HU'S SEEDED FIRST?

In honor of the Li Na being named Ambassador of the tournament in Wuhan this week, the following is an adaptation of Abbott and Costello's classic comedy routine "Who's On First", with Roger and Rafa discussing a hypothetical impending trip to Beijing.

Roger: Well, Rafa, I'm going to Beijing with you.

Rafa: That's a shame.

Roger:  It's okay, I'm not playing, but Mercedes asked me to promote some of the Asian players in the qualifiers.

Rafa:  Bueno Roger, if you are doing promotion of Asian players, you must know all the names.

Roger: I certainly do.

Rafa:  Well, I never meet those guy, so you tell me the names, and then I know who is in the draw.

Roger:  Oh, I'll tell you their names, Rafa, but strange as it may seem, the Asians have some very different names.

Rafa:  Funny names?

Roger:  Short names, confusing names....

Rafa: Like Long Duc Dong?

Roger: Long Duc Dong.

Rafa: Fu Man Chu?

Roger: Fu Man Chu.

Rafa:  And his "primo gordito"?

Roger: Chubby cousin?

Rafa: Chow Hi Fat?

Roger:  Chow Hi Fat! Oh, I see...well, let's see.  In the qualifying draw we have, "Hu" seeded 1st, "Yu" seeded 2nd, "Ngo" 3rd seed, "Mi" 4th seed.....

Rafa:  Roger - this is what I want to know.

Roger:  I said, "Hu" seeded 1st, "Yu" seeded 2nd, "Ngo" 3rd seed, "Mi" 4th seed...

Rafa: Roger...you are coming to Beijing?

Roger: Yes.

Rafa:  You are promoting the Asians?

Roger: Yes.

Rafa:  But, you don't know their names?

Roger: I certainly should.

Rafa: Then who's seeded 1st?

Roger: Yes.

Rafa:  I mean the #1 seed.

Roger: Hu.

Rafa: The #1 seed!

Roger: Hu!

Rafa: The top seed!

Roger:  Hu is the top seed!

Rafa:  Who?!

Roger:  That's the man's name!

Rafa: That's who's name?

Roger: Yes.

Rafa:  You don't want to tell me?

Roger:  I'm telling you his name!

Rafa: Who's name?

Roger: Yes.

...pause....

Rafa:  Roger, did you read the draw sheet?

Roger:  Of course I read the draw sheet.

Rafa:  Then what's the first name in the draw?

Roger: The first name in the draw is Hu.

Rafa: I'm asking YOU the first name in the draw.

Roger: Yu is the last name in the draw - the 2nd seed is always at the bottom.

Rafa: Who's the last man in the draw?

Roger: Ah-ah...he's the first.

Rafa:  No, no, no...

Roger: Oh, he's the 3rd seed.

Rafa:  Que?

Roger:  The 3rd seed: Ngo.

Rafa: No - no the 3rd seed.

Roger:  Yes he is.

Rafa:  Who is?

Roger:  Ah-ah...he's the top seed.

...pause...

Rafa:    All I want to know is the first man on the draw sheet.

Roger: Hu is.

Rafa:  Why you are asking me?

Roger: Mi?  I'm not asking Mi, I'm telling you.

Rafa:  You are telling me?

Roger:  Why would I tell Mi?  Mi is in the bottom half of the draw.

Rafa:  You are in who's half of the draw?

Roger:  I'm not playing, I'm just doing promos.

Rafa:   Espera, espera...why would Roger Federer, be in the qualifiers?

Roger: I'm not in the qualifiers.

Rafa: Then who's seeded 1st?

Roger: That's right.

Rafa: Vale...

Roger: Okay...

....pause...

Rafa:  Venga, Roger - forget the top 2 seeds...forget them - what about the 3rd seed?

Roger: What about him?

Rafa:  Who is seeded 3rd?

Roger:  Why do you insist on making Hu the 3rd seed?

Rafa:  No, no, no.

Roger: Right!

Rafa:  Roger...the name of the 3rd seed, no?

Roger:  That's it.

Rafa:  What's it?

Roger:  The name of the 3rd seed.

Rafa: No, no, no...

Roger:  That's right!

Rafa:  I don't even know what I'm talking about!  Dios mio....what about the 2nd seed?

Roger:  The second seed is Yu!

Rafa:  I am in the qualies?

Roger:  Why the hell would Rafa Nadal be in the qualies?

Rafa:  Is what I'm asking YOU!

Roger:  Go ahead and ask him, but I'm sure he doesn't know.

Rafa:  Who doesn't know?

Roger: Him either.

Rafa: This is unbelievable, no?

