 by Pete Bodo
The national motto of France is Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. But the national motto of French tennis is more like Bewitch, Promise, Gag.
Was there a more disappointing one-two fold at the Australian Open than the one turned in by those two superbly gifted French players, Gael Monfils and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga?
I suppose you can add Richard Gasquet (the artist formerly known as "Baby Federer") to make it a trinity, although Monfils and Tsonga have proven themselves of a superior class, results-wise if not on pure talent (although in my opinion it's both). It's probably painful for the faithful, but let's review.
Gasquet (ATP No. 16): Down at Hopman Cup, Gasquet generated some headlines (okay, it was a pretty slow week) when he declared that he wanted to turn over a new leaf, get himself back up into that Top 10 territory he inhabited at times in 2007 and 2008. "I will try and break into the Top 10, I did it some years ago and I'm not far this year too," he told reporters at the Hopman Cup. "I think I will be able to do it this year in 2012."
But after leading France to the final of that exhibition, Gasquet lost to No. 67 Dennis Istomin in Sydney. He did a decent job reaching the fourth round of the Australian Open, but then was totally blown out by No. 5 David Ferrer, who allowed Gasquet just five games.
Monfils (ATP No. 13): Does it tell you something that La Monf's career-high ranking is the same as Gasquet's, No. 7? Now he's ranked just three places ahead of Gasquet. Monfils won the fourth ATP title of his career in Stockholm last fall, and when he racked up his second career win over Rafael Nadal at Doha, he understandably rekindled hope. Hey, by the end of that win over Rafa, the Doha crowd was chanting Monfils' name.
Monfils was giving his friend and countryman Tsonga all he wanted in the Doha final, but he lost control of his lead late in the first set and went down, 7-5, 6-3. Instead of a potentially career-shaping win, Monflis had to settle for his 12th loss in a final. But with the two Frenchmen emerging from a loaded field to play the final, things were looking pretty good for the Tricolore set at Melbourne.
At the Australian Open, Monfils lasted just three rounds before he crashed out at the hands of No. 92 Mikhail Kukushkin, 6-4 in the fifth.
Tsonga (ATP No. 6): The only player who was considered more of an outside threat than Tsonga to win the first Grand Slam of the year was Tomas Berdych of the Czech Republic. Berdych would go down with his head high, losing in the quarterfinals (he made his seed, No. 7) to the eventual runner up, Nadal. Too good.
By contrast, Tsonga, seeded sixth, was laid low by lowly No. 24 Kei Nishikori in the fourth round. It wasn't just that Tsonga lost, but how he lost. Tsonga outweighs Nishikori by a good 50 pounds and has a four-inch height advantage. But, as the five-setter wore on, Tsonga seemed to lose the physical battle—even though the sets were lopsided either way (neither player won more than three games in losing any of the sets).
Looking tired and out of sorts, Tsonga tried to blast his way to the win, showing none of the patience and determination that are essential ingredients for success at major events. Granted, Nishikori can be a tough customer, and he's made steady progress with his solid, hard-hitting baseline game (he cracked the Top 20 by virtue of that win over Tsonga). But Tsonga, who made the only Grand Salm final of his career on the same Melbourne Park courts in 2008, was one of the major disappointments in Oz.
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If you're a glutton for punishment on this topic, you might also consider the resume of Gilles Simon, currently No. 12. He's the least talked-about among the top French players, yet he's been ranked higher (No. 6) than either Gasquet or Monfils, and he's an admirable—and un-Gallic—9-2 in finals. That's the best winning percentage, as well as greatest number of titles, of this entire group.
Simon lost in the second round in Melbourne to 30-year-old Julien Benneteau, ranked No. 39. That was the bad news. The good news is that the winner was his countryman, and although he went out in the next round (l. to Nishikori), Benneteau he was one Frenchman who exceeded expectations.
 by Pete Bodo
When Horia Tecau of Romania and Bethanie Mattek-Sands of Saturn (yes, she's that far out there—and in a good way!) won the mixed doubles at the Australian Open, Tecau was so stunned and happy that he didn't want to leave the court. "I was thinking, 'Security is going to have to drag him off,"Mattek-Sands remarked in their presser. "He was, like, 'I'm just gonna stay here. . .'"
Eventually, though, Tecau did reluctantly depart. After all, he had a flight booked for just a few hours later, and the journeymen and doubles specialists have to keep those change fees and other expenses down if they wish to continue following their bliss.
