankfully, today he did turn the handle, and thus helped to transfigure a match that might have been close anyway – he often troubles Federer regardless – into one that many will want to see again. Most match recaps have made the point that Federer began very strongly, but that everything changed after his heavy fall in the second set (Federer himself said he shed a lot of confidence at that point), and that Simon wisely chose this moment to assert himself. I don’t think that’s quite right. Simon was already pretty aggressive in the first set; it’s just that he wasn’t doing it very well, yet, and Federer was dialled in nearly from the get-go. Simon’s unusually high number of errors in the first set (17) attests to this. Whatever the case, he certainly took control from midway through the second set, and maintained it until the fourth, by which stage he was in the happy position of leading two sets to one.

As ever, precedent was sought, and as ever easily found. The sport of tennis isn’t so infinitely multifarious that something doesn’t always immediately remind you of something else. For me the hollow echoes of 2009 rumbled loudest, particularly Robin Soderling inflicting Rafael Nadal’s only loss at Roland Garros, despite having been demolished by Nadal just weeks earlier in Rome. Bear in mind that Federer manhandled Simon quite thoroughly in Rome a few weeks ago, so thoroughly that even those Federer fans accustomed to proclaiming Simon a danger-man permitted themselves to relax when the Frenchman popped up in their favourite’s quarter. In 2009 Nadal had never lost at the French Open. Federer hasn’t lost before the quarterfinal stage at a Major since 2004. As ever, a precedent was readily found, but as usual it didn’t tell us much. As Federer once retorted when invited to contrast one loss with another one: ‘Why compare?’

The match was defined by large and decisive shifts in momentum, and the last of these occurred in fourth set. Federer had looked increasingly feeble and beset for the last dozen games, but now began to assert himself once more. Suddenly he found that place in which he resembles no one else, and in which hardly anyone can stay with him. From 3/2 in the fourth set, he won half a dozen straight games, and would never yield back his break in the fifth set, although he did barely survive a nervous final game. Nothing should be taken away from Simon, however.

Federer has now reached his thirty-sixth consecutive Major quarterfinal. For the second time in a row, he is obliged to play Tsonga for a place in the semifinals. In Melbourne they staged an unforgettable five set exhibition of attacking hardcourt tennis, which Federer won. Their destinies are coming to feel intertwined, for all that their characters are not alike. Heraclitus might respond that they’re complementary. In addition to the Australian Open they’ve also met at this stage at Wimbledon and in New York, meaning they’ll now complete a Grand Slam of quarterfinals encounters. Such achievements are admittedly more pleasantly diverting than revealing. Here’s another: last year Tsonga reached the quarterfinals in Paris only to fall to Novak Djokovic , despite holding four match points. As these match points tumbled by, and the crowd in Philippe Chatrier hurled its outrage and delight at the heavens, Federer was crawling painfully from a two set hole against Juan Martin del Potro on Suzanne Lenglen. A sweet moment of simultaneity, probably signifying nothing, but perhaps signalling that, ultimately, this meeting was destiny.

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May 31, 2013

Earnest Intentions

French Open, Days Four and Five

Earnest intentions to summarise the French Open’s second round has been undone by the Paris weather, unusually gloomy as the City of Light plunges from a frigid spring into a nominal summer. The tournament’s fifth day mostly alternated between being cold and damp, granting the players an opportunity to venture gingerly onto court, and cold and wet, which saw them scurry off again. Believe it or not, this spectacle ceased to be marvellous after a while. Julian Finney/Getty Images EuropeIt also left the commentators with nothing much to commentate, which meant that they were compelled to become analysts. The devil creates work for idle hands, and for idle mouths, too.

It’s a shame that not all the mouths can belong to Darren Cahill. ESPN (and Eurosport) got around this structural limitation by showing replays. American fans were treated to a reprisal of Serena Williams’ latest blowout, in lieu of anything interesting. The assumption, no doubt substantiated by ratings and innumerable focus groups, is that American fans would rather see one of their compatriots thrashing a hapless journeywoman than watch two foreigners with unpronounceable names play a competitive match. Thank god we don’t do that in Australia. None of our players are thrashing anyone.

The otherwise excellent Radio Roland Garros can be a lottery in these situations. Without recourse to replays it must pin its fortunes on the verbal skill of whoever happens to be in the booth. If it’s Matt Cronin, rain delays generally entail extended anabases into the bleeding obvious, alleviated, if that’s the word, by tactical retreats into celebrity gossip. Gigi Salmon is charming and professional, and at her best when poking fun. Craig Gabriel never seems to take much of it very seriously, an attitude with which I can sympathise. Chris Bowers is hard to fault, and yesterday managed to steer a straight course through the squalls by speaking nothing but common sense. Rain delays also afford the crew the chance to respond to viewer queries, submitted via the Roland Garros iPhone app. (This app is at its best during rain delays, when you have a spare fifteen minutes for it to load.) These listener queries are often revealing. Mostly they reveal a sub-strata of tennis fans who have the wherewithal to locate the radio stream and submit queries via a clunky app, yet apparently can’t manage a simple Google search. Expert tennis journalists with decades of experience are thus obliged to explain what a volley is, or how a tiebreak works.

