38 posts categorized "March 2010"
by Pete Bodo
Justine Henin is to tennis what the tank watch is to the timepiece crowd, Carhartt overalls are to the workingman, and the Gibson electric guitars is to rock musicians. She's a classic. She seems to incorporate, in that petite frame and with those classic, old-school strokes, the history of tennis, where it's been and, if not exactly where it's going, then why it got to where we are. Her game shimmers, like the northern lights, and as she showed today she has a way of imposing a modulated, classic template on any match she plays.
She has shortcomings, for sure, and not all of those that are directly related to her slight stature. One of those periodic weaknesses that crops up now and then almost waylaid her on the way the the semifinals here in Miami. In the first set of her match with No. 2 seed Caroline Wozniacki, Henin hit her way out of contention in a blaze of ill-advised if inspired bravado.
The tennis was of high-quality from the start - this was not going going be one of those break festivals; nothing classic about those - and Henin played a marvelous game to break Wozniacki for 6-5 in the first set, capping the game with one of the numerous forehand winners she hit today.
Henin had been attacking the ball with great verve, but she appeared to get so wrapped up in the sheer joy of it that she pushed the envelope so far that it tore. Serving for the set, Henin began pulling the trigger a little early, and with a little too much enthusiasm; she fell out of rhythm and Wozniacki broke her. In the meat of the ensuing tiebreaker, a pair of forehand errors left Henin down, 2-4, and Wozniacki capitalized; she then ran the score up to 6-2. Although Henin clawed back to 5-6, she lost the tiebreaker - and you had to wonder if she'd ratcheted up the aggression to the point where she could no longer control it.
Henin struggled thereafter (she took a time-out for treatment on her back early in the second set), but she did what few WTA players seem capable of these days; she hung in there and paid attention to the details, took care of her serve, made her opponent work for everything with the duckbill of her cap pulled down low to her brows.
But both women played boldly. Given the fearless way Henin assaulted the ball, Wozniacki's ability to overcome a love-40 deficit in the sixth game of the second set to hold (she reeled off five straight points) was less a comment on chances not taken by Henin than on the nerve and skill of the 19-year old Wozniacki.
Henin ultimately managed a break for 5-3, and she served out the second set. She broke Wozniacki again in the third game of the final set, but the subsequent games remained compelling. Wozniacki appeared to tire, but she didn't give ground, mentally. Henin won it with no further breaks, 6-7, 6-4, 6-4.
Over the course of the match, Henin struck a nearly perfect balance between winners and errors: 53 to 51, respectively. The high number of errors worried her not in the least. As she said in the press room afterward: "A lot of balls were coming back in the court, you know. She (Wozniacki) didn't do a lot mistakes and pushed me to, you know, do everything at some point. That wasn't that easy. I didn't have two balls in a row that were the same rhythm."
While we're on statistics: Henin hit 27 winners with her forehand, and six with her backhand. It's funny, but as much as people ooh-and-aah over that backhand, it involves a lot of moving parts and no small degree of the unconventional - does anyone else hit off the back foot, even from the baseline, more frequently than Henin? Does any woman with a comparable one-hander take so long to load up and finish with so conspicuous a flourish? It takes time to set up and break down that stroke when the show is over, and while time is not of the essence in the red clay capitals, a lot of tennis is played on faster surfaces where set-up and recovery are more critical issues.
For my money, Henin's forehand - certainly the way she tagged it today - is a more trustworthy if less sexy tool. I guess we love Henin's backhand the way we appreciate baroque architecture, but we can admire her forehand the way we like Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. It makes sense, in a way. The baroque always implies striving, the yearning for beauty and perfection. It warms our hearts, even though it can seem excessive. More modern trends gravitate toward utility and simplicity - that famous marriage of form and function - and if they're not nearly as inspiring, they more often get us through the day.
However, having the baroque to the port and the functional to the starboard isn't a bad way to go, and when I asked Henin about it she was more than happy to elaborate: "Well, my backhand is the most natural shot, I would say, so that's why a lot of people are talking about my backhand. But in the last few years, even in my first career, I think my forehand really gave me the winners.
"I can build the point with my backhand, but I hit the winners more with my forehand.. .I've worked very hard on my serve and forehand. That's because it's been something sometimes difficult in the past. My backhand, sometimes I'm getting lazy on it, because I don't work as much on it. But it still gives me, I mean, a few points."
Of course, sometimes beauty and function dovetail nicely, as they did when Henin wiped out a break point at 3-all in the second set with a signature backhand down the line. You could hear the crisp pop of the ball clear up the cheap seats.
