So long, 2016 Citi Open: you came and went too soon, but it was well worth the wait. Here's episode 26 of Tennis Files podcast, by Mehrbad Iranshad. It's always a pleasure talking tennis with him, and I hope you enjoy it too.
If you haven't already, and you play (or just love) tennis , I really encourage you to have a look at Tennis Files by Mehrban Iranshad The information in it is really comprehensive: from technique, to tactics, to fitness, to game planning: you name it, he's got it, and he doesn't rest on his laurels - there's always something to go back for and have another look.
The topics and guests on his podcasts are fantastic: from juniors hoping to make the jump, to professionals who ply their trade, to former gladiators reminiscing about their days on tour. And there's the stuff about improving your game, from picking the right strings, to the right coach, to the top 7 reasons you lose a tennis match...like I said, it's comprehensive.
Well, once again thanks to everyone at the Citi Open for a great year, to my colleagues who were once again great to be around, to the players for making the spectacle, and (my fellow) fans for making it possible.
See you in 2017!
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Showing posts with label Ivo Karlovic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ivo Karlovic. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Sunday, July 24, 2016
2016 CITI OPEN FINAL: THE AIR UP THERE
Let's be honest - that started out the worst final I've ever seen. Not just at the Citi Open, mind you. Even Newport had some agonizing misses, friendly/ruthless netcords, and what passes for moments of intrigue in any match featuring the long arm of the Croatian law. But in the beginning, there was almost none of that today. The rhythmic clapping that entreats a favored gladiator to make the next point count, made its first appearance, rather apathetically it must be added, upon Monfils' evening the score on Karlovic's serve for the first time...at 15-15. There were three break points averted in the last game of the first set, but the hand held fans waddled more energetically than the hands clapped after each of them was disposed of in depressingly similar fashion.
In fact the writing seemed to be on the wall in the very first game of the match. Despite his much ballyhooed improved serve, which elicited 42 aces in 4 matches, Monfils struggled to hold his serve in the face of returns more befitting Djokovic than Karlovic, and a spring in his step that would have made Dolgopolov proud. It was hard to tell on his 6'11 frame, but I promise you it was there. Karlovic on the other hand sailed through his first 5 service games hitting more aces than faults, an ominous statistic speaking to both his efficiency and Monfils' profligacy. In the end both translated into a first set that was about as dramatic as a bullfighter standing in the middle of the ring with an elephant gun.
There was a kind of resignation in Monfils, even as he himself began drumming aces in the second set. It was almost as if he, a participant in this macabre exercise in Japanese pantomime, resented being a part of it. Serving his 3rd ace of the game to close out the 6th game with just one point dropped on a running forehand pass up the line from Karlovic, he appeared to initiate a jig of celebration...but as he looked down to find his feet, it was evident that he had merely tripped over himself. Karlovic, on the other hand, was full of merriment, as he gracelessly took the hot air right out of the stadium time after time, with irritating examples of the full repertoire of shots he possesses: drop volleys, inside in forehand approaches, slice returns landing 6 inches from the base and side lines.
In fact, one could argue that the better he played, the more the sanguine spectators, looking down their noses at the combattants like the Plebeians at the Colosseum, rooted against him. One almost began to wonder if there wasn't something more philosophical in the desire to see Monfils emerge victorious from this encounter, as he had in fact, been the worse player for the better part of an hour and 1 and 15 minutes. But the match turned on two things that both energized Monfils, and seemed to demoralize Karlovic.
In fact the writing seemed to be on the wall in the very first game of the match. Despite his much ballyhooed improved serve, which elicited 42 aces in 4 matches, Monfils struggled to hold his serve in the face of returns more befitting Djokovic than Karlovic, and a spring in his step that would have made Dolgopolov proud. It was hard to tell on his 6'11 frame, but I promise you it was there. Karlovic on the other hand sailed through his first 5 service games hitting more aces than faults, an ominous statistic speaking to both his efficiency and Monfils' profligacy. In the end both translated into a first set that was about as dramatic as a bullfighter standing in the middle of the ring with an elephant gun.
