Have you ever argued with someone so vociferously, for so long, that you forget what you were originally were arguing about in the first place?
Felled by his own sword, Ray Moore appeared to have cost himself a dream job as CEO of the joint event at Indian Wells, after being forced to resign for his comments concerning the debt of contribution the WTA owe to the biggest names in men's tennis. In fact, the debt of contribution extends to everywhere else the two competing tours engorge themselves at the same troth. Now, Ion Tiriac appears to be headed, once more, into the breach, with his recent statement concerning his brainchild, the joint event in Madrid, saying essentially the same thing.
Along the way, Novak Djokovic indelicately chimed in, followed by an effort to raise and carry the flag by Serena Williams, and a twitter spat initiated by Andy Murray, and inconsiderately drawing in Sergiy Stakhovsky, who responded clumsily, in his own defense.
But for me, the question remains: what exactly are we talking about anyway? Did Ray Moore, or Ion Tiriac dispute either the ideal or the desire for equal pay at joint events? Not by the hairs on their (double)chinny-chin-chins. In fact both went out of their way to insist that they are in favor of equal pay, which would render the interceding arguments from players on both sides of the aisle, entirely moot. But somehow the point they're making keeps getting twisted into a debate about equal pay.
The question is not whether men and women should be paid the same: legally and morally, very few would argue that they shouldn't. The real question is whether the women are doing their part to draw fans to joint events. If the television revenues are any indication, the women figure to be less than half the draw of men in general - this includes events that don't overlap like Monte Carlo, Canada and Bercy. So riddle me this: if women's tennis is indeed the equal of men's tennis, why does the WTA (or anyone desperately seeking a male chauvinist villain in this debate) accept this disparity?
Because of the soft sexism of low expectations.
The truth is that nobody - not even the WTA - actually expects women to draw equally to the men. If they did, and there was room in the blogosphere and elsewhere to discuss this salient point, they'd all be asking the same question as Ray Moore and Ion Tiriac. So why don't they? I'm certainly more interested in men's tennis than women's tennis, but that's not because I'm gay (a fact) or sexist (a matter of opinion). I prefer men's tennis because, for me, the draw to professional tennis has always been the game they play. There was a time when women played the game in an equally aesthetically appealing way as the men. I based my serve on Hana Mandlikova, and my volleys on Martina Navratilova. For a time, I modeled my forehand on Steffi Graf's and to this day, I still emulate Justine Henin's footwork.
Nothing and nobody since.
One of the problems I have with women's tennis is the paucity of variety - they don't only play they same, they look and sound the same too. If you close your eyes, can you distinguish between the plaintive wail of Victoria Azarenka or the yawning moan of Maria Sharapova? If you open your eyes quickly, observe two strokes, and close them again, could you tell which blonde Eastern European was which? I couldn't. And this absurd experiment with on court coaching, which is merely an even more absurd extension of the paucity of good coaching in women's tennis, makes the game look worse than the men's. One baseball capped man after another entreating a pony-tailed malcontent to "play your game", which clearly isn't good enough, only to watch the calumny continue through to its logical conclusion.
This and many more eyesores on the women's game is one of many that I presume contributes to its lagging popularity. Their year-end championships is a traveling circus with no character and almost no appeal outside of the wonkiest of wonks in the game. As I write this, I have no idea where it will be held this year, where it was held the year before, or where it's been held since it left Madison Square Garden 20 years ago. The men's version, on the other hand, has gotten its head out of its ass and planted the event at a venue that lends its gravitas and appeal to the event...and vice versa. The women have continued to make their event just another date on the calendar, this one without the dead weight of all the players ranked #9 or worse.
And let's not forget the debacle that was the exclusion of Shahar Peer from the women's event in Dubai. Rather than banding together in their own interest, the women essentially abandoned their colleague, abandoned their cause, ceded the power of what masquerades as a union and hid behind the sponsors. Only Venus Williams even bothered to mention her name; this after she graciously accepted a 6-figure check that Peer was excluded from pursuing.
Now, lest you think my derision is reserved for the WTA, there may very well be plenty to criticize the ATP tour for...none of the cited issues above...but their own band of bad ideas nonetheless. Only they have the luxury of hiding behind the enormous popularity, outstanding performances, and generally good marketing and public relations of the 4 horsemen of their (impending) apocalypse. We won't really know how well the ATP is doing until these guys start losing more often than they don't. They experimented with round-robins, but quickly realized they didn't need it. This because if there's a tournament, and anyone of them are in it, it is very likely that one of them will be there at the business end of the event, along with all the kings' men. Absent this convenient condition (which ironically applies as much to the ATP tour as it does to the joint events), as far as I'm concerned, the jury is still out on the ATP.
But I think when someone like Ray Moore or Ion Tiriac calls out the WTA for failing to do their job in making women's tennis the equal of men's, we should stop looking for the sexism in what their saying, but rather look out for the sexism in our reaction to it. Because if you follow and believe in women's tennis the same as men's, there's absolutely no reason why the women's television revenue should be lower, and their stadiums empty at the joint events unless the player happens to be 6'1 or named Serena.
We can bury our heads in the sand, looking for the chauvinist pig hiding in plain sight. But one of these days, the men are going to follow the logical extension of their argument that they deserve a bigger cut: which is in fact, to cut out the middle (wo)man and abandon joint events altogether. I suspect that if they did so, it wouldn't take long for the women and the tournaments to figure out that they weren't just blowing smoke up their own shorts, but actually making a salient economic point. But by then, they'll be in the catbird seat, graciously offering (in their view, of course) a more economically equitable split of the revenue and the prize money.
And singing cock-a-doodle-do.
SUBSCRIBE
Posts
All Comments
Showing posts with label Novak Djokovic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Novak Djokovic. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Friday, March 18, 2016
HEY JO: WHERE YOU GONNA RUN TO NOW?
Wasn't there a time when Jo-Wilfried Tsonga had Novak Djokovic's number? Does anybody remember that? I sure as hell do. In fact, because he appeared to freeze in the headlights in Australia in 2008, the subsequent ease with which he dispensed with his two years' junior rival in 5 of the next 6 encounters over the next two years, left me with the sneaking suspicion that the result in Melbourne had in fact been a fluke. That may sound absurd given the extent of Djokovic's lead in development, performance, fitness and results since 2011, and particularly during his ascent to the pinnacle of the game in 2015, but not so between 2008 and 2010. Brad Gilbert proclaimed, prior to their encounter at the Australian Open in 2010, that Tsonga had Djokovic's number - and Djokovic did little to dispel that.
Most assumed that his victory in Bangkok was a form of muted revenge: that Djokovic capitulated in straight sets, suggested that neither his heart nor the rest of his body were really committed to a victory that by all rights should have been his. His victory in Paris could be set aside because of the overwhelming support from the audience that surely propelled the prodigal son's return to sit upon his throne at Bercy. But it was the feckless capitulation of his Serbian rival in Shanghai that really brought to mind the possibility that Tsonga could be a player to challenge for major titles - at least if he had to play Djokovic for them. Djokovic had already qualified for the semi-finals by virtue of his victories over del Potro and Davydenko, while Tsonga, having lost to those same two opponents, had no chance to progress. Effectively this match was his final, his only chance to save face, in the very Chinese sense, and in Djokovic he faced his most daunting opponent.
Yet, despite the cards he was dealt, Tsonga turned in a performance superior to those who sought the title that was lost to him. Djokovic having started quickly, Tsonga dug deep and won 7-5 in the second, only to then obliterate his rival with the same score in the 3rd, that he had lost with in the first. And it wasn't just the victory, but the beauty with which it was achieved - that languid gate, the deceptively easy racquet head acceleration, a glorious overhead that never seems to have to be hit twice, and a howitzer of a serve...man what a serve he has. Up to then, Andy Roddick was the only man that didn't darken the room when he stood up from his chair, capable of producing that kind of accurate and consistent power in the serve.
To this day, there aren't too many players on tour who can produce 135 motherf---ers more than once a game, so you kind of wonder how he hasn't done more with it when it counts. But as the great Pancho Gonzales always said, "You're only as good as your second serve," and therein lies the rub. Tsonga doesn't so much hit the second serve with his racquet as he does with his ass...if you'll indulge me.
Because his toss on the second serve is frequently too far to the left and behind his head, he lands heavily on his left leg and as a result, to maintain his balance and keep his momentum going forward, he adjusts by shifting his body weight (and by body weight, I mean his butt) so far to his right, that when serving to the ad court he often finishes the stroke landing both feet, in recovery in the deuce court. It's ungainly, hit with excessive spin, and frequently lands short, in the net, or so softly, I could come over it with my backhand.
So, despite having a much better all around game than most of the players with comparable serves, like his similarly second serve challenged Spanish rival, Nico Almagro, Tsonga doesn't so much rely on his first serve, as abuse it. Hit with the kind of ferocity that would make a novice flinch, there's little left in the tank when he has to go to the second serve...psychologically that is. Yes, yes, I know...I don't believe in belief in tennis...but this is different. When you miss your first serve too often, you can't afford to miss your second at all, and when you can't miss your second at all, like the smart kids on prom night, you tend to pull out a little early. In fact, the two of them, with their suffering second serves together, is quite a sight...you'll never see two players with bigger deltas in quality between the first and second serves than these two, and the results are as exhilarating as they are unpredictable.
And something else happened to Tsonga over the next 13 matches with the Djoker - aside from losing 12 of them. Like Andy Roddick famously panned in 2005, he seemed to lose that "je ne sais quoi" from his game, his allure...his twinkle, if you will...
Tsonga lost his mojo.
He's gotten some good results here and there, but only ever made it as far as the semi-finals 5 times in the last 32 majors since his maiden final. He's won 2 masters shields in his career: the aforementioned emotional victory in Paris in 2008 and a curiously gritty victory over Federer in Toronto two years ago (one of five over the Swiss GOAT). Now all of this would be considered a good career for a slightly above average player, but Tsonga...Tsonga deigned to be so much more. With a personality as big as his serve, he had all the tools for not just super stardom in the tennis, but probably the world of sports in general. And being the doppelganger of a young Cassius Clay wouldn't have hurt at all, would it?