You know how it is in tennis: the doubles game conspicuously plays second-fiddle to singles, and mixed doubles inconspicuously adds largely unheard notes at third fiddle. But still. How many people do you know who can legitimately claim to be a Grand Slam champion? The result goes into the history books (and you'd be surprised at how often it pops up among those who really care); the names go on the trophy, or the honor roll, or maybe just the wall of the stadium. You win a title, you leave a mark.
Winning anything is a fine achievement, and only those who have never or will never accomplish anything would pooh-pooh it. And winning is the entire point of tennis. Mattek-Sands and Tecau have earned a place among those we call "champions," and their joy at arriving there was unqualified.
The team, seeded eighth, won the title over the No. 5 seeds, Russian veteran Elena Vesnina and India's doubles genius, Leander Paes. The scores were 6-3, 7-5, 10-3 (match tiebreaker). It was an upset, and a quality win.
I don't care what event you're playing—this was a Grand Slam final, and that always means pressure. A tennis player dreams of winning Grand Slam titles from about the first day he or she swings a racquet. And a tennis player would rather win a Grand Slam final than lose one, because it will be more fun for the rest of her life to say, "I won a Grand Slam title" than, "I got to a Grand Slam final but I lost." And if you want to get all crass about it, these tennis players knew that the winning team gets to split $135,000.
Those are big numbers to the kinds of players who play mixed. How would you like to have to make a first serve with your share of the pot riding on it? More interestingly, how would you like to have to do that knowing that your partner's share is also riding on your racquet?
I often wish tennis would celebrate its doubles events with as much gusto the singles, but I'm reconciled to the fact that the world doesn't work that way. The players are, too. You can talk about that all you want over a drink or at dinner, but for those who actually get to walk out on those courts, all that stuff tends to fall away, and they're left with the simple reality that winning earns you some money and makes you feel good; losing disappoints you, even if—or especially if—you don't care so much about the money.
When Mattek-Sands and Tecau were asked where this win ranks among their "achievements," and if the experience was "top of the line," Tecau lost no time replying:
"Yes, it's a Grand Slam title."
Whereupon Mattek-Sands chimed in, "Yeah. It's a Grand Slam title." She laughed. "Yeah, it's top."
The mixed final was played on the last day of the tournament. The only players left who needed the locker rooms were Novak Djokovic, Rafael Nadal, Mattek-Sands, Tecau, Vesnina and Paes. Because all women's events were long done, Tecau, Mattek-Sands and friends were able to celebrate with champagne in the women's locker room.
They had to make it a short party, though. The winners barely had an hour to make the flights they'd booked, and neither of them was about to pay a late fee, despite having almost $70,000 each.
by Pete Bodo
Can a single point, or series of points, have a career-shaping influence on a player? Guillermo Coria might say so, for he'll forever wonder what might have been had he converted either of those two match points he held against Gaston Gaudio in the 2004 French Open final. You'll remember that the loss appeared to have a devastating effect on Coria, and played a role in driving him into a premature retirement.
Andy Roddick also might think so, looking back on that volley he missed on set point in the second-set tiebreaker of his 2009 Wimbledon final against Roger Federer. Had he made that shot, Roddick would have been up two-sets-to-none on a day when his serve was outstanding. Instead, Federer went on to win the tiebreaker and the match, 16-14 in the fifth. It was Grand Slam No. 15 for Federer; for Roddick, for whom winning even one Wimbledon would be a career-capping triumph, it was a fourth loss there to Rog. Three of those painful defeats were in finals.
 That raises the question, will Rafael Nadal be permanently marked by that critical, backhand miss in the Australian Open final a few days ago? You know the point: Rafa, mounting a furious fightback, broke Nadal Djokovic to take a 4-2 lead in the fifth set. Serving the next game, he made a forehand inside-out winner to go up 15-0. Djokovic then tagged a second-serve cross-court service-return winner. 15-all. But Rafa replied with a service winner to Djokovic's vaunted backhand for a 30-15 lead. It was the 11th time he won the point in the last 12 attempts when Rafa put his first serve into play.
During the next point, though, Rafa hit a weak drop volley that Djokovic chased down. But he wasn't able to do much with it, and Nadal had a great look at a backhand down-the-line pass. He missed it, plain and simple. It was a critical error that made many in the crowd gasp. Instead of 40-15, it was 30-all.