Notwithstanding these entrancing diversions, there was some tennis played yesterday, and even more the day before. It would be remiss not to sum it up. Philipp Kohlschreiber wasted no time at all in his expected disposal of Yen-Hsun Lu, quite literally, given the Taiwanese withdrew before play with an ankle sprain. What was already a walkover in essence thus became one in fact. The German will face Victor Hanescu, who was unfairly required to play almost two sets before his opponent Dimitry Tursonov pulled out. They’re dropping like flies this year. It merely confirms what Ion Tiriac has long suspected: red clay is dangerous.

Grigor Dimitrov came through easily against the talented Lucas Pouille, and has reached the third round for the first time at a Major, in the process becoming the first Bulgarian man to do so. He is unlikely to go farther, given that he must now face Novak Djokovic, who was imperious in disposing of Guido Pella for the loss of four games. Dimitrov of course beat Djokovic in Madrid a few weeks ago, but this is a different court in a very different event, and one suspects it’s a different Djokovic. Hopefully it’s also a different crowd.

The most anticipated match of the round was Gael Monfils’ clash with Ernests Gulbis. Monfils was magnificent in upsetting Tomas Berdych in the first round, but there was a prevalent expectation that his toils would only leave him under-resourced for the next, especially given his injury-addled year and the sheer volume of tennis he has played of late. As it happened, Gulbis led by a set and a break, but couldn’t sustain it. Monfils came back to win the second set, before the match climaxed in a tremendous third, which the Frenchman also won. Gulbis never recovered, collapsing in a desultory manner reminiscent of Marat Safin’s late career. The similarities continued after the match, as Gulbis further covered himself with glory by calling the top players boring and accusing them of dissembling for the media. As ever, the scent of disunity was blood in the water for journalists, and this is the story fated to endure. Punning headlines sprang up like daisies. Monfils wisely kept his head down, and will next face Tommy Robredo.

Andreas Seppi followed up a decidedly unaccomplished five set victory over Leonardo Mayer with an only slightly better one against Blaz Kavcic. Seppi’s form has been quite poor of late, and before the tournament it was hard to imagine he could defend last year’s fourth round performance. But here he is: only one win away. Unfortunately that win must come against Nicholas Almagro, admittedly a perennial underachiever in Paris. Still, the Spanish number three has this year tried out a new strategy: instead of winning Nice and calling down heavenly wrath on himself, he skipped it. He has thus maintained so low a profile, cleaving so close to the contours of the clay, that he has thus far escaped even divine radar detection. One assumes the gods would still like to punish him – he has that kind of face – but even a god cannot punish what it cannot see. Albert Montanes won Nice instead, and only lasted a round in Paris, although one doesn’t need a curse to explain that: he ran afoul of David Ferrer.

Somdev Devvarman ran afoul of Roger Federer, and subsequently lost a match that was more or less undistinguishable from a highlights reel, in that it was over quite quickly and consisted almost entirely of winners. It’s hard to read too much into such results – the Indian’s weapons consist of foot-speed and moxie – though Federer is clearly in finer form than he was in Paris last year. He’ll next face a more fearsome opponent in Julien Benneteau, although Benneteau hasn’t been in spectacular form himself lately and struggled to get by Tobias Kamke. There is every chance Federer will face locals all the way to the semifinals, assuming he keeps winning, which one cannot any more. Jo-Wilfried Tsonga is in this quarter, and he is looking very good. I expected him to be troubled by Jarkko Nieminen, but he wasn’t. Meanwhile Nick Kyrgios was the only Australian man to lose in the second round. Then again, he was also the only one to win in the first. Still, it’s something.

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May 29, 2013

Alert But Not Alarmed

French Open, Days Two and Three

The 2013 edition of the French Open is now three days old, and its first round isn’t yet complete. Yesterday’s rain is only partly to blame, since it barely distended a schedule that was already tumescent by design. Once again Roland Garros has inadvertently demonstrated that two days is the ideal length for an opening round, and that the heady tumult that characterises the commencement of a Major is only diluted by stretching it out. Julian Finney/Getty Images EuropeThere were times in the first three days when it felt like too little was happening, which should never be the case.

Perhaps in an effort to combat this, the doubles event kicked off yesterday, although this paradoxically only enhanced the sense of dilution. I am not one to inveigh against doubles; if anything I’d see it returned to its former prominence. But like it or not there is a hierarchy at play, and the commencement of the doubles traditionally signals the tournament’s inward contraction. Like a collapsing empire, it is the outer provinces that tell the story first. In the first round you can find seeded players toiling on remote, untelevised courts. From the second or third round these are replaced by doubles. By the second week the outer courts become the province of juniors, and a few days later they are finally consigned to wind and dust. This transformation is more apparent in person than on television, but even from the far side of the globe the early introduction of doubles suggests the tournament is further along than is the case. There’s an ideal tempo for these events, but Roland Garros, lavish with its rubato, never quite gets it right.

On the other hand, spreading the first round over three days does confer a more discernible shape on it. Like an inexpertly plotted three-act narrative, it started off slow, rose to a dramatic climax on the second day, and then mostly petered out on the third. I suppose the rain interruptions on the third day didn’t help. (They certainly didn’t help the Radio Roland Garros crew, whose overly-earnest efforts to fill time only succeeded in land-filling each listener’s brain.)