It was, like the diminutive lady who delivered it, an absolute classic.
by Pete Bodo
It used to be that, as a reporter, you could breathe a big sigh of relief and start making dinner reservations when you saw the Roger Federer was scheduled to play a mid-event match at night; you were in safe hands and spared the customary double-shift that has become de rigeur in this day of split sessions at most major tournaments.
No longer.
As you all know by now, Federer lost 7-6 in the third to Tomas Berdych last night after failing to convert a match point for the second Masters 1000 tournament in a row. What kind of odds might you have gotten on that metric, at the start of Indian Wells? There, the lucky (and astonished) lottery winner was Marcos Baghdatis. Here, it was Berdych, but this time, Federer blew just one match point instead of three. Dude's improving, huh?
So now we have the spectre of coaches leaving their proteges with this bit of advice at the locker room door, as the step out to meet Roger Federer: Just take your time. Don't rush. Don't panic. Once he gets to match point, it's in the bag!
If that makes some of you Federer fans want to rip off your black armband and strangle me with it, remember, we were here, or some place very like it, almost exactly a year ago, when Federer decided to try drilling for oil through the purple Crandon Park court with his Wilson. And by the end of the Grand Slam season, you were all sitting back, thinking, Well, that didn't work out so bad...
The bottom line is that while winning is always preferable to losing, Federer doesn't exactly need these Masters titles to flesh out his resume. This is no Ivan Ljubicic here. Shoot, Mirka probably uses Roger's collection of Masters shields as coasters, even though sippy-cups don't require them (you know how she is. . .). Federer is above sustaining emotional damage from losses like these two; he knows what lies buried in the strings and frame of his racket; that issue was resolved long, long ago.
What he does have to fret about, though, is having to live with what every other player on the planet faces as a condition of the workplace: the sense that perhaps he's vulnerable. The impetus this will give some opponents to step up and play bolder, more confident tennis. The glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, if you can stay with Federer through the chicanes and turns, you just might implant a splinter of doubt in his ordinarily sure hand when you reach the home stretch. When it comes to blown opportunities, players have memories like elephants, although the best ones, like Federer, are excellent at suppressing them. But there's no real remedy for history. Federer's best strategy will be to do what he's always done best: pull away from his opponent with an extra gear that's lately been unavailable.
Of course, Federer is aware of this. But his main concern of the moment is finding his form. He said of last night's error-prone performance: "I fought as much as I could. My game has issues at the moment, I'm definitely lacking timing. I don't know where that comes from."
Given a choice between having fight and a wobbly game or a functional game but wavering desire, I'd take the former, any time.
Nobody really knows "where that (loss of timing) comes from." While there's an outside chance that it comes from his head, from simply losing that instinctive, predatory sharpness that is the young player's greatest ally, Federer has earned the right not to be second-guessed that way (he earned it last year). The issues more likely are subject to correction, driven by the natural reaction to the events of the past few weeks. Federer probably will go home, rest and think for a few days, take a deep breath and book a practice court. He knows by now how this game works; how you're only as good as your last result, and that's apt to make him dangerous come the clay court season.
Lightning never strikes the same place twice, they say, but in Federer's case it did. But I expect that he'll respond by throwing a few bolts of his own in the coming meat of the Grand Slam season.
by Pete Bodo
Contemplating the recent history of Mardy Fish, our old friend Mr. Buzzkill would wave a finger, tsk-tsking, and remind him that, when it comes to your career, you take things for granted at our peril. Fish, you'll remember, was impelled to undergo knee surgery last fall. While recovering, he experienced a Eureka! moment not unfamiliar to others in his line of work. He realized he was fast approaching 30, and when he took stock of his career accomplishments and goals, he felt he could have, and still could, do better.
Others shared that opinion; Fish never seemed to approach his career with the degree of discipline that is required of top players today, at least not in the fitness department. And his susceptibility to injury is thought by some to be a reflection of a cavalier attitude toward training. It made sense, sort of, for Fish is one of those athletes whose game nicely mirrors his seemingly unhurried, casual personality. Instead of obsessing over the alignment of his water bottles or practicing for long hours in a rubber suit under a hot sun, Fish seemed old school: arrive on site, throw your bag in the corner, lace up the sneakers and see where the day takes you.
These days, that attitude mostly takes you to the player-transportation desk.
But in the months following his surgery, Fish adopted a strict, carbohydrate-free diet and subsequently lost 27 pounds. While shedding the fat, he thought, "I've got the opportunity to try to sort of. . . resurrect - try to make a push in the next four, five. . . however many years I have left, and try to stay as healthy as I can."
In all fairness, Fish may not have been able to drop that amount of fat and replace it with lean muscle in just a few months if he had been on the tour. As he put it, "You need to eat, you need to fuel your body when you're playing. My surgery also provided me with the chance to make that effort to change things around."