Well, it didn't help him. His career bobbed and weaved, but never really landed a good punch. Yes, he's one of only 3 players to have beaten all of the so-called "big 4" at least once at a major (Murray & Nadal AO2008, Djokovic AO2010, Federer Wimby 2011), he's never beaten more than one of them at once (with the exception of his maiden final in 2008, long before there was a big four, where he beat Andy Murray in the first round, and famously obliterated Nadal in the semi-final, and lost to the Djoker in the final). And in this era of this rather tight-fisted quartet, if you want to win a major, chances are you're going to have to go through at least two, maybe three of them...unless of course, you're one of them!
Meanwhile the armies of his supporters around the world, who don't seem to mind the profligacy of this enormously talented and enormously popular player, persists. This includes the famously fickle French who have forgiven him his Parisian trespasses (at Roland Garros, anyway), unlike his equally talented, and higher highest ranked compatriot Henri Leconte. Him, the french mercilessly derided "a genius from the elbow down", according the late Great Bud Collins, and they never seemed to forgive him for simply losing at Roland Garros to the "wrong" guy.
My view on Jo-Wilfried Tsonga is that he is the biggest disappointment of my adult tennis watching life. I love his game, I love his athleticism (he's one of the few players in tennis I'm quite certain would be world class in at least one other sport), and I really wish he had won a major at some point in his career. Everything in his game is well above average, but everything seems to be missing just that little something. The forehand, powerful as it can be, is produced rather convolutedly, and in my opinion breaks down when it absolutely can't. His first serve, flamethrower that it is, usually only leaves enough left in the tank for the second serve to light a cigarette...or a joint. And his backhand, varied and beautiful as it can be, has to be hit so far behind the baseline, because of his forehand, it is too easily isolated and picked on, like the one kid on the sandlot baseball team that you just know has to play right field. Why? Because.
And ultimately, Tsonga's biggest problem is that he's just too damn...well, how can I say this...French! Not that there's anything inherently wrong with being French - my new favorite player is french, my old favorite player (the aforementioned Henri Leconte) is French, my favorite female player was French Belgian, my favorite backhand in tennis is Swiss French and my inspiration in tennis is French.
Hell, I even speak French.
But there's something our Gallic cousins across the pond have that produces as many good players as it destroys:
A love of beauty.
Take the Australians - please!; they love sports, and as such they love Australians who are good at sports. I mean these guys are going to run out of stadiums to name after their great tennis players if the real Bernard Tomic, or Nick "the Prick" ever get their collective heads out of their collective arses. But I guarantee nobody on the other side of the planet will give a rat's if the next best's game is only as aesthetically appealing as an anus protruding from a forehead. That's because all is forgiven...and I mean all is forgiven...in Australia, when you win, including very, very poor taste.
But above all, the French love beauty, and it is because they love beauty that they love tennis. They don't like players who take themselves too seriously, but despite this they absolutely loved watching John McEnroe precisely because his game was so beautiful to behold. I mean who else would make or watch a documentary about his most beautiful loss to Ivan "the Terrible" Lendl, in the 4th round in 1988 at Roland Garros? They don't want to see some lumbering behemoth bludgeon his way from one indistinct victory after another (or 63 of them, for that matter).
They want to see something so beautiful that they're inspired. They want the jeu de paumes to be a game of hands again. They love Roger Federer because he's not Nadal - he is, in fact, the antithesis of Nadal. His game isn't beautifully effective: it's effective because it's beautiful. And isn't that, after all, the point? Nobody goes to a bullfight to see who will win - they go to see the bloody, gory spectacle of courage and skill. In this way, the French too, want to be entertained, and exhilarated, and the truth is that they don't care who does it, as long as they do it beautifully...preferably with a beautiful smile along the way. But to the french, the words of Keats' "Ode On a Grecian Urn" are as true in tennis, as they are in life:
Well, I have the feeling that Tsonga's concept of the game is just a little too beautiful. He floats and stings, but neither can overwhelm the more pedantic, and imminently more effective games of his contemporaries, or the Swiss Mister to whom he would be supplicant. In one point, his backhand volley drops lovingly 24 inches into his opponent's court, and in the next, it lands 24 inches short of his own net. The exuberance with which we celebrate the former is followed by the exasperation with which we decry the latter: such is the metaphor of his game. How else can you explain the inexplicable experiment with the occasional one-handed backhand, other than the undeniable aesthetic appeal of that particular shot? And I've always been left with the impression that Tsonga hasn't honed in on one or two ways to reliably slog through all of the matches he should win. Not because he cannot learn or acquire the skills to do so, but because he doesn't have the sensibility for it.
There is something impressive about someone who won't sacrifice the beauty in their chosen field of endeavor at the altar of efficacy, but there is also something tragic. A little bit like a Hollywood starlet, well past her due date, that won't go out of the house without her make-up. Admirable...but also a little pathetic. I have to admit that I have a lot of sympathy for Tsonga, and a lot of patience for all the little things he does to entertain, but no more time for the all the more things he doesn't do to fulfill his capacity.
He should have been a contender, he should have been the next savior of French tennis. Maybe he'll make the French fall in love with him all over again by winning the Davis Cup this year, with that other French hero as captain. But I don't think Jo-Wilfried Tsonga will ever win a major. No matter how beautiful his game or his smile, it just isn't good enough. That may indeed say more about the game than his, but it is often the most beautifully sad paintings that truly speak to us.
The truth, when unsheathed like a bare bodkin, cuts like one too.
Tsonga and his little doppelganger...MMT Jr.
ADDENDUM: The following is a clip from Tsonga's match with Nishikori at the Australian Open this week - I swear I didn't watch this before writing this post, but much of what I discuss in this blog can be seen in this court level view.
Nishikori vs Tsonga Oz Open 2016
Most assumed that his victory in Bangkok was a form of muted revenge: that Djokovic capitulated in straight sets, suggested that neither his heart nor the rest of his body were really committed to a victory that by all rights should have been his. His victory in Paris could be set aside because of the overwhelming support from the audience that surely propelled the prodigal son's return to sit upon his throne at Bercy. But it was the feckless capitulation of his Serbian rival in Shanghai that really brought to mind the possibility that Tsonga could be a player to challenge for major titles - at least if he had to play Djokovic for them. Djokovic had already qualified for the semi-finals by virtue of his victories over del Potro and Davydenko, while Tsonga, having lost to those same two opponents, had no chance to progress. Effectively this match was his final, his only chance to save face, in the very Chinese sense, and in Djokovic he faced his most daunting opponent.
Yet, despite the cards he was dealt, Tsonga turned in a performance superior to those who sought the title that was lost to him. Djokovic having started quickly, Tsonga dug deep and won 7-5 in the second, only to then obliterate his rival with the same score in the 3rd, that he had lost with in the first. And it wasn't just the victory, but the beauty with which it was achieved - that languid gate, the deceptively easy racquet head acceleration, a glorious overhead that never seems to have to be hit twice, and a howitzer of a serve...man what a serve he has. Up to then, Andy Roddick was the only man that didn't darken the room when he stood up from his chair, capable of producing that kind of accurate and consistent power in the serve.
To this day, there aren't too many players on tour who can produce 135 motherf---ers more than once a game, so you kind of wonder how he hasn't done more with it when it counts. But as the great Pancho Gonzales always said, "You're only as good as your second serve," and therein lies the rub. Tsonga doesn't so much hit the second serve with his racquet as he does with his ass...if you'll indulge me.
Because his toss on the second serve is frequently too far to the left and behind his head, he lands heavily on his left leg and as a result, to maintain his balance and keep his momentum going forward, he adjusts by shifting his body weight (and by body weight, I mean his butt) so far to his right, that when serving to the ad court he often finishes the stroke landing both feet, in recovery in the deuce court. It's ungainly, hit with excessive spin, and frequently lands short, in the net, or so softly, I could come over it with my backhand.
So, despite having a much better all around game than most of the players with comparable serves, like his similarly second serve challenged Spanish rival, Nico Almagro, Tsonga doesn't so much rely on his first serve, as abuse it. Hit with the kind of ferocity that would make a novice flinch, there's little left in the tank when he has to go to the second serve...psychologically that is. Yes, yes, I know...I don't believe in belief in tennis...but this is different. When you miss your first serve too often, you can't afford to miss your second at all, and when you can't miss your second at all, like the smart kids on prom night, you tend to pull out a little early. In fact, the two of them, with their suffering second serves together, is quite a sight...you'll never see two players with bigger deltas in quality between the first and second serves than these two, and the results are as exhilarating as they are unpredictable.
And something else happened to Tsonga over the next 13 matches with the Djoker - aside from losing 12 of them. Like Andy Roddick famously panned in 2005, he seemed to lose that "je ne sais quoi" from his game, his allure...his twinkle, if you will...
Tsonga lost his mojo.
He's gotten some good results here and there, but only ever made it as far as the semi-finals 5 times in the last 32 majors since his maiden final. He's won 2 masters shields in his career: the aforementioned emotional victory in Paris in 2008 and a curiously gritty victory over Federer in Toronto two years ago (one of five over the Swiss GOAT). Now all of this would be considered a good career for a slightly above average player, but Tsonga...Tsonga deigned to be so much more. With a personality as big as his serve, he had all the tools for not just super stardom in the tennis, but probably the world of sports in general. And being the doppelganger of a young Cassius Clay wouldn't have hurt at all, would it?
Well, it didn't help him. His career bobbed and weaved, but never really landed a good punch. Yes, he's one of only 3 players to have beaten all of the so-called "big 4" at least once at a major (Murray & Nadal AO2008, Djokovic AO2010, Federer Wimby 2011), he's never beaten more than one of them at once (with the exception of his maiden final in 2008, long before there was a big four, where he beat Andy Murray in the first round, and famously obliterated Nadal in the semi-final, and lost to the Djoker in the final). And in this era of this rather tight-fisted quartet, if you want to win a major, chances are you're going to have to go through at least two, maybe three of them...unless of course, you're one of them!
Meanwhile the armies of his supporters around the world, who don't seem to mind the profligacy of this enormously talented and enormously popular player, persists. This includes the famously fickle French who have forgiven him his Parisian trespasses (at Roland Garros, anyway), unlike his equally talented, and higher highest ranked compatriot Henri Leconte. Him, the french mercilessly derided "a genius from the elbow down", according the late Great Bud Collins, and they never seemed to forgive him for simply losing at Roland Garros to the "wrong" guy.