This shape was even apparent in the headlines. On the third day Stanislas Wawrinka dropped a set to Thiemo de Bakker, which was somehow characterised as a ‘hiccup’. A day earlier Rafael Nadal dropped a set to Daniel Brands, and thus ‘survived a scare’. This discrepancy probably says more about prevailing attitudes towards the respective victors than anything else, and to the expectation that elite players should sail through their early rounds without a care. It was also in keeping with the way Nadal’s matches are reported, and viewed. I confess I’m not sure what the ‘scare’ was. He might have dropped two sets? It takes three to win a match, and Nadal looked pretty good in the third and fourth. I suspect a fifth wold have been no different. In any case, while Brands led by an early minibreak in that second set tiebreaker, against Nadal on clay that hardly constitutes a decisive lead. Certainly not for the German, who was bold off the ground and often devastating on serve, but could hardly land a return when it mattered, and only broke once on a Nadal double fault.

Again, it is indicative of the widespread desire to multiply Nadal’s adversities. Somehow the story wasn’t that Nadal, on his favourite surface on a court he has barely ever lost on, weathered some inspired early play from a big hitter, before his vastly superior game won out. No, it was the Spaniard ‘overcoming’ his own internal demons – no other player’s errors are so conveniently metonymic for their internal state; every double fault and forehand into the net was apparently ‘nervous’ – and a mighty opponent. The fatuous narrative of the warrior spirit isn’t easily laid aside, even as it glosses over Nadal’s qualities as a player. Most of his forehands went in; were those nervous, too? Frankly, the hiccupping Wawrinka seemed more anxious, or at least tentative.

The dramatic centrepiece of the centre day was Gael Monfils’ perpetually magnificent and nerveless match with Tomas Berdych, which the Frenchman eventually won deep in the fifth set. This was one of the finest matches of the year so far: it had pretty much everything, and it had it in spades, for hours. For the first few sets it had a notoriously defatigable local surely wearied by recent exertions – Monfils claimed the Bordeaux Challenger two weeks ago, and reached the Nice final last week – playing the kind of enterprising athletic tennis everyone believes he should all the time. It then had a fight back from the Czech, who began dictating with his forehand and looked likely to complete his desperate scrabble from a two-set pit: a scare, a hiccup, and a dry retch, all a once. But somehow Berdych could never gain the crucial break in the fifth set. Monfils was broken only once all day, though by the middle of the final set serving seemed to be nearly all he could do, and even those were losing pace. Then at 5/5 he decided to pummel everything – he has astonishing power at his disposal when he deigns to employ it – and somehow everything went in. Whether he goes any further is anyone’s guess. He next faces Ernests Gulbis. And a guess is all it is: anyone who professes to know what will happen is lying.

The curse of Nice, whereby the new champion of the Open de Nice Côte d’Azur is destined to lose in the first round at Roland Garros, seems to have weakened of late. Albert Montanes was able to sneak out a five set win over Steve Johnson, whereas previously he would have lost in straight sets to anyone. Then again, perhaps the curse has merely relocated to Westphalia: Dusseldorf’s decision to discard its arcane team-based format in favour of an ordinary tournament draw has clearly angered some god. Newly crowned champion Juan Monaco was the first victim, blowing a two set lead against Daniel Gimeno-Traver.

Philipp Kohlschreiber won a reasonably tight and typically entertaining match against young Jiri Vesely, who for a set demonstrated his impressive capabilities, before the German’s greater experience eventually proved definitive. Kohlschreiber’s reward is a meeting with Yen-Hsun Lu, which is unquestionably the most attractive second round he could have hoped for (Lu, a renowned clay non-specialist, only progressed after Simone Bolelli retired hurt). On the subject of impressive youngsters, mention should be made of Nick Kyrgios’ fine victory over Radek Stepanek, in which he prevailed in three tight tiebreakers, saving more than a few set points in two of them. And on the subject of retirements, Kyrgios is now the only Australian remaining in the draw after Bernard Tomic gave up on chasing Victor Hanescu. We’d been warned this was a tough opening round test for Tomic, and so it proved, although the truth is that no first round could have been easy, even against Lu. He received a long medical timeout for his hamstring early in the first set, an injury that was later exacerbated by the loss of two sets.

This is also Novak Djokovic’s half of the draw, which has been riddled with retirements so far. Alejandro Falla withdrew against Grigor Dimitrov, Florian Mayer against Denis Istomin, and Michael Russell against Martin Klizan. Meanwhile the top seed was unfairly obliged to see off an opponent who kept going all the way to the end. Indeed, David Goffin never stopped coming, and played better than he has in ages. The power he can generate with his birdlike frame is reminiscent of Nikolay Davydenko, although if anything more startling. It certainly startled Djokovic, although it was never enough for a scare. He was alert, but not alarmed, and won in straight sets, the way the top players are apparently supposed to.

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May 27, 2013

Subsidiary Interests

French Open, Day One

The 2013 French Open is under way, having as usual commenced one day early, on Sunday. This has allowed some lucky players to go home even earlier than usual. I’m patriotically obliged to mention that three of these players are Australian. It’s been years since any of my compatriots reached the second week in Paris. Now they’re lucky if they reach the first week. I’m not sure that’s progress. Bernard Tomic and Nick Kyrgios are the last Australian men standing, thanks entirely to the vagaries of the draw, and the persistent whimsy of French scheduling. Tomic will face Victor Hanescu in what the local news last night termed a ‘tough opening match’. Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeI wonder what the German news said when they learned Daniel Brands will face Rafael Nadal. Being German, I suspect they have a special word for it.