Roger:  Ngo? He's seeded 3rd.

Rafa:  Bueno, bueno...let's talk about the 3rd seed and don't change the subject!

Roger: The 3rd seed?  Ngo.

Rafa:  Yes, the 3rd seed.

Roger:  Ngo!

Rafa:  You don't want to tell me the 3rd seed?

Roger: I told you already!

Rafa: No?

Roger:  That's right.

Rafa:  Que "right"?

Roger:  The 3rd seed's name - Ngo.

Rafa:  Why you don't want to tell me who's the 3rd seed?

Roger:  Now listen, Hu is not the 3rd seed...

Rafa:  I break your balls if you tell me who's the #1 seed!

Roger: Take it easy chico...I told you their names are confusing.

Rafa: Seguro!  I hope the other Asian names aren't so complicated.

...pause...

Roger:  The other Asians - like that Vietnamese player they just signed?

Rafa: When?

Roger:  That's right Nguyen.

Rafa: I don't know when.

Roger:  Neither do I, but it's a good thing they signed him, because the 1st Vietnamese player withdrew with an injury.

Rafa:  Somebody dropped out of the draw?  Since when?

Roger: He's still in the draw:  another Vietnamese player withdrew, that's why they signed him.

Rafa:  They signed who?

Roger: Not Hu; Nguyen.

Rafa:  Since when they signed who?

Roger:  They're both still in the draw!  I'm talking about the other Vietnamese player.

Rafa:  They signed another Vietnamese player?

Roger:  Yes!

Rafa:  When?

Roger:  Exactly!

....pause...

Rafa: Por Dios - dame paciencia...Roger!  If you don't give me a straight answer....(shaking his hand)

Roger:  Mi wants a straight answer?  All he has to do is ask.

Rafa:  Whoever he is, If he asks you, he never get a straight answer.

Roger:  Sure he will, he's in the qualies too.

Rafa:  Who's in the qualies?

Roger:  Yes, him too.

Rafa:   Wait a minute...Roger...you are telling me that the name of the #1 seed is Hu?

Roger:  For the last 10 minutes, yes...

Rafa:  And the 2nd seed is Yu?

Roger:  I told you, I'm not in the tournament - I'm just doing promos.

Rafa:  No, no, no

Roger:  He's...

Rafa: ...the 3rd seed, I got it, I got it.

Roger:  Perfect - now you can do some promo work too.

Rafa:  I guess...by the way, did you see the PR guy anywhere?

Roger:  Yes, he's Sum Yung Gi.

Rafa:  Si, they start in the business very early;  but do you know him?

Roger:  Yes, of course:  he's Sum Yung Gi

Rafa:  We established that!  But I want to know:  have you seen him today?

Roger:  Yes!  Didn't you meet him earlier?

Rafa: No?  I never met him.

Roger: I haven't either, but I hear he's a hell of a player, that's why they seeded him 3rd.

Rafa:  I'm talking about the PR guy?  Do you know him?

Roger:  Yes, he's Sum Yung Gi.

Rafa:  Claro, he's young!  Is professional tennis - nothing but young guys around here!

Roger:  Yeah, I guess that is a common name in Beijing.

Rafa:  What is the common name?

Roger:  SUM...YUNG...GI!

Rafa:  Basta con este mierda!  I go to see the women's draw.

Roger: Okay, okay......Shi's all over that one...

Rafa proceeds to slap Roger silly as they exit stage left...

CAN THE DJOKER CARRY TENNIS?

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.", 

- Henry IV, Part 2 by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene I)

First, it was the big story that wasn't - Serena Williams, poised to win her record tying 22nd major and the calendar slam, suffered a collosal case of nerves and lost a match that nobody thought she could.  ESPN did their best to turn the 2015 US Open into the Serena Show, but somebody forgot to tell Roberta Vinci, and instead of her coronation, we got a whole lot of very disappointed celebrities.

Then the Australian Open came with an attachment:  a story on BuzzFeed about the continuing problem of match-fixing and the (intentionally) dormant effort on the part of tennis authorities to address it.  There was no specific evidence, other than ill-defined, poorly explained statistical analysis that points to the likelihood of match-fixing, or compromised betting patterns.  But the stain is not easily removed, and in many ways, we're all still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Next Serena Williams lost the Australian Open final, and the Indian Wells finals - two tournaments that you probably couldn't have placed a bet on her losing if you wanted to.  One title lost to Angelique Kerber, who has since collapsed under the weight of expectation, and the other to Victoria Azarenka, who seems to have shed some of the excess baggage she'd picked up since winning the Australian Open in 2013.  Suddenly Serena doesn't seem so invincible, and the running story that isn't a story, makes another appearance at Roland Garros before genuine questions will start to be asked, which at the moment, everyone is too afraid to ask:  what's wrong with Serena?