There was a kind of resignation in Monfils, even as he himself began drumming aces in the second set. It was almost as if he, a participant in this macabre exercise in Japanese pantomime, resented being a part of it. Serving his 3rd ace of the game to close out the 6th game with just one point dropped on a running forehand pass up the line from Karlovic, he appeared to initiate a jig of celebration...but as he looked down to find his feet, it was evident that he had merely tripped over himself. Karlovic, on the other hand, was full of merriment, as he gracelessly took the hot air right out of the stadium time after time, with irritating examples of the full repertoire of shots he possesses: drop volleys, inside in forehand approaches, slice returns landing 6 inches from the base and side lines.
In fact, one could argue that the better he played, the more the sanguine spectators, looking down their noses at the combattants like the Plebeians at the Colosseum, rooted against him. One almost began to wonder if there wasn't something more philosophical in the desire to see Monfils emerge victorious from this encounter, as he had in fact, been the worse player for the better part of an hour and 1 and 15 minutes. But the match turned on two things that both energized Monfils, and seemed to demoralize Karlovic.
Karlovic left a half volley short in the court, but no where near short enough to be out of range of his majestic moving rival. Monfils, sensing the moment, charged forward, slid into a frying pan forehand aimed ruthlessly at the trunk of his rival, and hit the mark in more ways than one.
Soon, the thunderbolts began to miss their mark. Whereas previously he had been quite accurate, an underrated quality of his serve, when he served for the set at 5-4, having broken Monfils in the previous game, he began to rely on the second serve, which was not up to the task. Furthermore, Monfils, plundering away under the assumption that something had to give, began putting those returns in challenging positions, forcing Karlovic to both loom and move with the grace of a gazelle - only one of which he was able to pull off. After sending a forehand volley long on the last of 3 break points, off of a dying return scarcely framed by his flamboyant french foe, the trophy suddenly appeared to be just a little bit further from his grasp.
In the tie-break the same technique persisted. Playing a kind of classic grass-court return game, dropping balls at the lumbering behemoth's feet, rather than trying to put them past him, while Karlovic struggled to maintain his efficiency, after another low forehand volley in the net, the roar from the crowd ushered in the realization that Monfils had persevered and a 3rd set was to be played.
The third set began with a return to form on Karlovic's serve, while yet another wobble in Monfils' was not enough to allow the Croatian giant to break. That's when the rhythm (or lack thereof) appeared to get him. A pair of first serves missed, and an overhead in the net, drew a kind of startled gasp from the crowd: a bit like the moment in Rocky IV when Drago is cut. Nobody could believe that the mountain had been traversed by that fuzzy yellow ball, and a genuine belief that another break (the only breaks of serve he's suffered at the 2016 Citi Open) was on the cards. And Karlovic appeared to be wilting in the heat - already taking his time in between points, he appeared to do it moreso now that he had been broken, while the Frenchman accelerated through his games with aplombe.
The bending, the mid-court pick-ups, the stretch returns and the angled volleys began to take their toll on Karlovic. Irritated when the towels weren't made immediately available by the ball kids, Karlovic seemed to play more and more first balls (off the return) from beyond the service line. For a quality serve and volleyer, that is part and parcel of plying one's trade moving forward. But for Karlovic, the effects of the burden began to seep into almost everything he did, and he began to do everything just a little bit worse. The break, when it came, met with rapturous applause from the francophile audience, seemed a fait accompli, more than an accomplishment. Nevertheless, once and for all, the match had turned in the Frenchman's favor.
Monfis on the other hand went from that all too familiar Gallic shrug to the battle cry of a Zulu warrior. No longer content with pumping himself up, he moved on to the crowd, entreating them to entreat him to higher heights. He even fortified himself in between serves, such was the evidence of his increased sense of urgency. His serve, slower in the third set than it had been in the second, was more accurate, causing Karlovic to miss the return more frequently, and taking enormous pressure off of himself and, like Putin on a judo mat, rebounding it squarely on his rival.
