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During the spring European clay-court season, much like during the fall European indoor circuit, the topic de jour invariably becomes the calendar and its flaws, which leads to a host of vaguely interrelated complaints and accusations against the Lords of Tennis. Rafael Nadal's recent outspokenness on this subject was the flashpoint this year; next year it may be the transformation of Nikolay Davydenko's arm into Jell-o. But there are so many fallacies and fingers pointed in the wrong direction on this issue that it might be a good time to take an overview of how and why we have such a crazy calendar.
 First, let me say that I don't think the calendar is the root of the problem. Correct me if I'm wrong, but in general the lack of jobs is is a much bigger problem for the work force at large than an over-abundance of them. Personally, I'd rather be turning down work than wishing more of it were available.
The real culprit is the ATP computer rankings. What????
Yep. Think about it for a moment. Why is Rafael Nadal's schedule at this time of year so seemingly overloaded? The answer is simple: he feels he must make hay while the sun shines (on clay) in order to maintain his position in the rankings. So let me suggest that we get rid of the basically dehumanizing chase for points and numerical rankings (the system that justifies having different grades of tournaments and, hence, back-to-back Masters events). Then the players will play where they want, when they want, on the surface the most like. The debate over who is the best player in the world will continue, because it's natural and it has always existed. The only thing that will vanish is our feeling that we've quantified the terms and come up with an annual world champ in a "fair" or "objective" way. Is that payoff really worth the cost?
Or think of it this way: over the past few decades, players have gone from too few opportunities to play to too many demands that they play and all of it has been part and parcel of the exploding international growth of the game. Is that such a bad thing?
Furthermore, you could probably make the case that tennis players are less like NFL football players than modern dancers. Their matches - just think of The Mighty Fed - are taken by many as performances. In no other sport is the demonstration of skill, preferably in a really eye-pleasing package of grace, technique and charisma, so highly valued. Baseball fans don't obsess about how a shortstop backhands a grounder and throws to first with anything like the same degree of intensity that tennis fans rhapsodize about Rafael Nadal's atomic forehand, or Andy Roddick's serve.
I don't believe that dancers (or other, less athletic performers, like film stars) take the stage any more often than they want, or feel they can while still being at their best. Why should tennis players be different; why do we need to rank players, anyway? Why not just agree on one tournament as an annual World Championship (hey, how about Sopot?) and call it good? Isn't a Federer-Nadal match "worth" roughly the same, in the ways that really count (our viewing pleasure, their demonstration of skill), if they're, say, No. 5 and No. 7 in the world? Or unranked, and keeping their powder dry for the annual World Championship at Sopot?
And this: Who ranks Julia Roberts or (insert name of favorite dancer, it's not my area of expertise), or tells her that she has to make 15 or 11 or 4 films a year, the way Jet Boy and TMF are told they must play X-number of events in order to meet their obligations and earn their rankings? There are numerous other models out there besides the present one (let's call it the Cumulative Annual Points Race) through which we could have a "tennis industry" that allows the best players to strut their stuff in big tournaments, and in a way that takes into much greater consideration the special needs of the players who compete most frequently and successfully.
Many of you are anything from uncomfortable to outraged reading these speculations. I make them partly to underscore my feeling that we actually like and prefer the way things are, even though we see ways they could be made better. But that raises an interesting question - better for whom? It struck me as odd that in all the debate about the "insane" calendar, nobody seemed to point out that the vast majority of ATP and WTA players are more than happy with a crowded calendar.
What you have, really, is a few stars complaining about the calendar, and their complaints are an outcry of self -interest. Even that is by no means a burden felt or experienced the same way by the handful of players at the top. Why doesn't Andy Roddick complain about the clay-court calendar, because he's a good ATP citizen? The answer is obvious: that part of the year is not of overwhelming importance to him, nor does he plan or need to do well during it. Why does Nadal complain? One way to answer that is: because he doesn't win quite enough matches during the rest of the year to relieve himself of the need to accumulate ranking points in that concentrated spring period. And why does he need to do that? Rankings. In effect, Nadal is complaining that he has too many chances to sustain and improve his ranking because of a crowded spring calendar. I'd say that's not the worst problem to have.