Then Maria Sharapova, the most marketable female athlete in the world, a woman who is reviled and admired the world over, in equal measures, for looking like a prom queen who happens to play tennis, failed a drugs test?  There had been, for years, unjustified suspicion of Serena Williams, because...well..she looks like Serena Williams.  After all, it was Andy Roddick who joked that she was benching small dump trucks at age 11, so it shouldn't really come as any surprise that she looks like this today.  That's why it was all the more shocking that of these two racquet toting divas, the one snared in a drugs fiasco was Her Siberianess.  What the penalty will be for her failed drugs test, which she has neither disputed, nor satisfactorily explained to any and all, is as yet unknown.  But that has been a story that is just waiting in the wings to come back and haunt the game.  

Mark this space...

Rafa Nadal continues to struggle, despite making some progress in Indian Wells before losing tamely to his nemesis.  He has no titles in 2016, his last title was on clay in Hamburg after Wimbledon, and his spring clay court career victory lap around South America has elicited no silverware to bite, and little confidence on the part of his admirers around the world.  Most assume that his best bet to win his last another major will be at Roland Garros this year, but few would count on that given that somebody out there appears to be the best player in the world on the surface, and incredibly he is not from Spain.  If you're holding your breath for Nadal to add to his tally of 14 of the crowned jewels in the kingdom of tennis heaven, I would suggest you grab a canister of oxygen until you can find someone else to support.

Andy Murray and Stan Wawrinka are still in the mix; two-time winners at the two majors that the other has not won (together they make an "other slam"...as in someone other than the real big 3).  But neither of them has exactly been burning down the house lately.  To be fair to Wawrinka, he is still the holder of the title at Roland Garros, but we see how heavy was the crown in Australia last year when the third installment of his Aussie trilogy went the way of God's chosen one.  Does anyone get the feeling that Wawrinka's best chance to win a major is to surprise everyone - not the least of whom, himself - lest he crumble under the immeasurable pressure to prove himself anew to the history of the game?  Don't look now, but Murray hasn't won a major in almost 3 years - it doesn't sound like much, until you remember that the likes of John McEnroe, Mats Wilander didn't win any majors after the calendar ticked off it's 365th day from their last.  Lendl and Edberg, by far greater champions than His Irascibleness, didn't go more than 2 years before adding to their major tallies, once they'd figured out how to win a big one...any big one.

Finally, after doing his best Serbian disappearing act 4 times on the trot, Roger Federer, who hasn't won a major in 4 years (that's four years), just had...wait for it...surgery on his knee (cue the melodramatic gasp and clutching of the chest).  Now that doesn't seem like much to shake a stick at, but I can tell you that one of the reasons the tennis world has continued to delude itself into believing that what passes itself off as a rivalry still walks like a duck, is that we are yet to be convinced that what we're witnessing is anything other than the dominance of one at the expense of the other.  We've done so because the unique combination of Federer's athletic prowess appears to persist, but for one glaring exception.  Not so much anymore, following a surgery that for a younger man would be difficult to recover from - let alone a man old enough to be his drunk uncle who just doesn't know when to quit.

When Ray Moore fell on his sword (in more ways than one) I was of the opinion that his comment was not directed at women playing professional tennis, so much as it was a diatribe against the leadership (or the lack thereof) at the WTA.  And when he said that the women ought to be down on their knees thanking God that "Fedal" are still making a nuisance of themselves, I tended to agree with him, or at least accept the proposition as a disconcerting one.  But something just occurred to me that ought to be way more disconcerting for the whole game of tennis, let alone the WTA:  exactly who will be minding the store when the Roger & Rafa show takes a permanent hiatus?

That's where the really scary question comes:  can Novak Djokovic carry tennis?  

It's not a scary proposition because of anything he has done...well, not exactly.  But it's not as if the man isn't playing tennis at the highest level it's ever been played.  He has, after all, contested 5 major finals in a row, won 4 of them - actually he has gone around the world and basically won everything he's entered since January of 2015.  He still makes jokes, he's still the nicest guy you could ever hope to meet, the kind of guy that would help you change a tire in the snow...literally.  He'll do any talk show you can think of, in any language you can imagine, including a couple that you can't.  He's a young, handsome 28 year old newlywed father, his parents (with fleeting exceptions) have largely removed the target from his back, his coach has shockingly done a job that I didn't think he had in him, and there are even jokes being made about the inevitability of his victories on that bloody 36 by 72 foot rectangle with the funny lines?