My view on Jo-Wilfried Tsonga is that he is the biggest disappointment of my adult tennis watching life. I love his game, I love his athleticism (he's one of the few players in tennis I'm quite certain would be world class in at least one other sport), and I really wish he had won a major at some point in his career. Everything in his game is well above average, but everything seems to be missing just that little something. The forehand, powerful as it can be, is produced rather convolutedly, and in my opinion breaks down when it absolutely can't. His first serve, flamethrower that it is, usually only leaves enough left in the tank for the second serve to light a cigarette...or a joint. And his backhand, varied and beautiful as it can be, has to be hit so far behind the baseline, because of his forehand, it is too easily isolated and picked on, like the one kid on the sandlot baseball team that you just know has to play right field. Why? Because.
And ultimately, Tsonga's biggest problem is that he's just too damn...well, how can I say this...French! Not that there's anything inherently wrong with being French - my new favorite player is french, my old favorite player (the aforementioned Henri Leconte) is French, my favorite female player was French Belgian, my favorite backhand in tennis is Swiss French and my inspiration in tennis is French.
Hell, I even speak French.
But there's something our Gallic cousins across the pond have that produces as many good players as it destroys:
A love of beauty.
Take the Australians - please!
But above all, the French love beauty, and it is because they love beauty that they love tennis. They don't like players who take themselves too seriously, but despite this they absolutely loved watching John McEnroe precisely because his game was so beautiful to behold. I mean who else would make or watch a documentary about his most beautiful loss to Ivan "the Terrible" Lendl, in the 4th round in 1988 at Roland Garros? They don't want to see some lumbering behemoth bludgeon his way from one indistinct victory after another (or 63 of them, for that matter).
They want to see something so beautiful that they're inspired. They want the jeu de paumes to be a game of hands again. They love Roger Federer because he's not Nadal - he is, in fact, the antithesis of Nadal. His game isn't beautifully effective: it's effective because it's beautiful. And isn't that, after all, the point? Nobody goes to a bullfight to see who will win - they go to see the bloody, gory spectacle of courage and skill. In this way, the French too, want to be entertained, and exhilarated, and the truth is that they don't care who does it, as long as they do it beautifully...preferably with a beautiful smile along the way. But to the french, the words of Keats' "Ode On a Grecian Urn" are as true in tennis, as they are in life:
| 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all | |
| Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.' |
Well, I have the feeling that Tsonga's concept of the game is just a little too beautiful. He floats and stings, but neither can overwhelm the more pedantic, and imminently more effective games of his contemporaries, or the Swiss Mister to whom he would be supplicant. In one point, his backhand volley drops lovingly 24 inches into his opponent's court, and in the next, it lands 24 inches short of his own net. The exuberance with which we celebrate the former is followed by the exasperation with which we decry the latter: such is the metaphor of his game. How else can you explain the inexplicable experiment with the occasional one-handed backhand, other than the undeniable aesthetic appeal of that particular shot? And I've always been left with the impression that Tsonga hasn't honed in on one or two ways to reliably slog through all of the matches he should win. Not because he cannot learn or acquire the skills to do so, but because he doesn't have the sensibility for it.
There is something impressive about someone who won't sacrifice the beauty in their chosen field of endeavor at the altar of efficacy, but there is also something tragic. A little bit like a Hollywood starlet, well past her due date, that won't go out of the house without her make-up. Admirable...but also a little pathetic. I have to admit that I have a lot of sympathy for Tsonga, and a lot of patience for all the little things he does to entertain, but no more time for the all the more things he doesn't do to fulfill his capacity.
He should have been a contender, he should have been the next savior of French tennis. Maybe he'll make the French fall in love with him all over again by winning the Davis Cup this year, with that other French hero as captain. But I don't think Jo-Wilfried Tsonga will ever win a major. No matter how beautiful his game or his smile, it just isn't good enough. That may indeed say more about the game than his, but it is often the most beautifully sad paintings that truly speak to us.
The truth, when unsheathed like a bare bodkin, cuts like one too.
Tsonga and his little doppelganger...MMT Jr.
ADDENDUM: The following is a clip from Tsonga's match with Nishikori at the Australian Open this week - I swear I didn't watch this before writing this post, but much of what I discuss in this blog can be seen in this court level view.
Nishikori vs Tsonga Oz Open 2016
Monday, February 1, 2016
THE EVOLUTION OF THE DJOKOVIC SERVE
The single most important stroke in tennis by far is the serve: it is the only time you have a chance to hit a ball in hand. There's nothing in the rules saying you have to give yourself an overhead smash on your serve - you could legally hit it underhand, but as it were, the evolution of the game means that the serve is taken when the body can generate the most racquet head speed, imparting the most power, the most spin and the most acute angles.
But what about one serve in particular, that of Novak Djokovic, has made it so good after it was so bad for so long? Years ago, back when he used to lose to the top players more often than he beat them, Djokovic's serve was his albatross. It wasn't the only problem in his game, but it was by far the most glaring. After all, how could a player with such great hand-eye coordination (as evidenced by the second most important shot in the game - the return of serve) be so bad at hitting a ball in hand?
Well, the secret to his success is no secret at all. Like Rafael Nadal, Djokovic hired a coach that worked on his serve and turned it from a liability to an asset. Today, the tactical acumen of the serve, imparted by (who I must begrudgingly admit has done wonders for that stroke and his game in general) none other than Das Wunderkind Boris "Boom Boom" Becker, is as impressive as any other aspect of his game. That's saying a lot, given how good he is as so many other things.
But in order to use the serve effectively from a tactical perspective, it's got to go in - and that's something that he had trouble with back in the day. There are those who bemoan the "lost" year that Novak Djokovic spent with Todd Martin in 2010 as a colossal waste of time. Martin, for his part, has not returned to coaching ATP players, and Djokovic has gone from strength to strength. As such it's easy to dismiss any possible positive impact Martin had on the Djoker's game.
But video doesn't lie.
First, some background: when Marian Vajda was stopped by veteran tennis journalist Ubaldo Scanagatta, in what appears to be an airport lounge in 2011, he dispensed with the stupidity and inadequacy of the "belief" gibberish that Djokovic had been spouting all year about his game, and insisted on a technical explanation for his renewed success, after 2 years of profligacy in the majors. Scanagatta (himself a former University tennis champion in Italy) didn't allow Vajda to perpetuate the ruse, or at least was unsatisfied with it and went shot by shot to discover how Vajda (a mediocre player, but an outstanding coach) transformed his game. In this video, he explained how Djokovic wasn't that far off technically, but among the many issues to be addressed, the serve was chief among them.
Jump to this analysis, which explains how the serve has improved:
Again, few are prepared to give Martin any credit for Djokovic’s serve in 2011, but they worked on that serve for almost a year before it improved. Before Martin, his serve was a disaster (again, not my words, Vajda’s). Don't believe me, or don't remember? Here is the monstrosity that is was in 2009 with the stiff arm, the over-rotation, and a reluctance for his body weight to carry him into the court:
Now there weren't too many people who were able to explain what was wrong with his serve, but it's worth noting that Djokovic didn't address it until he took on Martin as a coach. In this clip, from Indian Wells in 2010, he’s making Djokovic hold two racquets to compel the arm to come straight up to trophy position – without the straight arm:
That solved the problem of the racquet head taking too long to arrive at the point of contact, requiring him to over-rotate. Among the many problems with over-rotation, it typically results in a player not actually watching the ball hit his strings as he serves, as well as putting the momentum of his body straight into the ground following the serve, rather than into the court. Doing so both diminishes the power into the serve and eliminates any reasonable possibility of serving and volleying.
Here, also in 2010 at Indian wells, Martin has Djokovic serve from his knees to compel wrist pronation:
Because he's serving from his knees, he cannot finish with the racquet down at his feet - he'd break it every time. Instead, by shortening the distance to the ground, he compels Djokovic to pronate the wrist after the point of contact, maintaining racquet head speed through the point of contact and allowing him to hit down on the ball. This also alleviates the likelihood of over-rotating, since doing so would land the serve in the ground in front of the net. The wrist pronation not only eliminates any unwitting deceleration prior to the point of contact, it also compels forward momentum into the court.
And finally here is what the serve looked like in 2011 – the stiff arm is almost gone and the racquet head comes almost straight up to trophy position:
As far as the stroke production is concerned, Djokovic’s serve became solid in 2011, just after his parting with Todd Martin. The motion remains largely unchanged, but tactically, he establishes the wide serve in both the deuce and ad courts more now than he did in 2011. He has also incorporated a slice serve "up the T" in the ad court preventing right handed players from sitting on the wide serve and allowing him to shorten the distance past his opponent's point of contact with less risk because he's slicing the serve rather than hitting it flat.
So make no mistake about it - Novak Djokovic didn't suddenly believe in himself, and translate belief into a better serve. With practice and the courage to re-engineer it despite being the 3rd best player in the world at the time, he did it the old fashioned way...
He earned it.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
ABBOTT AND COSTELLO, MARTIN AND LEWIS...NOLE AND ROG?
There was something unsettling about the interaction between Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic in 2015, but it's hard to put my finger on it. Every double act has a straight man and a comic: the straight man says, "Go and fetch me the morning paper," and the comic promptly slips on a banana peel on the way, and gets the big laugh. It works because it's like Japanese pantomime - we all know what's going to happen before the curtain goes up, but (1) we stay for the show from start to finish and (2) take a kind of sadistic pleasure in the exasperation of one and the desperate futility of the other. We know the names of the ball players are Who, What and I Don't Know, but that leaves us no less capable of resisting the sweet misery of Bud Abbott trying to explain that to the dimwitted and the intellectually fleeced Lou Costello. Along the way, we suspend our disbelief of the absurdity of it, with the inutility of skepticism essential to enjoyment of the ruse.
But the curious case of Nole and Rog in 2015 makes me wonder exactly which one of these two titans in the tennis kingdom of heaven is playing the stooge?
Watching the way, the closest thing Djokovic had to a rivalry this season, played itself out, I am struck by the near certainty with which both players play their part in the intrigue sans script, but no less assuredly than one might expect with one. Their first encounter in Dubai led some to believe that Federer was on the ascendency, that he had reversed whatever deleterious effect Djokovic's win at Wimbledon may have had on the ethereal realm of his confidence. But that dissipated so quickly, with his nearly complete and feckless capitulation at Indian Wells, that one couldn't help but wonder if the Djoker had, in fact, left something in the tank in the middle eastern desert, knowing full well that the Californian desert is the only one that really matters in the spring.