The miss had an immediate, painful impact. After it, Nadal surrendered the game with two quick forehand errors. Worse yet, he lapsed back into defensive mode in the very next game, which Djokovic ran off at love to level the match at 4-all.
"Well, with the 4-2 was advantage because I felt very well physically in the moment," Nadal said afterward. "I felt with very positive energy, and I played a fantastic first point of the 4-2 with the forehand winner down the line after he had that return. . . It's true I had big mistake with 30-15. But it's not the (right) moment to think about that. That's just another moment in an almost six hours match. Forget about that, knowing that I really had real, very real chances to have the title and to win against a player who I lost (to) six times last year."
That has to be the way Nadal looks at it, but at the same time it makes you wonder what might flicker in his mind if he ever finds himself in a comparable situation with Djokovic in the future. There's no way to know about that until it happens, and you can bet that should a similar point be played by these two in the future, somebody will remember what happened last Sunday, and make a point of asking the players about it.
But remember, even if Rafa had made that pass, it doesn't mean that he would have gone on hold, never mind win the match. Not any more than a conversion of that backhand volley by Roddick would have automatically resulted in a win over Federer.
In the quote two paragraphs up, you'll notice the ellipses marks indicating that some text was removed. Here's what I took out because it wasn't terribly relevant at the moment (it also jumps off the transcript as something like a unfiltered, spontaneous observation that Nadal couldn't suppress, or wait any longer to make):
"Is something unbelievable how he returns, no? His return probably is one of the best of the history. That's my opinion, no? I never played against a player who's able to return like this. Almost every time."
A Nadal fan might be moved to wince by the obvious note of awe in that remark, but I think it's a net plus for Rafa when it comes to weighing the potential long-term impact of that seventh game. If you reinsert that passage and re-read the entire quote, you can see that Nadal's analysis includes an appropriate respect for, and acceptance of, Djokovic's returning skills, as well as a tempered evaluation of the place of that game in the grand scheme of things.
In other words, Nadal probably won't be haunted by that backhand miss. He feels the game was about Djokovic's returning skill. The next time they meet, Nadal will be less likely to fret about missing a similar shot or opportunity than about what Djokovic's return skills demand of his serve game.
Great players have short memories. If Nadal loses any sleep over this match, it's unlikely to be over that missed backhand pass.
 by Pete Bodo
Billie Jean King will always be remembered as a firebrand and activist, a woman who's always been sensitive to the sting of injustice, going all the way back to age 12 and the day when Perry T. Jones, the martinet and president of the Southern California Tennis Association, refused to put Billie Jean into a group photo of junior players because she was wearing shorts rather than a tennis dress.
As a woman who crept out of the closet long after her tennis career was over to quietly advocate for gay rights, Billie Jean must have been disappointed with the remarks her career rival and friend Margaret Court made on the subject of gay marriage. But when Australian gay rights activist Kerryn Phelps (note the strategic placement of the LOVE sculpture in this news story) began to beat the drum with the hope of mustering enough support to force Tennis Australian to rename the arena that bears Court's name, Billie Jean stood by her long-time friend (the women faithfully keep a dinner date each year during Wimbledon).
"No, no, no, don't get rid of her for that," King said. "Because you don’t agree with her? Are you kidding? Just because you don’t agree with someone? Please. She deserves it. She’s a great player."
Not long ago, King had the USTA National Tennis Center, home of Arthur Ashe Stadium and the U.S. Open, named after her. Yet the entirely outdoor Margaret Court Arena at the Australian Open in Melbourne Park is just the third-largest court on the grounds (Hisense Arena, with a retractable roof and 11,000 seats, easily dwarfs it—as does the main, roofed stadium, Rod Laver Arena). Is that any way to treat the all-time, all-gender Grand Slam champion (she won 24 major singles titles, and loads more in various doubles), who also is just one of just three women to have completed a calendar year Grand Slam?
"I thought the center court should be Laver and her, named together," Billie Jean added. "They’re the two greatest champions in our game, and she had more Slams," King said. "For her to have court 3 is terrible. I was furious. I went to the heads of Australia, I told them I don’t agree with this. You can’t do this, you can’t give her court 3, she deserves much better than this. That’s a disgrace to women. She won 62 Grand Slam titles, how could you ever give her court 3. It was diabolical."
Absurdly, some activists even wanted to see the Court arena renamed for Renaee Stubbs, the Australian journeywoman who came out as a lesbian to great fanfare in the Age newspaper during the Australian Open of 2006. Stubbs won several Grand Slam and mixed doubles titles, but she never even came close to a final in singles.