It is a measure of how far we’ve come that when the French Open draw unfurled in Paris last Friday, in a ceremony decidedly less ambitious than the equivalent one hosted in Melbourne four months ago, the only item of popular interest was whose half Rafael Nadal fell into: Novak Djokovic’s or Roger Federer’s. In other words, is the Spaniard obliged to face Djokovic before the final, or in it? It is widely believed among self-avowed experts that no one besides those two has much of a chance, at least not at the title. Who Nadal happened to defeat on the way was of subsidiary interest. Anyway, the feared outcome: they’re drawn to play in the semifinal. The sense of disappointment was palpable, or at least highly audible. Even reaching the semifinals is a longshot for any player beyond the top four seeds, with the arguable exception of Tomas Berdych, since David Ferrer wasn’t particularly convincing in beating Marinko Matosevic, although I suppose he was persuasive enough. Flaccid interest is only further deflated when you can essay a reasonable guess at the last weekend’s configuration, based only on the luck of the draw. It’s no wonder the ceremony was a low-key affair.

Anticipating greater intrigue – wrongly as it turned out – the Australian Open staged its marathon draw ceremony on the banks of the Yarra River, along which Djokovic and Victoria Azarenka very gradually appeared, while media personalities riffed endlessly and foreign journalists despaired as deadlines expired. It was all great fun, assuming your threshold for enjoyment is low, and you had nowhere else to be. Eschewing the tawdry grandiloquence of nature in favour of the Roland Garros media centre, Friday’s affair strove for less excitement, and achieved it. Nadal was joined by Maria Sharapova for the apparently necessary, though not particularly spectacular, task of drawing names from the respective trophies, or at least pretending to. Drawing out these names is the traditional job of the defending champions, meaning Nadal and Sharapova were at once perfectly qualified and thoroughly over-qualified, since this is a job that a not-very-bright robot could perform adequately. I assume it’s the symbolism that matters. Perhaps when the machines take over, they’ll allow us to retain our token jobs.  There was a time when a newly minted tournament draw echoed the limitless potential of a blank map – it was all possibility – or like a misted forest, from which discernible shapes only gradually coalesced. Now the fog of war barely descends, and the entire forest is laid out panoramically from the outset. A few mighty beacons, positioned at the corners, are visible from miles off. You can hardly miss them. There are guidebooks available at the information centre.

In the eleven Majors contested since Roland Garros 2010, at least three of the top four seeds have reached the semifinals every time. On four of those occasions all four top seeds reached the semifinals. Add to that the fact that the only two men besides Djokovic, Federer and Nadal who’ve won Majors since January 2005 – Andy Murray and Juan Martin del Potro – aren’t playing in Paris, it’s hard to get terribly excited on anyone else’s behalf, no matter how much one yearns to. Those waiting on generational change will need to maintain their vigil awhile yet.

Given his legendary skills, Federer arguably could have fashioned a more generous draw for himself, but he would have needed help, and perhaps sorcery. There is no good reason to think he’ll lose before the semifinals, unless one of his French opponents gains an aptitude for the surface he has hitherto lacked. Asked afterwards, Federer admitted hadn’t even heard of his first round opponent, who was the young qualifier Pablo Carreno-Busta. It’s a shortcoming he apparently had in common with Twitter. Federer set about acquainting himself the hapless youngster via the medium of constant service breaks. IBM’s ineffable Slamtracker suggested that a decisive metric would be Carrena-Busta’s capacity to win more than 18% of his first serves with aces. Insofar as he failed to do this, and lost, I suppose we must bow to the Slamtracker’s superior analysis. Perhaps next year it can do the draw. Meanwhile humanity, in the form of social media, collectively managed nothing more memorable than some tedious punning on ‘Busta’. Otherwise ordinary people suddenly found nothing mattered more to them than outdoing each other’s references to Young MC’s timeless masterpiece. It was precisely as hilarious as it sounds. Federer next faces Somdev Devvarman, another qualifier.

The first day’s centrepiece was Gilles Simon’s recovery from two sets adrift, the first time he has achieved this feat in his career. His eventual victim was Lleyton Hewitt, whose experience with first round disappointment now rivals that of the notorious Bye brothers. Hewitt was magnificent at the start, though Simon was frankly terrible. My antipathy for Simon’s game is not based on the fact that his style is dull. It’s that it is unnecessarily dull. He proved this in the third set, by stepping in, taking the ball early, and redirecting it to the corners. Once again, I was left to ponder why he doesn’t play like this more often, if not always. I don’t know if he’d win a lot more fans, but he’d certainly gain one. Naturally, he didn’t maintain his enterprising play once parity had been restored, but nonetheless seemed content to coast to the finish. The twist came at the end, as Hewitt recovered from 0/5 down in the fifth set, saving match points and levelling the score, only to be broken to love to lose it. Milos Raonic played his best match in weeks to see off Xavier Malisse, and will now face Michael Llodra in what will undoubtedly be an archetypal clay court encounter. Look out for that one.