They didn't meet again until Wimbledon, and in a rematch of last year's epic final, this year's turned out to be infinitely less dramatic but no less compelling. Victory seemed certain almost from the first long rally that turned from Federer's favor to the Djoker's. And that sinking feeling that Fed-fans get when the Serb has decided he'd rather lose to anyone but their immortal beloved, would have moved from a subtle flutter in the stomach to a lead lump in the throat, as General Federer made his last stand in the 4th set at SW19. Somewhere the ghost of Sitting Bull was having the last laugh all over again. Though in some ways Roger was playing better than the year before, there was never really a moment in that match where the perception of a momentum change was anything more than wishful thinking.
Then came the revelation of the SABR (Sneak Attack by Roger) in Cincinnati - another of Roger's watering holes that's good for a laugh, particularly at the expense of the vast majority of his contemporaries. There he humiliated one player after another with not only this cheeky new "weapon", but also a brazen display of genetic superiority to those young affections that gape to be his heir. Feliciano Lopez profanely played the part of the stupefied stooge, who yet again thought he had a shot at his Bugs Bunny, only to discover that the proverbial rabbit out of the top hat was a combination of the new racquet, the new coach, the new backhand...and the old superiority that once again insisted on imposing itself. Even the Djoker, who would certainly have been fatigued from all those weeks of rest post Wimbledon - what with changing diapers and posting pics on twitter/facebook/instagram, and any other (wrong) place he might be looking for love - was compelled to succumb to his Hairness.
Though they've seen him do it before, and in all likelihood he'll do it again, the popularity of the most populargirl guy at the ball tournament (and as always, in the world of tennis) engulfed that poor Serbian boy who's allergic to something that everyone's heard of, but nobody really knows what it is, and just once, just once, wants to be revered as something other than the straight man. But I wonder if he isn't the stooge? After all the machinations and success, the clothes, the sense of humor, the talk shows, the dancing and the jokes...after all the jokes, for god's sake? It just takes one Lucy shaped shaped Swiss guy with a little talent and some high class friends, to pull that football away from his oncoming kick, sending him flailing in the air like a rag doll, and make it all for naught. In the end, in this tennis town (by which I mean planet Earth) there really isn't enough room for anyone not named Roger Federer.
And yet, like a good stooge, he continues to try...
Nadal sucked the air out of the (newly half-roofed) room at Flushing Meadows, by losing to some crazy Italian bloke, who himself was usurped by his own tender Juliette's unexpected victory and confusing retirement. Though her countrywoman slew the giant with a thousand cuts, she needed a 1,001 to complete the insanely unlikely story, and unfortunately it was one blow more than she had at her disposal. And while the rest of the tennis universe (and the celebrity one) pined openly for the coronation of a grand queen for the first time in 27 years, poor Nole toiled in near anonymity, bludgeoning and sliding his way through a field of paltry challengers, including the defending champion, who had nothing but the best of intentions and the worst of capacities. Try as they may, the immovable object had already met the irresistible force, and combined to form the 2015 Novak Djokovic - the most dominant tennis player in the open era.
Nevertheless, the final was highly anticipated - the one that we came so tantalizingly close to before King (for a day) Kei and (Cheech) Marin Cilic really overstayed their welcomes in last years final installment of the Grand Slam quadrilogy. Finally, we would have our real drama, with a palpable belief on the part of everyone except the one that needed it the most, that the grey men of the tennisocracy so desperately wanted and needed. Elmer Federer just may finally catch that rascally rabbit. And in that duel between the only two men that anyone truly believed had a shot at the title in the first place, we would finally have our unexpected result.
But the pantomime returned, the stooge slipped on the banana peel and the audience went home knowing nothing more than what they did at the start of the fortnight. The Reign of Terror that is the dominance of Novak Djokovic continues until he no longer possesses the means or the desire to occupy the throne. Though they bayed for his blood like sanguine plebeians at the Colosseum, the result only made more stark the contrast between good and evil, by the script of this running gag, that the game has been teasing us with for the last two years. No matter how desperately we want it to be so, nobody is beating Novak Djokovic in 2015 except maybe...well, Novak Djokovic.
Then, like Alexander, he travelled to edge of the known tennis world to that relic of yore in Shanghai, and (once again) conquered his tartan nemesis, leaving no doubt that the future is dark if your hopes for a respite from his tyranny would come in the form of a soft Glaswegian brogue. And after an inexplicable capitulation to the wrong Spaniard, Federer regained his composure in his backyard, and proceeded to painstakingly lumber through 3 sets to get the wrong result over the right Spaniard who despite his anno terribilis in 2015, still seemed genuinely convinced that he should have won the match, and was rightfully disappointed that he didn't. This time, Wily Coyote finally caught the rabbit, and he went (back) to London brimming with all the confidence that his newly expanded bubble reputation could afford.
There he cashed that Czech who has no business beating him, but seems to do just that with irritating frequency, before proceeding to sadistically set us up one last time. He beat Djokovic so handily in their round robin match, that the man felt compelled to state the obvious (much to Roger's chagrin) - despite assurances to the contrary, the match had been handed to Federer on a silver platter. It even smacked of sour grapes to some, but as the wheels started to come loose against a plucky Nishikori, then in a sloppy but tactical win over his countryman, the ugly truth began to take shape. Still, having experienced the dramatic manner in which Wawrinka bludgeoned his way to within 3 or 4 match points of a well deserved victory last year (ironically spurred on by the unseemly goading of Lady McFederer) this year's victory over his countryman gave us pause. Could this year's final be the crescendo that everyone expected last year?
It was anything but.
So there we were, at the World Tour Finals of 2015, expecting once again to be dazzled by the chance of a new generation of this rivalry, one that appeared less as pantomime than genuine drama. The intrigue ratcheted up by a startling result in the round robin, a catty long distance exchange over perceptions of this result, and on the back of a 3rd victory over the young king (as many as the rest of the world combined), the trap door once again opened at the final step, and enveloped not only Roger Federer, but the hopes of his fans, and any remaining doubt that in this now sad tale: his only victories are those that count less than the defeats. Once again, the straight man was set up for a comedic finish that left us crying with laughter, with the coup de grace coming in two uneventful sets...in London.
I am reminded of the final scene of "Pulp Fiction" when Jules Winnfield calmly explains to the gentle thief at his disposal, that through the comedy of errors that brought them to the denouement, he realized that his initial interpretation of his own preamble to murder (which is not actually in the bible, by the way) was faulty. In fact the biblical joke was on him: he was neither the righteous man navigating the iniquities of the selfish, nor the shepherd of the weak through the valley of darkness...he was in fact the tyranny of evil men.
I mention this because the entire year, thinking of what passes for a rivalry between Federer and Djokovic, I know it's a damn pantomime, but I've been trying to figure out which one is the stooge? Is it Federer, who like Indiana Jones, gets his hand on the golden idol, only to have it taken from him by his own personal Belloq? Or is it poor Nole, who every time he thinks he's going to break through and reach the pantheon of fandom, not only of the tennis world, but of tennis heaven, where he is revered with equally rapturous fervor as his own personal Zeus - only to be kicked down the side of Mount Olympus once again?
No, like Jules Winnfield, the joke is on us - the vein slapping addicts of sporting drama, desperate to see something other than what we know, in our heart of hearts, is always going to be the same result. We look around the poker table, trying, in vain, to figure out who the sucker is.
The truth is that as long as Nole wishes it so, it is us.
But the curious case of Nole and Rog in 2015 makes me wonder exactly which one of these two titans in the tennis kingdom of heaven is playing the stooge?
Watching the way, the closest thing Djokovic had to a rivalry this season, played itself out, I am struck by the near certainty with which both players play their part in the intrigue sans script, but no less assuredly than one might expect with one. Their first encounter in Dubai led some to believe that Federer was on the ascendency, that he had reversed whatever deleterious effect Djokovic's win at Wimbledon may have had on the ethereal realm of his confidence. But that dissipated so quickly, with his nearly complete and feckless capitulation at Indian Wells, that one couldn't help but wonder if the Djoker had, in fact, left something in the tank in the middle eastern desert, knowing full well that the Californian desert is the only one that really matters in the spring.
They didn't meet again until Wimbledon, and in a rematch of last year's epic final, this year's turned out to be infinitely less dramatic but no less compelling. Victory seemed certain almost from the first long rally that turned from Federer's favor to the Djoker's. And that sinking feeling that Fed-fans get when the Serb has decided he'd rather lose to anyone but their immortal beloved, would have moved from a subtle flutter in the stomach to a lead lump in the throat, as General Federer made his last stand in the 4th set at SW19. Somewhere the ghost of Sitting Bull was having the last laugh all over again. Though in some ways Roger was playing better than the year before, there was never really a moment in that match where the perception of a momentum change was anything more than wishful thinking.
Then came the revelation of the SABR (Sneak Attack by Roger) in Cincinnati - another of Roger's watering holes that's good for a laugh, particularly at the expense of the vast majority of his contemporaries. There he humiliated one player after another with not only this cheeky new "weapon", but also a brazen display of genetic superiority to those young affections that gape to be his heir. Feliciano Lopez profanely played the part of the stupefied stooge, who yet again thought he had a shot at his Bugs Bunny, only to discover that the proverbial rabbit out of the top hat was a combination of the new racquet, the new coach, the new backhand...and the old superiority that once again insisted on imposing itself. Even the Djoker, who would certainly have been fatigued from all those weeks of rest post Wimbledon - what with changing diapers and posting pics on twitter/facebook/instagram, and any other (wrong) place he might be looking for love - was compelled to succumb to his Hairness.
Though they've seen him do it before, and in all likelihood he'll do it again, the popularity of the most popular
And yet, like a good stooge, he continues to try...