So why can't he carry tennis?

Is it a conspiracy against him?  Are the grey men of tennis looking down their noses at him, like the jury on Krypton, passing judgment on General Zod?  Has the (not yet) dominant PR machine of Roger Federer, Tony Godsick and Team8 laid the groundwork for his denial from the kingdom of Mount Rush(the net)more?  Does his messianic father still get under people's skin with one idiotic proclamation after another - causing even his own son to distance himself from the craziest of the crazy things he says?  Does he himself put his foot in his mouth, when a more nuanced, more diplomatic, more neutral and...dare I say...more Swiss approach would serve him better? 

My theory is this:  no single star can carry tennis.  It has never been the case that one single player can carry the game of tennis to greater heights, nor bear the weight of the tennis world on his shoulders like a racquet wielding Atlas.  

Big Bill Tilden had little Bill Johnston, Budge had von Cramm, Gonzales had Hoad, Laver had Rosewall, Billie Jean had Margaret Court, Chrissie had Martina, Connors had Borg, Borg had McEnroe, Becker had Edberg, Agassi had Sampras, Federer had Nadal.

But who gapes for the crown of Novak Djokovic?  Competitively, he has in the past been the chaser, and he has had rivalries that are currently diluted where an unjust escape and one competitive set in two played constitutes a good week, but can he alone carry the sport as it appears he may have to?  There is a myth out there that pencil pushers, marketing mavens and sporting bureaucrats can steward the game to success.  That there's some magic formula out there of sex, jokes, celebrity friends and fireworks that can make the game something that it isn't in spite of what it is.  But I have my doubts...I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't a little like the way the real star of the Star Trek franchise isn't James T. Kirk, or Jean-Luc Picard, or Kathryn Janeway...the real star is the Starship Enterprise.  

It survived years of going where no man has gone before, several captains, battles with Klingons and the Borg, and everything in between, and even in another space/time continuum, it survives.  And the guys Ray Moore and the rest of us are looking for to steer the ship are a bit like the passengers on the Enterprise - they may know where all the buttons are, but their fate is really in her hands.

Well, the rivalries, not the players, are the enterprise.  Try as we may to heap all the credit and responsibility on those at the head of the table, it's the ones at the foot of the table that make the ship sail.  And as it stands today, Novak Djokovic is alone at the top of the pyramid competitively, and may also find himself alone figuratively as well.  The throne is an enchantress for the boy who would be king, but as the saying goes:  be careful what you wish for.  There is an old Czech joke about an old man chasing a beautiful and seductive young woman being like a dog chasing a mail truck - even if he catches it, he doesn't have the first damn clue how to drive.  

And with Djokovic's missteps at Indian Wells taking over the news cycle, and subsequent apology and brief PR campaign tour to make up for it, there have to be more than a few people in the halls of tennis' bureaucracy that are wondering if Ray Moore's comments about the WTA could just as well apply to the ATP?  The truth is, they are no more responsible for the success of the game than he is, but the welcome perception, and indeed the unjust expectation, that Novak Djokovic will be, now that he is by far the best player on the planet (male or female), could prove a crown too heavy for his head.

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:

'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 

"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.

THANK YOU CITI OPEN - THE REAL BERNARD TOMIC 2015

If you google him, you'll read about a couple of school boy stunts that, if he'd never picked up a tennis racquet, you'd think little of it.  And if you search him on YouTube, the first clip you'll see is the now infamous one where he asks the umpire to ask his father to leave the court, and then thanks the umpire when he gives him a code violation for coaching.  Now there are about 1,000 reasons why that may be of interest to you, but if you've bothered to search clips of him I would implore you to go to the second clip - the one of his best points.  In it you'll see an array of shots, point constructions and a display of some of the best hands in tennis, against some of the best players in the world, over and over again.

This is the real Bernard Tomic - the player who won the Australian Open Juniors when he was 15 years old (yes 15 years old) and the US Open Juniors when he was 16 years old.  The Bernard Tomic that won Sydney in 2013, Bogota in 2014 and again in 2015.  The Sydney title was especially encouraging given its proximity to the Australian Open, and much was was expected of him as a result, but unfortunately for him he ran in to Roger Federer for the second year in a row, and failed to progress beyond the 3rd round at his home major.  Next year, he had the great fortune of facing Rafa Nadal at his home major (for those of you in the blogosphere that still believe draws are fixed).