And beyond that, we have the overarching question: what would happen if the Lords of Tennis suddenly decided to scale back the tour to the Four Grand Slams and eight one-week Masters-grade events? It might make Nadal and TMF and Roddick happy, but the ATP Tour is not a Champion's Club; it's (theoretically) a joint venture between (all) the players, the tournament promoters, and the Grand Slam nations (along with a few tag-along special interests). I have a funny feeling that Richard Gasquet or James Blake (never mind Robby Ginepri, Fernando Verdasco, or Steve Darcis) wouldn't be all that happy if suddenly they were looking at a month in which they earned just first-round loser's money at the only two tournaments on the calendar.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the gender divide, the WTA woman have shown that despite all of their commitment forms and declaration, you can figure out ways to get your schedule down to a comfortable number of events. Heck, you wonder if half of the Top 10 women have even swung a racquet for the past few months. Tennis players don't enjoy and shouldn't be encouraged or forced to lie, but they've always had the last-strike option in the form of withdrawal due to illness or injury. I think a pro athlete can argue that intense fatigue is a form of illness and thus a good excuse to withdraw from an event - in fact, TMF and Jet Boy did that, just a few years ago after that terrific Rome final. If, say, Nadal feels he's really been stretched to the maximum and must withdraw from a Masters event, who's going to punish or censure him in any meaningful way? The computer, that's who. Nobody else.
Granted, the tournament calendar is crowded, and it has a number of sore spots, like the late-winter/spring skein of Masters events. But let's remember a few things, starting with the fact that the present calendar was basically the brainchild of. . . the players, including the top players. Just read up on the watershed ATP "Parking Lot Revolution" of 1988 if you're unfamiliar with the situation (it is covered here). But also realize that the ATP, then or now, could no more blow up the existing order and start over than the next U.S. President will be able to blow up the Department of Commerce and start over.
Some readers here don't sufficiently understand who the stakeholders are in the game, and what is - and isn't - within their power to accomplish. So let's take a slightly different tack and look at the calendar as a grand old New York apartment house of 52 units; call it The Deuce Court. Once, it was owned by a single landlord, the International Tennis Federation, and it rented units (each of them representing a calendar week) to all those national affiliates (like the USTA) that put on tournaments. There was no real profit motive, because the modest income generated was - at least theoretically - plowed back into "the game." The building was rarely fully occupied.
At the dawn of the Open era, that building went condo. "Insiders" like the USTA, FFT, or LTA grandfathered themselves in, getting their four penthouse units at no cost. In a process that took some time and eventually involved enormous amounts of money and intrigue, including machinations on successive condo boards, the majority of the units (each unit still representing a calendar week) were bought up on the open market. The name of The Deuce Court was changed to reflect the make-up of the new condo board - it became The Grand Prix, then the ATP (WTA) Tour. Some units were sold to new owners, some sold out to neighbors who wanted to expand their units, some remained unchanged.
The important thing to remember is that once the building went condo, there was no longer any landlord. More precisely, it was owned by the tenants, or tournament promoters. The ATP and WTA eventually emerged as the superintendents of this fully occupied building, carrying out the wishes of the condo board and making sure everyone had heat and hot water. It's critical to understand that the condo board gets input and advice from various sources, but it only has so much power. For instance, it can't really evict anyone, although it can offer to buy someone out. It can't very well offer for sale units that aren't available. And it can't arbitrarily decide to turn the 52-unit dwelling into 15 unit luxury building, because it would simply be too expensive to buy out all those whose units would disappear in the new conversion plan.
Furthermore, the owners of the units can decorate or renovate their apartments in any way they choose, and they're entitled to do things like offset their mortgage or carrying costs by renting out the space for commercial video shoots (in other words, television rights). But they also must take certain permits or pay fees for such activities, which is one of the ways the building raises the money to pay the superintendents. Of course, owners can be asked to swap units, but who wants to give up the a 12th floor unit with a view of the park and a lovingly restored library for a unit on the third floor, that needs renovation, even if there's a substantial cash incentive?
That's the overall scenario, and if you're wondering where the players fit into all this, you're on the right track. They fit in largely as guests. Whether this is a bad or good thing can be argued either way, but it's the reality. It's pretty clear that the players can't buy the building - owners, after all, have rights - and they're rights guaranteed by ironclad contracts, in transactions that have a century's worth of precedent and history. The players could theoretically build their own building, but then who would finance it, design it, and whose special needs would it serve? That of one or two top stars of the moment, or the group as a whole? Would it be economically viable, as a 12-unit building, or would they need something like, oh, 52 units to maximize their goals?
The players are guests, invited to every dinner party, lured by the promise of gift bags loaded with money and ranking points. Instead of passing a rule limiting dinner parties, maybe the solution is eliminating the gift bags. And as a last resort, the players might consider responding to the RSVP invitation by writing, "Sorry, previously engaged."
I just wonder if, given the opportunity to do that, they really would.
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