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May 20, 2013

‘Dreadful, indeed, is the lion’s lair…’

Rome Masters, Final

(5) Nadal d. (2) Federer, 6/1 6/3

Rafael Nadal today won his seventh Rome title, in the process claiming his twenty-fourth Masters trophy and establishing a favouritism for Roland Garros so clear that to go on denying it would be to court ridicule. One could be glib, and point out that Roger Federer was there, too. But a more accurate assessment would be that Federer’s presence was fundamental to the final score, if not to the outcome. Julian Finney/Getty Images EuropeThe widespread assumption coming into the match was that the Swiss would probably perform adequately, and would therefore lose quite thoroughly. Instead he played awfully, which made it awkward to watch.

Such matches present anyone determined to write about them with a problem, especially if that writer is eager to push the word count beyond four hundred yet avoid a verbatim reprisal of previous material. (The truth is that it would be more fun to write up the final of the Bordeaux Challenger, which turned out to be an excellent encounter between Gael Monfils and Michael Llodra.) Anything that can be said about Nadal’s clay court prowess has been covered exhaustively, and everything I wrote after last week’s Madrid final remains more than pertinent. Furthermore, one need not tarry overlong in deconstructing a result the players spent so little time putting together.

My alternative, therefore, is to digress. I can discuss broader trends, and examine how this result continues or bucks them, thus demonstrating profound wisdom. I can point out flaws in common knowledge, which allows me the warm glow of iconoclasm. There is also an opportunity to loft myself into rarefied allusion. This is an especially attractive option in the Italian capital, where few can resist the temptation to buttress their point with Roman precedent, or at least an ominous Latin quote or two. Indeed, as I’ve said, the Foro Italico owes its existence to Mussolini’s determination to make precisely such a point. It’s also a nice way to bring something a little different into the reporting of tennis, since too many tennis writers write like people who don’t read. If I’m really short on material I could discuss Federer’s haircut.

I suppose I should talk about the match a bit. The first game was Federer’s best, featuring five points, four of which were winners, and three of which were his. This failed utterly to foreshadow what was to come, except insofar as it revealed that Federer’s approach would entail all out aggression at any cost. The next six games were more indicative. Nadal won them all, looking perfectly superior in most neutral rallies, allowing Federer next to no free points on serve (I think the Spaniard missed one return in that first set) and emphatically answering any query Federer put to him. But it also revealed that the true cost of Federer’s relentless attack was an alarmingly mounting error tally. He finished that first set with fifteen.

A note should be made here. There is a persistent view that the unforced errors produced by Nadal’s opponents aren’t really unforced at all, but are a reflection of the pressure instilled by coping with his game, particularly on clay. Such arguments predate Nadal. Indeed, they’ve been kicking around for a long time, probably since people first began counting unforced errors. As an idea it gained widespread currency during Andre Agassi’s later career (the cloyingly monk-like part after he’d recovered from the allegedly degrading horrors of being very rich and famous). Agassi’s contract stipulated that anyone commentating his matches had to declare that his opponent’s errors were really inspired by the terror of seeing him planted up on the baseline. There’s probably something to this idea, but it’s also easy to make too much of it. A related truism is that great returners provoke more double faults, which seems self-evident, but isn’t actually borne out by the numbers.

The advantage of today’s match being so short is that one could watch it again. Doing so bore out my initial impression that Federer’s heroic error tally mostly reflected a tendency to over-hit, even on fairly simple put-aways from mid-court and at the net. Naturally his awareness of Nadal’s speed, anticipation and great hands inspired him to go for more than he would have otherwise – and Nadal hit some truly brilliant passing shots today, especially from the backhand – but we shouldn’t forget that a resume like Federer’s owes a lot to his ability to execute repeatedly under pressure. Today he didn’t. He produced another seventeen errors in the second set, bringing his total to a rather grand thirty-two. Nadal hit precisely one quarter as many.

Like I said, I can’t imagine a more modest selection of errors would have altered the result, though it probably would have made for a more interesting match. There was momentary interest when Nadal stepped up to serve for the title at 5/1 in the second set, and was promptly broken to love amid a sudden barrage from Federer, who then held. But any fears or hopes that this might spark a radical reversal were ameliorated or dashed when Nadal served it out comfortably.

His victory speech was typically gracious, and judging by the appreciative reaction of the local crowd, demonstrated a firming command of Italian. I’m hardly fluent, but even I could tell it represented substantial progress on his speech following he and Federer’s last final at the Foro Italico, in 2006. That day they’d collaborated on an all-time classic, with Nadal clawing back match points to triumph deep in a fifth set tiebreaker. Both men were so exhausted that they promptly pulled out of the Hamburg Masters the following week, which was subsequently won by Tommy Robredo, enabling him eventually to qualify for the Masters Cup (to Goran Ivanisevic’s very public disgust). This was held to be a crime against the sport, and gave the ATP an uncounterable argument for cancelling best of five set finals. In the long years since there have been many persuasive arguments that something was thus irreversibly lost. Today’s Rome final was not such an argument. Aside from Nadal’s fans, who understandably could have gone on watching all day, did anyone really want to see more of that?

Nadal has won three of the five Masters events played this year (Indian Wells, Madrid and Rome). Of the remaining two he reached the final of Monte Carlo and didn’t play Miami. He has now returned to the number four ranking, but based on these (and other) results it’s hard to argue he isn’t the best player in the world at the moment. With due acknowledgement for how well he is playing, there’s also substance in the contention that he’s the only one among his peers who is. Federer is now healthy, but his form remains terribly patchy, as we saw today. Murray is injured, and seems to me to have relapsed into bad patterns. Djokovic, aside from a few masterful tournaments, seems uncannily like the old version of himself from before 2011. Indeed, much of the top ten is out of sorts. Tsonga is all over the place, Del Potro has pulled out of the French Open, and Berdych only ever looks imposing until he reaches the semifinals. Tipsarevic seems to have forgotten how to play at all.