So what is it about his game that has brought him his results?  His serve is good, but not overwhelmingly so, his forehand can be hit with venom, but is as often hit inside out with side-spin and while equally awkward and effective, nobody would suggest that it is the best in the world.  While his backhand is this most reliable shot, both the flat double-hander and the slice (which he has indicated is his favorite shot) it doesn't always have the pace that one would associate with a weapon.  He volleys well, and has a solid return of serve when he's in the mood, but none of these tools in his kit would appear to be one that could deliver the coup de grace at any given moment in a point.

That's because Bernard Tomic's greatest strength is his hands - with supple touch, and an ability to both inject and extract pace from the rally, his hands give Tomic a breadth of capability on the ball that eludes the vast majority of his contemporaries.  While their games are based on brawn and overwhelming force, Tomic's is based on guile, dexterity and improvisational acumen, reserved for only the most talented of players.  And because talent can so frequently be overcome by brute force, Tomic's greatest strength often appears to be insufficient against those players least likely to surpass what I belief will be an outstanding professional career.

The key to tennis is technique, and although Tomic stands at nearly 6'5", it is not physicality that strikes you when you watch him play, it is sheer ball striking ability that conjures angles, spins, pace and delivery that is so unique, it can appear awkward when not firing on all cylinders.  I am of the opinion that this is the reason he is so frequently accused of giving less than his best effort.  He is, in my opinion, no more or less committed and any other 22-year old (yes, he's only 22) that finds himself seeded at the majors.  But the impression left by his technically sensitive game, is conflation of a lack of freneticism with a lack of effort - the two couldn't be less mutually inclusive.  Just because you hoot and holler on every stroke, groaning like the pard, sweat like a mule, and slip and slide around the court like you're playing on linoleum, doesn't mean you're giving your best effort.  I mean, what about the effort of that "muscle" that sits three feet above your ass?

For anyone with the opportunity to watch Bernard Tomic play in person, the absence of such outward displays does not connote an absence intent.  After all, how can you measure how hard a player is thinking?  And if you're not putting to best use your understanding of how to hit a tennis ball, how to set up a point, how to disrupt your opponent, and how to use the tools available to you in the most effective way, who's to say you're giving your best effort?

The thing I like the most about Tomic's game is his ability to improvise - no player on tour, with the exception of perhaps Roger Federer, appears to come up with unforeseen ways to win a point than him.  It would be easy for him to rely on his physical qualities, which are formidable, but Tomic does what so many players on tour today seem unwilling or unable to do - every time he plays he teaches you something new.  He teaches you that you can be just as effective with side spin as with top, that you don't have to slice cross court every time, that you don't have to come over the forehand every time and still beat some of the best players you play.  As a matter of fact, if Tomic teaches us anything about tennis, it's that sometimes the best thing you can do to win a point is the exact opposite of what your opponent wants you to do.  And to do that takes skill, intelligence, and a commitment to a tactical approach that could be more effective, but will deliver you to a great deal of criticism if it isn't - that takes a kind of courage of conviction that tactics and technique are the key to success in tennis.

Tomic doesn't get stuck in cross court rallies with players who are better at that than he is, and in doing so, straight away, he takes away a strength of 90% of his opponents.  He is also capable of hitting inside out from either wing, frequently with sidespin causing his ball to trail away from his opponent, having the added effect of disrupting the optimal footwork and point of contact for his opponent, and eliciting errors or soft responses (what I would call "soft" errors that don't lose the point immediately, but lead to an opponents shot that will).  This too diminishes the impact of one of the characteristics that separates the best players in the world from the rest of us - their footwork.  One of the reasons why it's always guess work as to exactly when a player starts to get tired, is that the stroke is actually the last place where it will show up - the first place it shows up is in the footwork.  And this is why errors begin to pop up on players when they start to get tired, before the racquet head decelerates appreciably.  Essentially, as the body tires, it can no longer reliably repeat the optimal technique.

The brilliance of Tomic's technique is that his ball, so quirky on one shot, so flat and true on the next, deep and penetrating on one wing, then disruptively short and angled on the next, mimics the kind of  muscle memory amnesia that frequently results from fatigue.  As such, when he is at his more imperious, it is not Tomic his game that appears awkward, but often his opponent's.  And like Leo Messi, causing a world cup winning defender like Jerome Boateng to trip over their own feet nothing tells an opponent that they're for a long day, like making him destroy himself for no apparent reason.  That only happens when your technique is superior to your opponents, and I can't think of many players on the ATP tour that do that better than Bernard Tomic.

I have a feeling we're going to see the real Bernard Tomic in Washington, DC.  Not the guy that so many people seem to want to criticize.  And when he comes to the Citi Open, I'm going to watch him practice and I'm going to watch him play, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to learn one or two things along the way.  

For that gift, to all tennis players, I say "Thank you Citi Open".