Of course Karlovic just...keeps...coming. And despite being down a break in the 8th game of the final set, he opened the game with two outstanding volley winners to put Monfils under scoreboard pressure, which might have been irresistible given the serve that would certainly have awaited him had he lost his. But he finished the game with 4 outstanding serves that Karlovic alternately pulled out of and over hit to the delight of those now in full throated anticipation of a French victory. Karlovic did his best to fend off the energized frenchman - standing (very) tall (indeed) on another mid court pick up that landed tantalizingly short in the court. Monfils again went for the jugular, but not nearly dispassionately enough, and Karlovic was able to fend off the pancake with a reaction volley to the open court. Two points later, he survived the game to make one last stand.
Monfils began uncertainly, with a double-fault into the net - never a good sign of nerves. But he followed it up with a brave sneak attack off a high looping forehand up the line to Karlovic's backhand which he sliced tamely into the net. Another missed 1st serve in the deuce court on the 3rd point was rectified this time by a 2nd serve ace wide. The penultimate point was cagey, with Monfils stretching the rally out before drawing Karlovic into a clumsy approach, which he passed with a backhand up the line. The match ended, ironically if only considering the source, with an authoritative ace up the T.
To the delight of the crowd, the popular Frenchman prevailed where he could have so readily taken the easy way out. While Karlovic, attended briefly by the physio as he awaited his runner-up prize, was resigned to his role today as the sacrificial lamb.
Soon, the thunderbolts began to miss their mark. Whereas previously he had been quite accurate, an underrated quality of his serve, when he served for the set at 5-4, having broken Monfils in the previous game, he began to rely on the second serve, which was not up to the task. Furthermore, Monfils, plundering away under the assumption that something had to give, began putting those returns in challenging positions, forcing Karlovic to both loom and move with the grace of a gazelle - only one of which he was able to pull off. After sending a forehand volley long on the last of 3 break points, off of a dying return scarcely framed by his flamboyant french foe, the trophy suddenly appeared to be just a little bit further from his grasp.
In the tie-break the same technique persisted. Playing a kind of classic grass-court return game, dropping balls at the lumbering behemoth's feet, rather than trying to put them past him, while Karlovic struggled to maintain his efficiency, after another low forehand volley in the net, the roar from the crowd ushered in the realization that Monfils had persevered and a 3rd set was to be played.
The third set began with a return to form on Karlovic's serve, while yet another wobble in Monfils' was not enough to allow the Croatian giant to break. That's when the rhythm (or lack thereof) appeared to get him. A pair of first serves missed, and an overhead in the net, drew a kind of startled gasp from the crowd: a bit like the moment in Rocky IV when Drago is cut. Nobody could believe that the mountain had been traversed by that fuzzy yellow ball, and a genuine belief that another break (the only breaks of serve he's suffered at the 2016 Citi Open) was on the cards. And Karlovic appeared to be wilting in the heat - already taking his time in between points, he appeared to do it moreso now that he had been broken, while the Frenchman accelerated through his games with aplombe.
The bending, the mid-court pick-ups, the stretch returns and the angled volleys began to take their toll on Karlovic. Irritated when the towels weren't made immediately available by the ball kids, Karlovic seemed to play more and more first balls (off the return) from beyond the service line. For a quality serve and volleyer, that is part and parcel of plying one's trade moving forward. But for Karlovic, the effects of the burden began to seep into almost everything he did, and he began to do everything just a little bit worse. The break, when it came, met with rapturous applause from the francophile audience, seemed a fait accompli, more than an accomplishment. Nevertheless, once and for all, the match had turned in the Frenchman's favor.
Monfis on the other hand went from that all too familiar Gallic shrug to the battle cry of a Zulu warrior. No longer content with pumping himself up, he moved on to the crowd, entreating them to entreat him to higher heights. He even fortified himself in between serves, such was the evidence of his increased sense of urgency. His serve, slower in the third set than it had been in the second, was more accurate, causing Karlovic to miss the return more frequently, and taking enormous pressure off of himself and, like Putin on a judo mat, rebounding it squarely on his rival.