Beyond that, there are signs that the top four’s unprecedented stranglehold on the big events, at least at Masters level, is starting to loosen. They’re still winning them, of course, having claimed 28 of the last 30 (with the remaining two being won by the world number five at the time). But they seem to be losing more often before the finals and semifinals, and players as various as Paire, Wawrinka, Janowicz, and Haas are now pushing deeper. I don’t think I’m alone in hoping this signals a broader movement towards more variety at the business end of big events. Whether it’s old or new blood, tennis right now could use some fresh blood.

Inevitably, the question has been aired of precisely what this result means for Federer’s legacy, both this particular match, and the broader implications of his head-to-head with Nadal. Announcing Federer’s decline has become something of a cottage industry in recent years, and I imagine there are commemorative tea-towels available somewhere. I don’t pretend to know how he feels about any of it, and as a rule I have no time for the practice of pulling apart a person’s career while that person is still busy putting it together. It’s a tendency that has grown particularly common in recent times, unsurprisingly in an age when celebrities and sporting luminaries are encouraged to publish their memoirs before they turn twenty-five. For what it’s worth, my view is that Federer is probably the best player ever to have played, and in his prime he was the second-best clay courter of his era. The result was that he often reached clay court finals, and there discovered arguably the most accomplished and ferocious clay courter of all time. Had Federer been a worse clay courter, and reached fewer finals, like Sampras, his head-to-head with Nadal would have ironically looked much better. Mostly, however, it is a fatuous debate, and I find it about as diverting as discussions of Federer’s hairstyle. If the debate must be held at all, it will only make any kind of sense after they’ve both retired, and even then it’s doubtful.

Nonetheless, the debate continues because the pursuit of prestige is eternal, and easily understood. Indeed, it was something the Romans understood in their bones, since it underpinned their entire society. Lives were lived in order to ensure a heightened legacy. The very streets near where Federer and Nadal today fought often burned or stank with corpses as avowedly great men dissolved the city in blood and flames for nothing more than their own ambition. Plutarch has it that when Gaius Marius commenced his seventh consulship by turning Rome into a charnel house, he grew unhinged with fear at the thought of Lucius Sulla returning to exact vengeance, rapidly succumbing to nightmares and dementia:  ‘Dreadful, indeed, is the lions’ lair, even though it be empty.’ Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeThis line always reminds me of the Rome Masters, where a player might thrive for a time, but eventually must face Nadal.

In any case, it’s naive to hope one’s legacy will remain intact even after it is completed, in this age or any other. No man in the entire history of the Republic had achieved greater renown than Marius, but when Sulla eventually did make it back to Rome, he ordered Marius’ bones publicly exhumed, and unceremoniously tossed into the river. Nothing lasts forever, or even for very long. Little did Sulla guess that in time the crucial differences between he and his rival would be forgotten, until both were held merely to be representative of their age. Perhaps they were: whereas Sulla and Marius once fought side-by-side desperately to repel the invading Teutons, twenty-one centuries later Mussolini welcomed the Wehrmacht with open arms. I’m not sure what to make of that. Perhaps nothing. In time, Nadal and Federer will seem more alike than not, and the debate over who was better will merit no more than a footnote. In the meantime, you’ll note that the urge to legitimate one’s work with references to eternal Rome is an indulgence not confined to dictators, and extends to tennis writers.

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May 19, 2013

Fascinating Problems

Rome Masters, Semifinals

(5) Nadal d. (6) Berdych, 6/2 6/4

(2) Federer d. Paire, 7/6 6/4

Roger Federer today defeated Benoit Paire in crooked straight sets, simultaneously reaching his first final of the season, and ensuring he achieved the least ideal preparation for facing Rafael Nadal in it. Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeThe fascinating problems posed by Paire, an assertive and mercurial French right-hander with a bold first serve and an inclination to abbreviate points, are completely unlike those Federer will encounter tomorrow. It also doesn’t help that Federer has so far played all his matches at night, while the final is scheduled for mid-afternoon. To be fair, it probably doesn’t matter much either way.

Realistically, by which I mean unrealistically, the only useful preparation for facing Nadal on clay is to become Novak Djokovic. Tomas Berdych earlier discovered that merely beating Djokovic does not constitute adequate preparation. It might have helped had he eaten the Serb’s heart, rather than merely breaking it, thereby ingesting a portion of the world number one’s fabled strength. As it was, the Czech was decisively over-matched, and probably would have lost even had he better executed his strategy, which is a term I employ loosely. Not only did he lack answers, he repeatedly failed to ask the right questions.

Berdych wasn’t quite the same player who’d staged that astonishing comeback against Djokovic in the quarterfinals, but nor was Nadal quite the same guy who’d narrowly survived an inspired Ernests Gulbis. Nor was it the same Berdych who last year threw everything at Nadal in Rome, yet still lost. As I say, short of being Djokovic, what can one do? Nadal afterwards conceded under interrogation that today’s performance was indeed excellent, with the first set ranking among the best he’s ever played in Rome. You know it’s good when even he is willing to own up to it. It would have been perverse not to. Nadal landed 77% of first serves, but the more worrying statistic for his opponent was that he missed 23% of them, since this turned out to be a guaranteed prelude to Nadal winning the point: Berdych won just eight points on return, and none of them came on a second serve. Such figures more than bore out the visual evidence, which was that Nadal dominated even those few rallies in which Berdych actually remembered to press the Spaniard’s weaker backhand.