Nadal sucked the air out of the (newly half-roofed) room at Flushing Meadows, by losing to some crazy Italian bloke, who himself was usurped by his own tender Juliette's unexpected victory and confusing retirement. Though her countrywoman slew the giant with a thousand cuts, she needed a 1,001 to complete the insanely unlikely story, and unfortunately it was one blow more than she had at her disposal. And while the rest of the tennis universe (and the celebrity one) pined openly for the coronation of a grand queen for the first time in 27 years, poor Nole toiled in near anonymity, bludgeoning and sliding his way through a field of paltry challengers, including the defending champion, who had nothing but the best of intentions and the worst of capacities. Try as they may, the immovable object had already met the irresistible force, and combined to form the 2015 Novak Djokovic - the most dominant tennis player in the open era.
Nevertheless, the final was highly anticipated - the one that we came so tantalizingly close to before King (for a day) Kei and (Cheech) Marin Cilic really overstayed their welcomes in last years final installment of the Grand Slam quadrilogy. Finally, we would have our real drama, with a palpable belief on the part of everyone except the one that needed it the most, that the grey men of the tennisocracy so desperately wanted and needed. Elmer Federer just may finally catch that rascally rabbit. And in that duel between the only two men that anyone truly believed had a shot at the title in the first place, we would finally have our unexpected result.
But the pantomime returned, the stooge slipped on the banana peel and the audience went home knowing nothing more than what they did at the start of the fortnight. The Reign of Terror that is the dominance of Novak Djokovic continues until he no longer possesses the means or the desire to occupy the throne. Though they bayed for his blood like sanguine plebeians at the Colosseum, the result only made more stark the contrast between good and evil, by the script of this running gag, that the game has been teasing us with for the last two years. No matter how desperately we want it to be so, nobody is beating Novak Djokovic in 2015 except maybe...well, Novak Djokovic.
Then, like Alexander, he travelled to edge of the known tennis world to that relic of yore in Shanghai, and (once again) conquered his tartan nemesis, leaving no doubt that the future is dark if your hopes for a respite from his tyranny would come in the form of a soft Glaswegian brogue. And after an inexplicable capitulation to the wrong Spaniard, Federer regained his composure in his backyard, and proceeded to painstakingly lumber through 3 sets to get the wrong result over the right Spaniard who despite his anno terribilis in 2015, still seemed genuinely convinced that he should have won the match, and was rightfully disappointed that he didn't. This time, Wily Coyote finally caught the rabbit, and he went (back) to London brimming with all the confidence that his newly expanded bubble reputation could afford.
There he cashed that Czech who has no business beating him, but seems to do just that with irritating frequency, before proceeding to sadistically set us up one last time. He beat Djokovic so handily in their round robin match, that the man felt compelled to state the obvious (much to Roger's chagrin) - despite assurances to the contrary, the match had been handed to Federer on a silver platter. It even smacked of sour grapes to some, but as the wheels started to come loose against a plucky Nishikori, then in a sloppy but tactical win over his countryman, the ugly truth began to take shape. Still, having experienced the dramatic manner in which Wawrinka bludgeoned his way to within 3 or 4 match points of a well deserved victory last year (ironically spurred on by the unseemly goading of Lady McFederer) this year's victory over his countryman gave us pause. Could this year's final be the crescendo that everyone expected last year?
It was anything but.
So there we were, at the World Tour Finals of 2015, expecting once again to be dazzled by the chance of a new generation of this rivalry, one that appeared less as pantomime than genuine drama. The intrigue ratcheted up by a startling result in the round robin, a catty long distance exchange over perceptions of this result, and on the back of a 3rd victory over the young king (as many as the rest of the world combined), the trap door once again opened at the final step, and enveloped not only Roger Federer, but the hopes of his fans, and any remaining doubt that in this now sad tale: his only victories are those that count less than the defeats. Once again, the straight man was set up for a comedic finish that left us crying with laughter, with the coup de grace coming in two uneventful sets...in London.
I am reminded of the final scene of "Pulp Fiction" when Jules Winnfield calmly explains to the gentle thief at his disposal, that through the comedy of errors that brought them to the denouement, he realized that his initial interpretation of his own preamble to murder (which is not actually in the bible, by the way) was faulty. In fact the biblical joke was on him: he was neither the righteous man navigating the iniquities of the selfish, nor the shepherd of the weak through the valley of darkness...he was in fact the tyranny of evil men.
I mention this because the entire year, thinking of what passes for a rivalry between Federer and Djokovic, I know it's a damn pantomime, but I've been trying to figure out which one is the stooge? Is it Federer, who like Indiana Jones, gets his hand on the golden idol, only to have it taken from him by his own personal Belloq? Or is it poor Nole, who every time he thinks he's going to break through and reach the pantheon of fandom, not only of the tennis world, but of tennis heaven, where he is revered with equally rapturous fervor as his own personal Zeus - only to be kicked down the side of Mount Olympus once again?
No, like Jules Winnfield, the joke is on us - the vein slapping addicts of sporting drama, desperate to see something other than what we know, in our heart of hearts, is always going to be the same result. We look around the poker table, trying, in vain, to figure out who the sucker is.
The truth is that as long as Nole wishes it so, it is us.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
"RAISE THE ROOF...PLEASE!"
He's been written off frequently since then, but every time he does something extraordinary he reminds us of just how special he is. Roger Federer is the greatest player of all time - the machinations required to question that, and withhold the only accolade left for him are so convoluted and illogical, there is really no sense in arguing it any further. Djokovic and Nadal could surpass him, and for all we know, there is some kid who just picked up a racquet yesterday who could put them all to shame. But as I write this, this conclusion is as obvious as it is irrelevant, because it could change at any time.
But it's been three years since he won a major, and his favorite tournament outside of Wimbledon and Halle, has once again bestowed upon his historically broad shoulders the status that he hasn't had since he last lifted the trophy at SW19: the favorite to win the US Open. The toughest tournament in tennis just got tougher for Djokovic, with the mystery malady to his arm and core that required treatment and could flare up at any time. Nishikori looked like a world beater at the Citi Open, when he went the distance in 3 of four matches, and defeated three of the biggest serves in the history of tennis with the quickest hands in the game - but he too has succumbed to the injury bug, and is a doubt for the Flushing. Nadal has never been seeded this low at the US Open...never. His form is as uncertain as the reasons behind his startling demise this year, and his chances at the US Open, while they can't be discounted, cannot rise to the level of favorite based on his form since he last lifted a major trophy. If he cannot win at Flushing in 2015, it will break a streak of 10 straight years lifting a major, and the first since 2009 that one of those didn't include Roland Garros.
There are floaters who could be problematic for Federer: despite defeating Andy Murray rather dismissively in the semi-final on his way to the title in Ohio, Federer has never been a sure thing against his Scottish rival. While he's gotten the better of him the last 3 times they've played, he won't have it all his own way if Murray's game can rise to the occasion the way it has when we least expected it. Interestingly, one of the defeats that Murray has suffered at the hands of his Swiss nemesis, was a humiliating capitulation at the World Tour Finals last year in London. There, Federer all but admitted he had taken pity on him and given him a game, which actually strikes me as worse than completing the emasculation, and Murray himself was left to apologize for his performance, such was the weight of the defeat. But interestingly this defeat, indoors at the O2, may give Murray his biggest worry if he is to face Federer this year under the new roof at Arthur Ashe.
To begin with, Federer may still be the best indoor player in the world. His last major was won with 4 of his 7 matches completed under the roof. Against Benneteau, Federer was down 2 sets to love before the roof was pulled over the court, and suddenly he found his way past the Frenchman who somehow, by some osmosis, took on the physical deficiencies that led to Federer imminent demise in the first place. Against Xavier Malisse, a player whom Nick Bolletieri once proclaimed to be one of the three most naturally talented players he'd ever encountered, Federer overturned a 2 sets to 1 lead to win in 5. Against Djokovic, the speed of play and resulting discombobulation put the result outside his reach almost from the outset. That match was played in its entirety under the roof, and the sure bounce and thin air through which Federer's serve found its mark repeatedly, facilitated the kind of cut and run, death by a thousands small cuts approach that Sugar Ray Roger generally requires to defeat his more powerful opponents.
In the final, under the beautiful sun of a beautiful 2:00pm start, Murray looked like he was going to blow Federer off the court, let alone win his maiden Wimbledon title. There, Federer frustratingly inched his way back into the second set, so when the roof emerged for the third set, the echo from the strike of his ball announced a change not only in conditions, but in momentum that he rode to his 17th major title. And it is these conditions, in which we might easily find ourselves at Arthur Ashe (where Federer is almost certain to play all of his matches), that give the old man who's given himself a few years yet, the best opportunity to reach 18 and put a little more distance between himself and those who would gape to be his heir in the GOAT debate.
The word from Patrick McEnroe, which Federer picked up on gleefully as he basked in the glory of his victory lap in Cincinnati, is that just the structure of the roof, even without the roof itself, has the added effect of making conditions more sedentary, more consistent, removing the toilet bowl effect of the vortex that frequently plagues the most important matches. The 2012 final was a battle of the elements, where Djokovic appeared to be by far the stronger player, but was confounded by the uncertain flight of the ball, mitigating the attacking elements of his game. Murray, on the other hand, whose natural instinct is to defend, and has to be forced to be more aggressive, gladly played the percentages for 2 sets until conditions settled sufficiently for the Djoker to threaten yet another 2 sets to love come back. In the end, Murray's staying power won the day and his first major, and laid the ground work for what had been his real target all along - Wimbledon 2013.
I am of the opinion that roofs at majors are not a good thing - one of the things that make the majors what they are is the consistency of conditions - including the elements. Rain and wind have no idea what year it is, and if it was good enough for Jimmy Connors, and Rod Laver and Pancho Gonzales and Bill Tilden, it should be good enough for the modern supplicants to their thrones in tennis heaven. But the US Open could ill afford to fall behind all three majors in this regard, not to mention the atrocious run of luck that saw so many men's finals pushed to Monday over the last 10 years, so the structure of the roof will make its appearance for the first time in 2015, with the roof itself to follow possibly next year.
So whether it's opened or closed, I think this more than any other condition gives Federer that one fleeting shot at glory that has escaped him for 3 years, and in all likelihood would be the last time he lifts the Swiss Flag on major soil in his storied career.