Of course Karlovic just...keeps...coming. And despite being down a break in the 8th game of the final set, he opened the game with two outstanding volley winners to put Monfils under scoreboard pressure, which might have been irresistible given the serve that would certainly have awaited him had he lost his. But he finished the game with 4 outstanding serves that Karlovic alternately pulled out of and over hit to the delight of those now in full throated anticipation of a French victory. Karlovic did his best to fend off the energized frenchman - standing (very) tall (indeed) on another mid court pick up that landed tantalizingly short in the court. Monfils again went for the jugular, but not nearly dispassionately enough, and Karlovic was able to fend off the pancake with a reaction volley to the open court. Two points later, he survived the game to make one last stand.
Monfils began uncertainly, with a double-fault into the net - never a good sign of nerves. But he followed it up with a brave sneak attack off a high looping forehand up the line to Karlovic's backhand which he sliced tamely into the net. Another missed 1st serve in the deuce court on the 3rd point was rectified this time by a 2nd serve ace wide. The penultimate point was cagey, with Monfils stretching the rally out before drawing Karlovic into a clumsy approach, which he passed with a backhand up the line. The match ended, ironically if only considering the source, with an authoritative ace up the T.
To the delight of the crowd, the popular Frenchman prevailed where he could have so readily taken the easy way out. While Karlovic, attended briefly by the physio as he awaited his runner-up prize, was resigned to his role today as the sacrificial lamb.
2016 FINAL THOUGHTS: A GAEL FORCE WIND AT HIS BACK...AND IN HIS FACE
History hates nothing more than a crown unworn, a throne unseated, a title unearned. The history of Gael Monfils is no different. In 2004, he shocked the French tennisocracy by winning first 3 of the 4 junior majors, and stood on the precipice of doing something that hadn't been done since Stefan Edberg won the very first junior calendar grand slam of the open era in 1983. He was the pearl that French tennis had awaited for years. Though other Gallic juniors like Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and Richard Gasquet had been more heavily touted, it was Monfils, formerly bespectacled, spindly and awkward, that emerged as the closest thing, to a sure thing, to end the French drought at the professional majors. And though the strength of his game resembled the same qualities that characterize his professional exploits (the super hero speed and stretching, the fantastical trick shots, the unadulterated athleticism) there would have been those who still wondered if this weren't another mirage in the, then 20 year desert, of french men's tennis.
Those doubts, whispered by the most pessimistic, weren't doused by his quarterfinal loss of a match, and a shot at history, in the Boys Singles draw of the 2004 US Open: in fact they were given a loud and undeniable voice. His absence from the final, contested by Sergiy Stahkovsky and Andy Murray, a pair who would carry on a different kind of tete a tete this year following Indian Wells, was all but forgotten when he began a full time career on the ATP tour. Launching himself into the top 50 with victories at 2 challengers and a full ATP event in Sopot, he was overshadowed only by the player that French tennistas have always truly believed to be the rightful heir to the legacy of Les Mousquetaires. In fact Gasquet may have done him a favor by beating Roger Federer in Monte Carlo, putting the "bleu, blanc et rouge" bullseye at Roland Garros squarely on his back, where it didn't belong. Monfils has actually had the most consistent results of all his contemporary countrymen at their home major, (if not the best, with Tsonga reaching one more semifinal).
But since that early promise, despite remaining one of, if not the most, athletic player(s) in the game today, and the evolution of the game making raw athleticism more and more of a common trait (if not distinguishing), Monfils has not translated that into commensurate success at the highest echelons of the game. I have always suspected that while every other part of his body screams exceptional, the most critical tools in his tennis kit remain curiously ordinary: his hands. While Simon uses his to swash, Gasquet uses his to swashbuckle and Tsonga uses his to simply buckle, Monfils' hands, hardly the most sophisticated in the world, form the basis of little more than a human backboard. No shot seems out of his reach, unless he decides otherwise, and it's a considerable reach.