Federer has been broken only twice en route to the final, suggesting that tomorrow’s encounter won’t reprise the unparalleled 2006 Rome final, but might instead echo the notorious 1998 Wimbledon final between Pete Sampras and Goran Ivanisevic. The curious statistic appeared that the only other times Federer managed so smooth a passage in a clay court Masters event – Madrid in 2009 and 2012 – he subsequently won the event. You’d have to be a pretty determined fan in order to nourish your hopes on such numbers, though. More encouraging have been his first serve numbers, at least before the semifinals. Prior to today’s match, Federer was serving at over 75%, with no hint of the back injury that afflicted him several months ago. If he produces numbers like that tomorrow, he might make it close. Then again, Federer never does sustain numbers like that against Nadal, especially on clay. This is not a coincidence. Enhanced pressure means fewer of those first serves land in, while more of those that do come back. Whether Federer will be sufficiently battle-hardened when they do is a nice question.

His draw, in this respect, probably hasn’t helped. It would be wilful to pretend the Swiss hasn’t enjoyed a very generous path to the final, facing no seeds, and with only the lowly Potito Starace counting as a clay court specialist, insofar as the Italian is even less accomplished on every other surface. This is hardly a criticism, since you can only play who you’re presented with, and the men Federer was presented with had proven their mettle by repeatedly dismissing more fancied players. Indeed, this must be considered Paire’s breakout tournament, with the highlight being his fifty-seven minute thrashing of the hollering but hopeless Marcel Granollers in the quarterfinals. There was also a fine attacking effort against (an admittedly ailing) Juan Martin del Potro. Had he put together a better tiebreak in today’s first set he might have really given Federer a scare.

Jerzy Janowicz’s experienced his first taste of notoriety last October at Bercy, but this week’s result in Rome yields little to that earlier one, especially since upsets over top eight players at the Paris Indoors are unfortunately festooned with asterisks, huddled as it is in the lee of the tour finals. This week Janowicz was excellent against several accomplished players – Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and Richard Gasquet – who had every reason to give their best, and he won. He lost against Federer, but he lost well; there was certainly no shame in it.

Paire’s ranking has consequently soared ten places, to number twenty-six, meaning he’ll be pleasantly seeded for Roland Garros. Janowicz rose one place to number twenty-three. Federer will still be number three even if he wins tomorrow. Asked afterwards to assess his chances he was quick to signal his confidence, quite literally. If Nadal wins, he will vault past David Ferrer back into fourth spot. The happy result of this is that he’ll have a deserved top four seeding in Paris, even if Andy Murray does play, and that the rest of us won’t have to hear about it any more.

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May 17, 2013

Minor Miracles

Rome Masters, Rounds One – Three

Of the nine Masters 1000 tournaments unevenly studding the ATP calendar, Rome’s Internazionali BNL d’Italia is my favourite. For one thing, the location is perfect, and perfectly peculiar. Whatever the Foro Italico’s provenance – confected in the 1930s, it reflected Mussolini’s determination, common among tyrants, to legitimate his rule via a spurious connection with ancient glories – one cannot deny that set dressing this sumptuous helps establish a certain tone.Clive Brunskill/Getty Images EuropeThe kitsch statues dotting the grounds are no more authentically Roman than the props in Gladiator, but they work the same trick.

A premier tennis tournament in a fake Roman sports facility is something you’d hope to encounter in the United States, so it’s doubly piquant to experience it in Rome itself. Furthermore, the current tournament has been staged at this location since 1950, which in tennis counts as a venerable tradition, and it’s hard to know what to make of it. The gap between real and fake shrinks year by year, especially as the pool of people who know or care about the difference irreversibly dries up. I wonder what Umberto Eco makes of it. I don’t know if he’s a tennis fan, but I’ll be sure to put it to him if ever our paths cross.

Still, exhaustive fidelity to detail in the mise-en-scene counts for little if the story lacks vigour – the Baz Luhrmann principle – and it wouldn’t be my favourite Masters if it was no more than a theme park for semioticians. Thankfully, the story is typically excellent. For whatever reason, Rome generally throws up more memorable tennis matches than any other event at this level. (Strangely, this is rarely the case for the concurrently staged WTA event.) This year’s tournament is only three rounds old, and there has already been sufficient drama for a full week elsewhere. It has been so memorable that I’ll recount some of it here, lest we forget.

Andy Murray turned 26 on Tuesday, which was bound to happen eventually. It was a far more miraculous event for the British press corps, which permitted itself the full measure of its adoration. There was a time, during Il Duce’s heyday, when two score and six was regarded as the peak age for a male tennis player. One English journalist, perhaps concerned that Murray has yet to achieve enough, suggested that this theoretical age be updated to 28. Perhaps by then he’ll be closer to winning the French Open.