But it's been three years since he won a major, and his favorite tournament outside of Wimbledon and Halle, has once again bestowed upon his historically broad shoulders the status that he hasn't had since he last lifted the trophy at SW19: the favorite to win the US Open. The toughest tournament in tennis just got tougher for Djokovic, with the mystery malady to his arm and core that required treatment and could flare up at any time. Nishikori looked like a world beater at the Citi Open, when he went the distance in 3 of four matches, and defeated three of the biggest serves in the history of tennis with the quickest hands in the game - but he too has succumbed to the injury bug, and is a doubt for the Flushing. Nadal has never been seeded this low at the US Open...never. His form is as uncertain as the reasons behind his startling demise this year, and his chances at the US Open, while they can't be discounted, cannot rise to the level of favorite based on his form since he last lifted a major trophy. If he cannot win at Flushing in 2015, it will break a streak of 10 straight years lifting a major, and the first since 2009 that one of those didn't include Roland Garros.
There are floaters who could be problematic for Federer: despite defeating Andy Murray rather dismissively in the semi-final on his way to the title in Ohio, Federer has never been a sure thing against his Scottish rival. While he's gotten the better of him the last 3 times they've played, he won't have it all his own way if Murray's game can rise to the occasion the way it has when we least expected it. Interestingly, one of the defeats that Murray has suffered at the hands of his Swiss nemesis, was a humiliating capitulation at the World Tour Finals last year in London. There, Federer all but admitted he had taken pity on him and given him a game, which actually strikes me as worse than completing the emasculation, and Murray himself was left to apologize for his performance, such was the weight of the defeat. But interestingly this defeat, indoors at the O2, may give Murray his biggest worry if he is to face Federer this year under the new roof at Arthur Ashe.
To begin with, Federer may still be the best indoor player in the world. His last major was won with 4 of his 7 matches completed under the roof. Against Benneteau, Federer was down 2 sets to love before the roof was pulled over the court, and suddenly he found his way past the Frenchman who somehow, by some osmosis, took on the physical deficiencies that led to Federer imminent demise in the first place. Against Xavier Malisse, a player whom Nick Bolletieri once proclaimed to be one of the three most naturally talented players he'd ever encountered, Federer overturned a 2 sets to 1 lead to win in 5. Against Djokovic, the speed of play and resulting discombobulation put the result outside his reach almost from the outset. That match was played in its entirety under the roof, and the sure bounce and thin air through which Federer's serve found its mark repeatedly, facilitated the kind of cut and run, death by a thousands small cuts approach that Sugar Ray Roger generally requires to defeat his more powerful opponents.
In the final, under the beautiful sun of a beautiful 2:00pm start, Murray looked like he was going to blow Federer off the court, let alone win his maiden Wimbledon title. There, Federer frustratingly inched his way back into the second set, so when the roof emerged for the third set, the echo from the strike of his ball announced a change not only in conditions, but in momentum that he rode to his 17th major title. And it is these conditions, in which we might easily find ourselves at Arthur Ashe (where Federer is almost certain to play all of his matches), that give the old man who's given himself a few years yet, the best opportunity to reach 18 and put a little more distance between himself and those who would gape to be his heir in the GOAT debate.
The word from Patrick McEnroe, which Federer picked up on gleefully as he basked in the glory of his victory lap in Cincinnati, is that just the structure of the roof, even without the roof itself, has the added effect of making conditions more sedentary, more consistent, removing the toilet bowl effect of the vortex that frequently plagues the most important matches. The 2012 final was a battle of the elements, where Djokovic appeared to be by far the stronger player, but was confounded by the uncertain flight of the ball, mitigating the attacking elements of his game. Murray, on the other hand, whose natural instinct is to defend, and has to be forced to be more aggressive, gladly played the percentages for 2 sets until conditions settled sufficiently for the Djoker to threaten yet another 2 sets to love come back. In the end, Murray's staying power won the day and his first major, and laid the ground work for what had been his real target all along - Wimbledon 2013.
I am of the opinion that roofs at majors are not a good thing - one of the things that make the majors what they are is the consistency of conditions - including the elements. Rain and wind have no idea what year it is, and if it was good enough for Jimmy Connors, and Rod Laver and Pancho Gonzales and Bill Tilden, it should be good enough for the modern supplicants to their thrones in tennis heaven. But the US Open could ill afford to fall behind all three majors in this regard, not to mention the atrocious run of luck that saw so many men's finals pushed to Monday over the last 10 years, so the structure of the roof will make its appearance for the first time in 2015, with the roof itself to follow possibly next year.
So whether it's opened or closed, I think this more than any other condition gives Federer that one fleeting shot at glory that has escaped him for 3 years, and in all likelihood would be the last time he lifts the Swiss Flag on major soil in his storied career.
Monday, July 13, 2015
WIMBLEDON 2015 - CLOSE BUT NO CIGAR
So, what did we learn from the final this year? Not much, to be honest. Actually, the result this year, is really the result we should have had last year, where Federer was down a break and (miraculously) found a way to tie the match at two sets a piece. But this year there was no respite from either Djokovic's improved serve and his ever-present return, which neutralized his opponent's greatest strength yet again. There's been a little talk this year in the blogosphere about what is the key to success on grass, and I've always been of the opinion that the return is far more important.
If you needed any more evidence of that, just take a look at the way Djokovic broke the serve of Federer as frequently as he needed to, and how much trouble Federer had doing the same. Both of them have been strong in the serve throughout the tournament, Federer even longer, losing one service game out of the previous 96, before the final, and then proceeded to be broken 4 times today. So while it may seem that the serve is the key success factor, it was clear that with all of the failed break point opportunities on one side, and the successful ones on the other, and who wound up winning the title, it's clear that the key was the return.
The interesting thing is that while Federer appears to continue to be the best player in the world on grass (with one glaring exception) it is Djokovic's viability that I begin to question - after all, how long can he expect to remain as nimble and pliable as he is now? How long can we expect lightning quick responses with impeccable hand-eye coordination, the stretching out of points over and over again, and the impenetrable wall of defense that he's putting up these days? With the exception of his outlier Wimbledon title in 2012, Federer hasn't really won a major for 5 years, and before that he held three at a time and had made the last 7 major finals in a row - that was after making 10 finals in a row before that. Nadal was at the peak of his powers in 2010 and again in 2013, after taking 6 months off - since then, he's won a single major and hasn't made it past the quarterfinal round in his last 3.
So we come to Djokovic, and he appears to be at the peak of his powers, having made 14 major finals in the last 5 years, winning 8 of them, it would appear he is well on his way to the end of the rainbow, but it remains to be seen if there is a pot of gold, or leprechaun waiting for him. The end comes quickly, for those who choose it, and those who do not, and it's hard to imagine him doing much better than he's doing now, but not hard to imagine him doing much, much worse.
On the women's side, Wimbledon has confirmed the one thing that we've all known - Serena Williams is far and away, the best player in the world, and it remains to be seen if she will anoint herself the greatest player in the history of the game. But there is something that hasn't been brought to light, out of either deference or political correctness, that bears discussion: is the state of the women's game the equal of the men's game? And if not, does the palpable absence of reverence for her accomplishments result from one of the "isms" she is wont to claim, or simply an acknowledgement of the paucity of quality that surrounds her?
Gone are the great competitors, with games that had the capacity to challenge her on a regular basis (including her sister's) and left behind is a litany of weak clones with all the aesthetic appeal of her game, and absolutely none of her capacity. I don't usually subscribe to the weak era argument, but watching one paltry substitute after another play exactly the same way, only much much worse, for the last 3 years, has begun to make me wonder. In a quote often ascribed to Albert Einstein that, "...madness is defined as doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result." If so, women's professional tennis is a mad, mad world, indeed.
But on the men's side, the result of the final, was exactly what we should have expected from last year - with only the first and second set results reversed. According to Chris Evert, Federer did what he did last year with a bad back, and as such, with his ruthless dismissal of Andy Murray, there was an expectation that he would be able to get a different result this year. But as it turned out, the one who played better than last year was Djokovic, and the result was equally more in line with where they are in their match up.
Federer still depends heavily on the quality of his serve, and although it had been firing on all cylinders for the past 12 matches, in this one, the quality of Djokovic's return forced him just beyond his comfort zone, and whereas he was broken just once in 12 matches, he was broken 4 times in this one. One can question whether it was the chicken or the egg (did his serve falter or was it caused to falter by the quality of the return), but these are largely academic questions. As it stands, without his serve affording him 1-2 free points per game, the remainder of his arsenal is insufficient to trouble the best player in the world on his worst surface, where he now has 3 Wimbledon titles to his name, and has never lost a final.
This tournament had the potential to mean a lot of things to a lot of people - Nishikori petered out early with an injury, Dimitrov lost to an inspired Gasquet (with the loss looking better and better as he progressed through the draw), Raonic looked right at home on what should the best surface for his serve, and then promptly lost to the first person who could return it with any level of consistency. Gasquet looked like he would finally fulfill the potential of his talents, lauded on the covers of French magazines since he was 9 years old, but he too ran into the juggernaut that his Djokovic and was largely ineffective. His last victim, Stan Wawrinka, was on the verge of entering the pantheon of great players in world tennis, but he, perhaps prophetically, confirmed before the fact, that he is not at the level of those that precede him in prestige and success.
Murray was playing some of the best tennis of his career at Queens and then at Wimbledon, but even the totality of British support for him couldn't overturn the advantage that Federer has over him when it counts. It wasn't to be for him, nor his conqueror. And finally, Nick Kyrigos impressed us with the breadth of his personality, and the shallowness of his game, but in the end, he failed to leave much more of an impression than that of a petulant manchild with more bark than bite. Only time will tell if he can become something more than an Australian Monfils, and finally deliver to that country the major champion it so desperately seeks.
Tangentially, the one area that did surprise me was the extent to which ESPN took advantage of the considerable knowledge and analytical skills of Jason Goodall, who along with Robbie Koenig, is part of the internet's most insightful analyst team in the game, and has been for the last 10 years. But with the advent of hawkeye technology and statistics, to supplement his propensity to analyze the only thing that matters in tennis - the technical - Goodall put to shame the perfunctory pseudo-psychological drivel that normally passes for analysis in the studio. All the talk about pressure and confidence and belief sounds more like the expression of their own perceptions of what they felt as players, but brings us no closer to the answers to the question that we all (should) want to know: how the hell do they do it? It could be that Goodall's long overdue inclusion at the table, and his clear prowess at it, was the only surprise this year.