But the hands have failed him from time to time: the inability to handle the short slice, the tendency to receded further and further into the backcourt, and the almost psychological dependence on his athleticism to entertain (and not necessarily to win), have all belied the very profligacy of talent that coaches and the tennis punditry has bemoaned. Darren Cahill once claimed that Monfils would, from time to time, skip a (second and) afternoon practice with his coach, Roger Rasheed, claiming he need a rest, only to find him later in his room hotel room hootin' and hollerin' while working up a sweat playing FIFA soccer on the playstation. So perhaps something within him realized that there was a limit to how far he needed to develop himself physically (Rasheed's specialty), when the most critical tool available to him (his hands) remained unaddressed.
Maybe he knew something that we didn't?
This week, after having hired his Swedish coach Mikael Tillstrom in October of last year, worked on simplifying his game, and more specifically the technique on his serve, the Gael Monfils taking the court today in his second successive final (if 5 years after the first), has shorn his infamous locks, and some of the more elaborate machinations that have frustrated his least loyal fans. The gale force wind at his back may be the new and improved serve, imperceptibly more rhythmic, but palpably more effective, has elicited only 2/3rd as many aces (42) as his infamous serving opponent (66). He will need all the free points he can get to reduce his burden of proof that Karlovic might not get through a WTA field would it were not for that monstrosity of a first serve.
The jury is not out on either of their careers today, but the perceived quality of the final, will be largely dependent on the extent to which an entertainer can get down to business and mitigate the reputation (at least) of a 5-19 record in ATP finals.
Those doubts, whispered by the most pessimistic, weren't doused by his quarterfinal loss of a match, and a shot at history, in the Boys Singles draw of the 2004 US Open: in fact they were given a loud and undeniable voice. His absence from the final, contested by Sergiy Stahkovsky and Andy Murray, a pair who would carry on a different kind of tete a tete this year following Indian Wells, was all but forgotten when he began a full time career on the ATP tour. Launching himself into the top 50 with victories at 2 challengers and a full ATP event in Sopot, he was overshadowed only by the player that French tennistas have always truly believed to be the rightful heir to the legacy of Les Mousquetaires. In fact Gasquet may have done him a favor by beating Roger Federer in Monte Carlo, putting the "bleu, blanc et rouge" bullseye at Roland Garros squarely on his back, where it didn't belong. Monfils has actually had the most consistent results of all his contemporary countrymen at their home major, (if not the best, with Tsonga reaching one more semifinal).
But since that early promise, despite remaining one of, if not the most, athletic player(s) in the game today, and the evolution of the game making raw athleticism more and more of a common trait (if not distinguishing), Monfils has not translated that into commensurate success at the highest echelons of the game. I have always suspected that while every other part of his body screams exceptional, the most critical tools in his tennis kit remain curiously ordinary: his hands. While Simon uses his to swash, Gasquet uses his to swashbuckle and Tsonga uses his to simply buckle, Monfils' hands, hardly the most sophisticated in the world, form the basis of little more than a human backboard. No shot seems out of his reach, unless he decides otherwise, and it's a considerable reach.
But the hands have failed him from time to time: the inability to handle the short slice, the tendency to receded further and further into the backcourt, and the almost psychological dependence on his athleticism to entertain (and not necessarily to win), have all belied the very profligacy of talent that coaches and the tennis punditry has bemoaned. Darren Cahill once claimed that Monfils would, from time to time, skip a (second and) afternoon practice with his coach, Roger Rasheed, claiming he need a rest, only to find him later in his room hotel room hootin' and hollerin' while working up a sweat playing FIFA soccer on the playstation. So perhaps something within him realized that there was a limit to how far he needed to develop himself physically (Rasheed's specialty), when the most critical tool available to him (his hands) remained unaddressed.
Maybe he knew something that we didn't?