He certainly won’t be winning it this year, having aggravated a persistent back injury in his second round match against Marcel Granollers. The Scot’s injury occurred quite early in the first set, which he duly lost. Granollers broke early in the second set, and looked like going on with it. Murray then staged a series of comebacks that were precisely as remarkable as they were pointless. Twice the Spaniard moved ahead a break, even serving for the match, before eventually losing the set in a tiebreak. Only then did Murray retire, having apparently proved his point. Interestingly, this is only the second time Murray has ever retired from a match, and both times have occurred on his birthday.

Afterwards he revealed that he’d be unlikely to play in Paris. The world number two’s withdrawal would grant Rafael Nadal a top four seeding at Roland Garros, which means that the rousing ‘debate’ over the legitimacy of Nadal’s number five seeding was even less useful than it initially seemed, although that hardly seemed possible. It achieved little more than the revelation that lots of people apparently didn’t know that Roland Garros determines seedings based on the Entry System, or that missing seventh months of the season has repercussions for one’s ranking. Lleyton Hewitt was the top seed at Roland Garros in 2002, ahead of Gustavo Kuerten. I can’t recall anyone complaining. Whether the French Open should in future adjust its seeding policy to something more like Wimbledon’s is a related debate, but still a separate one. The idea certainly has merit, but there was never a chance it was going to be implemented this year, scant months out from the event.

In any case, Nadal has more pressing concerns in Italy. He wasn’t far off losing to an inspired Ernests Gulbis, who, like Djokovic in the Monte Carlo final, several times came within a point of inflicting Nadal’s first clay court bagel in five years. Gulbis closed the first set out 6/1, which was still an appropriate reward for one of the best sets played this year, by anyone. Nadal of course has a proven capacity to weather such storms, knowing that no one remains unplayable for long. When a big hitter is hitting big, there’s not much you can do except ride it out, and defend what you can. Nadal’s eventual victory was a testament to this – just 13 winners to 59 from Gulbis – although Gulbis’ tendency to puncture an otherwise superb effort by saving poor service games for the ends of sets certainly bears acknowledgement.

Any hope that Sky Sports’ obsession with altitude would fade upon leaving Madrid proved naïve on my part. Mark Petchey dutifully suggested Gulbis’ excellent first set was only possible because Nadal’s groundstrokes were falling short, and that this occurred due to the sudden return to sea level. I imagine he essayed a similar explanation when Philipp Kohlschreiber withdrew from his encounter with David Ferrer citing vertigo, of all things. Nadal and Ferrer play next. I’m not sure many people are looking forward to it, for any number of reasons. Assuming Nadal gets past Ferrer – I do assume that, for the record – he’ll probably play Novak Djokovic, who I also assume will survive Tomas Berdych. Berdych today defeated Kevin Anderson, which is fast becoming the defining theme of both their years, for better and worse. Djokovic, it bears mentioning, has looked terrific so far in allowing decent players no chance at all. Perhaps it doesn’t bear mentioning: he looks like that nearly all the time.

The week’s dramatic centrepiece was undoubtedly Viktor Troicki’s second round performance against Gulbis, a four minute tirade over a disputed ball-mark, that roamed across the entire court, featured extras and props, and culminated in a threat to take his racquets and go home. While it wasn’t quite the comic coup de grace it has been made out to be – the standards of tennis humour are calibrated notoriously low – Troicki has raised the bar dangerously high for anyone determined to go bananas in the future. Expect Jerzy Janowicz to organise the lines-people into a cancan line in Paris. It has also galvanised the call for Hawkeye to be deployed on clay courts. The calls have grown more vehement after yesterday’s otherwise wonderful match between Janowicz and Richard Gasquet, in which the Frenchman was broken back early in the second after Janowicz demanded the umpire confirm the wrong mark. It was less pivotal to the result than some have claimed, but the outraged cries of the slighted are always the slowest to find silence.

Benoit Paire’s straight sets victory over Juan Martin del Potro was probably the finest performance in the third round, one in which the younger man tempered his natural (and hitherto self-defeating) exuberance with an uncharacteristic maturity and poise. Tasked with serving out the first set, he simply did that, landing decent serves, closing the net and hitting his spots, as opposed to his usual practice of serving underhanded and attempting drop-shots with the handle of his racquet. He managed 38 winners, to just twelve from his opponent, and deployed his backhand masterfully to ensure del Potro could only rarely set his feet. The commentators were slow to cotton on to the developing upset. They commenced by discussing Paire’s manifold shortcomings and predicting the Argentine’s certain victory. After the first set they began pointing out that del Potro is a notoriously slow starter. The culprit – lack of altitude – escaped censure. Only late in the second set did it become apparent that Paire was actually playing his way into the Rome quarterfinals, and that those patiently awaiting Delpo’s inevitable fight-back were waiting in vain.

Roger Federer, newly shorn, has progressed easily, looking considerably more ferocious than he did in Madrid last week, where he was incapacitated by a toxic blend of altitude and Kei Nishikori. He has so far dropped six games in two matches. Admittedly one of these was against Potito Starace, who has lately tumbled from a perch than was never very high. Nevertheless, Federer dealt equally harshly with Gilles Simon, ensuring that their match never reached the usual point at which the Frenchman sucks him down into the psychic mire. Mikhail Youzhny had failed to work the same trick in the round before, failing several times to serve out the first set, and afterwards looking exactly as irritated as someone being beaten to death with pillows should, especially someone who’d already seen off the in-form Tommy Haas. Federer next plays Janowicz and, given the state of his half of the draw, must fancy his chances at reaching his first Rome final since 2006.

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