So in the end, the Championships at Wimbledon 2015 had the potential to make an impression on the tennis world, but once again failed to do so, and as such we learned little from this tournament that we didn't already know. Will the US Open do the same?
I have a feeling that just like the last 5 years of that tournament, the last major of the year will turn out the last surprise of the year as well - because this one sure didn't.
If you needed any more evidence of that, just take a look at the way Djokovic broke the serve of Federer as frequently as he needed to, and how much trouble Federer had doing the same. Both of them have been strong in the serve throughout the tournament, Federer even longer, losing one service game out of the previous 96, before the final, and then proceeded to be broken 4 times today. So while it may seem that the serve is the key success factor, it was clear that with all of the failed break point opportunities on one side, and the successful ones on the other, and who wound up winning the title, it's clear that the key was the return.
The interesting thing is that while Federer appears to continue to be the best player in the world on grass (with one glaring exception) it is Djokovic's viability that I begin to question - after all, how long can he expect to remain as nimble and pliable as he is now? How long can we expect lightning quick responses with impeccable hand-eye coordination, the stretching out of points over and over again, and the impenetrable wall of defense that he's putting up these days? With the exception of his outlier Wimbledon title in 2012, Federer hasn't really won a major for 5 years, and before that he held three at a time and had made the last 7 major finals in a row - that was after making 10 finals in a row before that. Nadal was at the peak of his powers in 2010 and again in 2013, after taking 6 months off - since then, he's won a single major and hasn't made it past the quarterfinal round in his last 3.
So we come to Djokovic, and he appears to be at the peak of his powers, having made 14 major finals in the last 5 years, winning 8 of them, it would appear he is well on his way to the end of the rainbow, but it remains to be seen if there is a pot of gold, or leprechaun waiting for him. The end comes quickly, for those who choose it, and those who do not, and it's hard to imagine him doing much better than he's doing now, but not hard to imagine him doing much, much worse.
On the women's side, Wimbledon has confirmed the one thing that we've all known - Serena Williams is far and away, the best player in the world, and it remains to be seen if she will anoint herself the greatest player in the history of the game. But there is something that hasn't been brought to light, out of either deference or political correctness, that bears discussion: is the state of the women's game the equal of the men's game? And if not, does the palpable absence of reverence for her accomplishments result from one of the "isms" she is wont to claim, or simply an acknowledgement of the paucity of quality that surrounds her?
Gone are the great competitors, with games that had the capacity to challenge her on a regular basis (including her sister's) and left behind is a litany of weak clones with all the aesthetic appeal of her game, and absolutely none of her capacity. I don't usually subscribe to the weak era argument, but watching one paltry substitute after another play exactly the same way, only much much worse, for the last 3 years, has begun to make me wonder. In a quote often ascribed to Albert Einstein that, "...madness is defined as doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result." If so, women's professional tennis is a mad, mad world, indeed.
But on the men's side, the result of the final, was exactly what we should have expected from last year - with only the first and second set results reversed. According to Chris Evert, Federer did what he did last year with a bad back, and as such, with his ruthless dismissal of Andy Murray, there was an expectation that he would be able to get a different result this year. But as it turned out, the one who played better than last year was Djokovic, and the result was equally more in line with where they are in their match up.
Federer still depends heavily on the quality of his serve, and although it had been firing on all cylinders for the past 12 matches, in this one, the quality of Djokovic's return forced him just beyond his comfort zone, and whereas he was broken just once in 12 matches, he was broken 4 times in this one. One can question whether it was the chicken or the egg (did his serve falter or was it caused to falter by the quality of the return), but these are largely academic questions. As it stands, without his serve affording him 1-2 free points per game, the remainder of his arsenal is insufficient to trouble the best player in the world on his worst surface, where he now has 3 Wimbledon titles to his name, and has never lost a final.
This tournament had the potential to mean a lot of things to a lot of people - Nishikori petered out early with an injury, Dimitrov lost to an inspired Gasquet (with the loss looking better and better as he progressed through the draw), Raonic looked right at home on what should the best surface for his serve, and then promptly lost to the first person who could return it with any level of consistency. Gasquet looked like he would finally fulfill the potential of his talents, lauded on the covers of French magazines since he was 9 years old, but he too ran into the juggernaut that his Djokovic and was largely ineffective. His last victim, Stan Wawrinka, was on the verge of entering the pantheon of great players in world tennis, but he, perhaps prophetically, confirmed before the fact, that he is not at the level of those that precede him in prestige and success.
Murray was playing some of the best tennis of his career at Queens and then at Wimbledon, but even the totality of British support for him couldn't overturn the advantage that Federer has over him when it counts. It wasn't to be for him, nor his conqueror. And finally, Nick Kyrigos impressed us with the breadth of his personality, and the shallowness of his game, but in the end, he failed to leave much more of an impression than that of a petulant manchild with more bark than bite. Only time will tell if he can become something more than an Australian Monfils, and finally deliver to that country the major champion it so desperately seeks.
Tangentially, the one area that did surprise me was the extent to which ESPN took advantage of the considerable knowledge and analytical skills of Jason Goodall, who along with Robbie Koenig, is part of the internet's most insightful analyst team in the game, and has been for the last 10 years. But with the advent of hawkeye technology and statistics, to supplement his propensity to analyze the only thing that matters in tennis - the technical - Goodall put to shame the perfunctory pseudo-psychological drivel that normally passes for analysis in the studio. All the talk about pressure and confidence and belief sounds more like the expression of their own perceptions of what they felt as players, but brings us no closer to the answers to the question that we all (should) want to know: how the hell do they do it? It could be that Goodall's long overdue inclusion at the table, and his clear prowess at it, was the only surprise this year.
So in the end, the Championships at Wimbledon 2015 had the potential to make an impression on the tennis world, but once again failed to do so, and as such we learned little from this tournament that we didn't already know. Will the US Open do the same?
I have a feeling that just like the last 5 years of that tournament, the last major of the year will turn out the last surprise of the year as well - because this one sure didn't.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
RAFA NADAL or CARLITO MORENO
It's been a rough treble of weeks for Rafa Nadal - actually, it's been a rough treble of months. First, he lost 6 times on clay in one season for the first time in 10 years, and he also dropped to his lowest ranking in 10 years. Aside from one shining moment in Buenos Aires, his season has, to say the least, been less than spectacular. He lost twice in a row to Fabio Fognini, once to Andy Murray, and for the third time this year, at Roland Garros, to Djokovic, who then proceeded to do him the indignity of losing the final to some Swiss guy. To be fair, he hasn't been himself this year, and one has impression that, as unthinkable as this was for a decade, this year the Djoker wasn't the only one who would have taken care of the King of Clay in Paris.
But something else is happening to him...something off the court. Quietly, but persistently, there seems to be a distinct questioning of something that heretofore was entirely off-limits: Rafa's sportsmanship. For a guy who always rubs out the mark, and always speaks glowingly of any player (that smiles at him in the locker room) there seems to have been this year, more than a few rumblings about some things which up to now the tennis world has simply accepted as the fleas that come with the dog. So lately, I'm not sure if Rafa Nadal would be better referred to as Carlito Moreno...or Charlie Brown in Spanish.
In his match with Jack Sock in the 4th round, a new statistic was revealed that I'd never seen before: they indicated he had gone over the time limit on 100% of his serves, as opposed to 2/3rds of the time for the American. There has also been a lot of concern about his very public request not to have Carlos Bernardes umpire any more of his matches - a request that reared it's ugly head (for no apparent reason) at Roland Garros this year, despite having been made in Brazil over 2 and 1/2 months earlier. It's hard to imagine that his dwindling fortunes this year did not contribute to a new found interest in things that would certainly have been swept under the rug in years past.
Now, I have always felt that Nadal does indeed gain a competitive advantage by taking so much time in between points, and this is no innocuous infringement, despite the humor of all the idiosyncrasies he he manages to cram into 30 seconds. After all, it must be very difficult to physically recover entirely after the long drawn out points he frequently plays, which is a key to his success over aggressive ball-striking opponents in particular. And I have always found it to be incredibly self-serving of him to react angrily to umpires correctly applying the rules and giving him time violation warnings.
In Madrid last year, he complained that it wasn't good for the show if they properly applied the rules - implying that his brand of tennis is more entertaining and as a result an exception should be made when he's played a particularly entertaining point. But this does nothing to assuage the concern for how frequently he goes over the limit after serving an ace, a service winner, or hitting an effective 1-2 combination. As such, I think it's perfectly appropriate for him to be cited more frequently for these clear violations. But this year, something ugly has happened, which I also think is incredibly inappropriate.
In Brazil, after accidentally putting his shorts on backwards, he served (and won) the first game of the set, then quickly ran to the sidelines to change his shorts back round the right way. It was a moment of levity, or so we thought, until Carlos Bernardes noticed that his opponent was ready to serve, and Nadal, having chosen the short changeover after the first game to correct his livery, wound up interrupting the server's pace, which is against the laws of the game, and he was promptly (and correctly) cited for a time violation. Nadal, incensed, complained intensely to no avail, and then publicly requested that Bernardes not do any more of his matches. It is at this point that I must draw the line, and say that Nadal has let himself and the game down with this request.
I understand that some players just don't get along with some umpires - it happens, and is perfectly normal - but the minute you start allowing players to determine which umpire will and won't do their matches, that for me is beyond the pale. Nadal shouldn't be picking and choosing umpires - I disagree with that entirely. That's not fair to the other players or the umpire. Also, he should have to publicly articulate his problem with an umpire so that it can be determined whether his problem is a reasonable one. A reasonable problem is that the umpire frequently makes overrules that are overturned by hawkeye. An unreasonable problem he might have, is simply that the umpire applies the rules properly. Bernardes isn't doing these matches because he's a chump, and as far as I can tell, Nadal's only problem is that Bernardes doesn't bow to the pressure to accommodate all his idiosyncracies - that is Nadal's problem, not the umpire's.
Some have argued that this sort of request shouldn't be made public - I disagree entirely with this as well. The last place these things should be addressed is behind closed doors, because that compromises the integrity of the officiating. What else is being said behind closed doors that may favor one player (who takes forever between points and gets illegal coaching and take dubious injury time-outs and argues when he is wrong on the application of the rules)? Is there to be a separate set of rules just for him that we don't know about? I think that's not on.