Martina Navratilova, another great lesbian champion, was somewhat tougher on Court than was King, but she also rejected calls for a gay jihad against Court in the name of "tolerance" and "human rights." Navratilova said she did not feel uncomfortable at all playing a Legends event at the Australian Open on the Court court: "It's an honor, as always, to be on that court. It's a personal issue. Clearly Margaret Court's views that she has expressed on same-sex marriage, same-gender marriage, I think are outdated."
The attitudes of King and Navratilova, who both support gay marriage, were classy, open-minded and tolerant. They presented themselves—and their beliefs—in a light that will win friends to their cause.
 by Pete Bodo
Last October, the Australian Sports Commission issued a public statement offering "Applications. . . for 2012 National Officiating Scholarships." The benefits were to include "frequent practical officiating. . .under the guidance of an experienced mentor," as well as "exposure to high-level officiating and related debriefings," and "attendance at seminars and conferences."
While it's nice (or a little creepy) to know that the Australian government is deeply vested in the critical field of sports officiating, and has brought all of its bureaucratic tools to bear on the effort (if anyone has any idea what "development pathways and initiatives developed and implemented by participating NSOs" means, please write!), it's also pretty clear that few, if any, of the linespersons at the Australian Open had availed themselves of those plum scholarships.
Or if they did, they may have spent less time practicing line calls than hobnobbing at seminars and "debriefings" (Why do I have a funny feeling that that's code for: Everyone meet in the hotel bar at six, woo-hoo!).
The officiating at the Australian Open was just awful.
Usually, officiating is one of those subjects wise pundits and commentators just leave alone. Nobody, but nobody, wants a tennis match to be about officiating, and certainly not errors or controversies. But at times it seemed like this entire tournament was about just that. One enduring image from the men's final is either player, Rafael Nadal or Novak Djokovic, casting imploring looks at chair umpire Pascal Maria, hoping for some sort of comfort.
To his credit, Maria appeared to understand that this can be a slippery slope; a chair umpire who feels obliged to vigorously assert his overrule privileges is just asking for trouble that can come in many forms, from accusations of favoritism toward one player to overplaying his hand and blowing a few calls.
Besides, that's ultimately why the Hawkeye electronic line-calling system is there—as a court of last resort. Do we really want to see a linesman overruled by the umpire, then witness Hawkeye overruling the overrule? That's just what happened in the John Isner v. David Nalbandian match—almost.
Kader Nouni, the chair umpire in that one, refused Nalbandian's request to have an overrule reviewed (it certainly looked like a bad overrule by the chair umpire in replay), because he didn't issue the challenge soon enough. It may have cost Nalbandian the match.
But the officiating was error-strewn throughout the tournament, on occasions large and small, and you have to wonder why. My own feeling is that we may be feeling an unintended consequence of the shift to electronic line-calling by way of Hawkeye. I'm a fan of the system, but the little computerized overseer has taken us on a crazy, often counter-intuitive joyride.
One of the first, surprising dividends of Hawkeye was the way it empowered the chair umpire, instead of greatly reducing his importance. If a chair umpire is less inclined to jump in and overrule because of the existence of Hawkeye, he's also become a much more active if informal mediator on court.
The first reaction of a player who thinks he got hooked now is often to look to the. . . chair umpire. He or she wants to know how the chair ump saw it, and even if there's no overrule (it's too late by then anyway), the player will read the umpire's reactions as either a signal to challenge or let the call go. In that sense, Hawkeye has brought the umpire further into the match in an unprecedented way.
But could it also be that Hawkeye is making line callers, well, lazy? A sleepy Aussie who missed the seminars could very easily decide it wouldn't hurt anything if he just relaxed a bit in his chair at two- sets-all. No worries, mate, we have an umpire there to overrule in the event I miss something, and then there's also the big boss, good old Hawkeye!
Because of the utter lack of confidence in the officials, aided perhaps by the chair umpires' reluctance to become too involved, in the late stages of the tournament we came face to face a few times with the nightmare Hawkeye scenario—a player, having expended all his challenges in a fit of justifiable paranoia of poor calls, losing a huge match because he was unable to challenge an obviously erroneous call.
If nothing else, the lords of tennis ought to read linespersons the riot act, and review the job description with chair umpires—not all of whom are as capable as Maria. Down in Oz, though, perhaps they should let the conferences wait and start with mandatory eye examinations for all.
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