This week, after having hired his Swedish coach Mikael Tillstrom in October of last year, worked on simplifying his game, and more specifically the technique on his serve, the Gael Monfils taking the court today in his second successive final (if 5 years after the first), has shorn his infamous locks, and some of the more elaborate machinations that have frustrated his least loyal fans. The gale force wind at his back may be the new and improved serve, imperceptibly more rhythmic, but palpably more effective, has elicited only 2/3rd as many aces (42) as his infamous serving opponent (66). He will need all the free points he can get to reduce his burden of proof that Karlovic might not get through a WTA field would it were not for that monstrosity of a first serve.
The jury is not out on either of their careers today, but the perceived quality of the final, will be largely dependent on the extent to which an entertainer can get down to business and mitigate the reputation (at least) of a 5-19 record in ATP finals.
2016 CITI OPEN FINAL THOUGHTS: LIKE IT OR NOT...IVO KARLOVIC JUST KEEPS COMING
3 years Ivo Karlovic nearly died.
He woke up one morning with numbness in his arm, that began to spread throughout his body. A professional athlete, aged 34, he was accustomed to waking up with the creaky quality of a locomotive that takes a few strokes of the pistons to get up to speed. But you just keep on moving and you get over it. After all, there comes a time when, after years on tour, a player begins to wonder when is going to be the day that they wake up and the little engine just can't. Agassi, in his excellent memoir Open, talked about the skittish assurance of moving one limb at a time, hoping the capacity to compete would come to him in stages, towards the end of his career. The anxiety never goes away, but a player grows accustomed to the uncertainty, both of which are resolved despite the uncomfortable feeling of one's body working through its nightly torpor.
But this was different. The numbness persisted. And his speech was slurred.
A house call from the paramedics brought relief that didn't last long, which is probably a good thing, because that would have sounded the alarm bells of doctors who didn't know if this professional athlete was having a stroke, or had an undetected brain tumor that wouldn't reveal itself. Unlike the case of Leander Paes' diagnosis of neurocysticercosis (a parasitic infection that causes brain abscesses that can look like tumors) they would have hoped for a best case scenario - strange to contemplate under the conditions - of a bacterial infection that could be treated by ever increasingly powerful and specific antibiotics.
But that too failed to resolve what had befallen Karlovic. His wife Alisi and his (still to this day) coach Petar Popović by his side as he went in and out of consciousness, it wasn't at all clear that he would recover at all, or well enough to regain normal functions - to say nothing of the very real possibility that the least negative of all outcomes would be the end of his career. Eventually the case was diagnosed as viral meningoencephalitis and after 10 days of treatment a few days of monitoring he was released from that hospital in Miami that nearly became the first stop the way to his final resting place.
But like that thunderbolt raining serve of his, Karlovic just keeps coming. He's 37 years old, has wins over some of the best players in the history of the game (Federer, Hewitt), and one has the feeling that if his serve carries on like this he could play until he was 47. He bristles at the notion, but Karlovic's game is not the equal of his contemporaries...not by a long shot. We all know this, his opponents know this, we all try to avoid saying this and he himself will look you dead in the eye and deny this.
But that doesn't make it any less certain. So how has he managed?
But that doesn't make it any less certain. So how has he managed?
Well, over the course of his career, he has maintained a 92% 1st serve point win percentage, and if he keeps his 1st serve percentage above 55% (which he has, by a long shot) he is more or less guaranteed to at least take the set to a tie-break against the vast majority of his opponents. In fact, Karlovic has played and won half of his sets this week with tie-breaks. He hasn't dropped a set, and he hasn't been broken...not once. I'm guessing he hasn't even experienced a mini-break in those tie-breaks. So if he is to win his final over Gael Monfils today, it won't be because he's got great hands, or moves well, or even overwhelming power from the backcourt. But that shouldn't diminish the admiration for the one quality that characterizes his personality, his serve, his career and his run at the 2016 Citi Open.
Like it or not, Ivo Karlovic...just...keeps...on...coming.
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