There will always be a problem when a player takes himself to be more important than the laws of the game he plays - when that happens, it becomes a competition tilted in his favor, which is particularly tragic when if he just shaped up and played within the rules, he might still be be just as successful. But when Nadal chooses to make a different set of rules for himself (and anyone who agrees with him) that's not fair to the game or his opponents, nor ultimately the viewers.
A player making the request, like Nadal did, is much less common, but is usually honored just like if the umpire had made the request. So much of being an effective chair umpire depends on having the confidence and respect of the players, and if a recent incident is in the back of a player’s mind, it can cause there to be a lack of confidence in the official before the match even starts. Our goal as officials is to give players a fair match without unnecessarily becoming part of the match, and you never want something from a past match to affect a future one—from either the player's or official's side. There are many qualified officials at all of these tournaments, so keeping one player away from a specific official, doesn't burden the officiating assignments too much and generally makes for a smoother match for all involved."
But something else is happening to him...something off the court. Quietly, but persistently, there seems to be a distinct questioning of something that heretofore was entirely off-limits: Rafa's sportsmanship. For a guy who always rubs out the mark, and always speaks glowingly of any player (that smiles at him in the locker room) there seems to have been this year, more than a few rumblings about some things which up to now the tennis world has simply accepted as the fleas that come with the dog. So lately, I'm not sure if Rafa Nadal would be better referred to as Carlito Moreno...or Charlie Brown in Spanish.
In his match with Jack Sock in the 4th round, a new statistic was revealed that I'd never seen before: they indicated he had gone over the time limit on 100% of his serves, as opposed to 2/3rds of the time for the American. There has also been a lot of concern about his very public request not to have Carlos Bernardes umpire any more of his matches - a request that reared it's ugly head (for no apparent reason) at Roland Garros this year, despite having been made in Brazil over 2 and 1/2 months earlier. It's hard to imagine that his dwindling fortunes this year did not contribute to a new found interest in things that would certainly have been swept under the rug in years past.
Now, I have always felt that Nadal does indeed gain a competitive advantage by taking so much time in between points, and this is no innocuous infringement, despite the humor of all the idiosyncrasies he he manages to cram into 30 seconds. After all, it must be very difficult to physically recover entirely after the long drawn out points he frequently plays, which is a key to his success over aggressive ball-striking opponents in particular. And I have always found it to be incredibly self-serving of him to react angrily to umpires correctly applying the rules and giving him time violation warnings.
In Madrid last year, he complained that it wasn't good for the show if they properly applied the rules - implying that his brand of tennis is more entertaining and as a result an exception should be made when he's played a particularly entertaining point. But this does nothing to assuage the concern for how frequently he goes over the limit after serving an ace, a service winner, or hitting an effective 1-2 combination. As such, I think it's perfectly appropriate for him to be cited more frequently for these clear violations. But this year, something ugly has happened, which I also think is incredibly inappropriate.
In Brazil, after accidentally putting his shorts on backwards, he served (and won) the first game of the set, then quickly ran to the sidelines to change his shorts back round the right way. It was a moment of levity, or so we thought, until Carlos Bernardes noticed that his opponent was ready to serve, and Nadal, having chosen the short changeover after the first game to correct his livery, wound up interrupting the server's pace, which is against the laws of the game, and he was promptly (and correctly) cited for a time violation. Nadal, incensed, complained intensely to no avail, and then publicly requested that Bernardes not do any more of his matches. It is at this point that I must draw the line, and say that Nadal has let himself and the game down with this request.
I understand that some players just don't get along with some umpires - it happens, and is perfectly normal - but the minute you start allowing players to determine which umpire will and won't do their matches, that for me is beyond the pale. Nadal shouldn't be picking and choosing umpires - I disagree with that entirely. That's not fair to the other players or the umpire. Also, he should have to publicly articulate his problem with an umpire so that it can be determined whether his problem is a reasonable one. A reasonable problem is that the umpire frequently makes overrules that are overturned by hawkeye. An unreasonable problem he might have, is simply that the umpire applies the rules properly. Bernardes isn't doing these matches because he's a chump, and as far as I can tell, Nadal's only problem is that Bernardes doesn't bow to the pressure to accommodate all his idiosyncracies - that is Nadal's problem, not the umpire's.
Some have argued that this sort of request shouldn't be made public - I disagree entirely with this as well. The last place these things should be addressed is behind closed doors, because that compromises the integrity of the officiating. What else is being said behind closed doors that may favor one player (who takes forever between points and gets illegal coaching and take dubious injury time-outs and argues when he is wrong on the application of the rules)? Is there to be a separate set of rules just for him that we don't know about? I think that's not on.
There will always be a problem when a player takes himself to be more important than the laws of the game he plays - when that happens, it becomes a competition tilted in his favor, which is particularly tragic when if he just shaped up and played within the rules, he might still be be just as successful. But when Nadal chooses to make a different set of rules for himself (and anyone who agrees with him) that's not fair to the game or his opponents, nor ultimately the viewers.
Now, in response to this controversy, Jon Wertheim posted the following letter from an anonymous umpire, who attempted to play down the ghastliness of all of this:
"I found it interesting that it has gotten so much attention as this situation is relatively common through all levels of tennis. All chair umpires, from college through the futures, challengers and ATP/WTA have a “no list” of players whose matches they don’t want to officiate, generally due to an issue that arose in a recent match. Most of the time umpires will only put a player on the list for a few weeks to give tensions time to defuse—in rare circumstances, perhaps after repeated issues, it might be permanent. This happens all the time, and most of the time the player doesn’t even know about it.
A player making the request, like Nadal did, is much less common, but is usually honored just like if the umpire had made the request. So much of being an effective chair umpire depends on having the confidence and respect of the players, and if a recent incident is in the back of a player’s mind, it can cause there to be a lack of confidence in the official before the match even starts. Our goal as officials is to give players a fair match without unnecessarily becoming part of the match, and you never want something from a past match to affect a future one—from either the player's or official's side. There are many qualified officials at all of these tournaments, so keeping one player away from a specific official, doesn't burden the officiating assignments too much and generally makes for a smoother match for all involved."
That's an email from an (anonymous) umpire expressing an opinion that because this goes on all the time from umpires, it should elicit no concern when a player does the same. My opinion is that this is illogical, and that he has compared two unlike things - if an umpire doesn't want to do a match, he loses the match. If a player doesn't want an umpire to do his match he too should lose the match. That is logically consistent. If an umpire said "find me another player" we would say that is ridiculous, and we should say the same about a player saying, "find me another umpire".
I also find it disconcerting that if this kind of illogical and unjust request is accepted behind closed doors, it begs the question, what else is accepted behind closed doors? More importantly, if Nadal or any other player who wants to exclude certain officials from their matches, is truly justified, they should make the request publicly. In this I applaud Nadal's openness, just not his specific request, which is, in my opinion, completely unjust.
You can't have your cake and eat it too - you can't publicly make an (unjust) request and then not expect to be publicly called to task for it. By the same token, you can't admit that private agreements are made to affect the assignment of officials based on anything other than their quality as an official, and then insist on your indignation when the logical question of "what else is decided (in private) that is not based on merit, but rather on convenience, that we don't know about" is asked. I mean, you can, but it'd be ridiculous to do so.
As a paying fan, I would like to be in a position to determine for myself whether this constitutes a reason to doubt the integrity of the officiating. If Bernardes applies the rules properly (as far as I or anyone else watching tennis can tell - and this would include his colleagues and the tournament referees who assign umpires) then what gives Nadal the right to exclude him from his matches? And if the only reason is because he does his job properly, that's a damning commentary on Nadal, not Bernardes.
I also find it disconcerting that if this kind of illogical and unjust request is accepted behind closed doors, it begs the question, what else is accepted behind closed doors? More importantly, if Nadal or any other player who wants to exclude certain officials from their matches, is truly justified, they should make the request publicly. In this I applaud Nadal's openness, just not his specific request, which is, in my opinion, completely unjust.
You can't have your cake and eat it too - you can't publicly make an (unjust) request and then not expect to be publicly called to task for it. By the same token, you can't admit that private agreements are made to affect the assignment of officials based on anything other than their quality as an official, and then insist on your indignation when the logical question of "what else is decided (in private) that is not based on merit, but rather on convenience, that we don't know about" is asked. I mean, you can, but it'd be ridiculous to do so.
As a paying fan, I would like to be in a position to determine for myself whether this constitutes a reason to doubt the integrity of the officiating. If Bernardes applies the rules properly (as far as I or anyone else watching tennis can tell - and this would include his colleagues and the tournament referees who assign umpires) then what gives Nadal the right to exclude him from his matches? And if the only reason is because he does his job properly, that's a damning commentary on Nadal, not Bernardes.
In Brazil Nadal made it clear that he feels Bernardes puts more pressure on him than any other umpire. But Bernardes has not been cited for any faulty judgment or application of the rules. It could be argued (which I believe is the case) that Bernardes applies the rules more stringently to Nadal than other umpires do, but should he be excluded for applying the rules - is this what passes for a good reason to exclude the umpire? Finally, what is entirely absent is the any citation of a rule that any player can refuse any umpire. That it happens (and I'm sure it does) is neither proof that it is legal or fair.
I have enormous respect for Rafael Nadal and what he's done in the game of tennis, but it has to be said that what he has achieved, he has achieved with some under the radar, but persistent, cheating. It's always been perceived as an innocuous kind of cheating, but the more you look at what he's done in the past, not only is the criticism of him to be expected, so too, in my opinion, should the slight diminution in respect for him that has resulted from all of this. After all, he has received illegal coaching all his career, and neither he nor his Uncle even try to hide or deny it. That is, in my opinion, not on. He has frequently taken inexplicable injury time-outs in the past, when things weren't going his way, and last year that caught up to him in Australian Open final. And finally, he persistently and knowingly has taken well more than the allotted time limit between points (which is cheating) and has argued vociferously against it, to the extent that he has now banned an umpire for simply applying this rule.
He'll probably get out of this rut one way or another, because he's too great a player to be on the outside looking in for too long...but at least the "real" Charlie Brown's disrespect was entirely undeserved.
I am no longer convinced that this is the case with Carlito Moreno.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)