Given that Fish is a rangy, 6-2 power player with terrific touch and commendable elasticity, if not the most nimble of feet, that five-year window isn't entirely unrealistic; and even if it were, Fish wasted no time in making up for lost time. He was a semifinalist in Sydney at the onset of the year, and more recently at Delray Beach. Although he lost in the first round of the Australian Open and in the second round of Indian Wells (he lost a three-setter to the same man who beat him in the 2008 final, Novak Djokovic), Fish ripped off a few quality wins here in Miami, taking down promising talent Leonardo Mayer, No. 3 seed Andy Murray, and the mercurial Feliciano Lopez.
Alas, Mr. Buzzkill joined me on the grandstand to watch Fish take on Mikhail Youzhny at a packed grandstand court at Crandon Park. It was a beautiful day for tennis, with just a bit of fitful breeze. Fish immediately fell behind 0-3, but he's not the sort to hit the panic button prematurely. He has the capacity to reel off pre-emptive winners, which comes with the territory for the impulsive. "Methodical" has never been a go-to adjective to describe Fish.
Although Fish had trouble finding the range with his serve, he looked like an utterly different player from the leonine, explosive but unpredictable man of yore. He blanketed the court on quick legs, settled into rallies when the risk of going for a placement outweighed the reward, worked points patiently and scampered enthusiastically after Youzhny's familiar explorations of all the angles and openings provided by a tennis court. As he would say later, "I just feel like a completely different person, confidence-wise, just being able to walk around feeling like an actual athlete that's in pretty good shape. . ."
But then disaster struck. Chasing a placement deep to his forehand corner in the fourth game, Fish lost his legs and landed on his backside. Almost immediately, the intense pain in his lower back traveled down his leg and within moments his left leg was numb (the immediate diagnosis was that he banged his sciatic nerve; he has no history of sciatica, so he's expected to recover fairly swiftly). Fish lost that game and called for the trainer. He took a full medical timeout and tried to play on, but after he dropped his next service game (and set), he played just one point on Youzhny's serve before calling it quits. "The pain was just excruciating, but then it went away briefly. But almost immediately after the changeover, my back began to tighten up and that was it."
Fish hobbled into the press interview room later, and pondered his fate. This is, after all, more or less his home tournament, and he reached the fourth round on only one previous occasion (2003). He came in a stronger, leaner, fitter man, and the irony of his situation was not lost on him.
"I've felt good for about a month now. Really, really good since, sort of, the Delray Beach tournament. I felt good in Indian Wells as well. I think (it's because I'm) able to play sort of a little bit different style, being able to grind out some points instead of having to go for some stupid shots or, you know, some tough shots that I probably wouldn't make anyway.
"You know, you try to steal. . . I feel like I can steal a few more points with my legs now than before. That takes time, to be able to figure out that style of play and shots that I have never hit before in my life. . . Sort of being able to get to shots, or putting air under balls so I can stay in points. You know, fourth round is a great result. Saturday (the day Fish beat Murray) was obviously a match I'll probably never forget. So I'll take that part of it for sure, and go on to next week."
Fish is a sanguine sort; a guy who rolls with it. That will be an advantage in the coming weeks, which have never been the kind to him anyway. He's still Mardy Fish, not Rafael Nadal. Or even Andy Roddick. Or is he?
Showing that the injury hasn't affected his humor nerve, Fish said he bumped into Andy Roddick (who dodged a bullet today, coming back from 1-4, 0-40 [on his serve] deficit to overwhelm Benjamin Becker) in the locker room and told last week's Indian Wells finalist:
"You finally achieved something that I've achieved in my career - you made the finals of Indian Wells. . ."
Roddick quipped that he didn't necessarily want to win Indian Wells for himself. He wanted it because his coach (Larry Stefanki) had won it, and because Fish had been a finalist there."
There probably are more finals in Fish's past than in his future, but there are fewer cheeseburgers, curly fries and and pepperoni pizzas as well. And certainly fewer matches in which he has to go for that prayer of a backhand, or ill-advised drop shot because he can't trust his legs.
 by Pete Bodo
Well, it wasn't exactly Borg vs. McEnroe, Wimbledon 1980, but Sam Stosur and Jelena Jankovic played an entertaining and meaningful tiebreaker this evening under restless, roiled skies in breezy Miami.
It ended badly for Jankovic, the No. 7 seed and winner at Indian Wells last week, as Stosur held on to win the breaker 11-9, and with it the match. Jankovic's chance to win back-to-back Premier Mandatory events went pinwheeling off into the night like so many chickadees buffeted by the wind, but the palm fronds surrounding the court continued clicking and rattling, taking Jankovic to task for blowing an interesting opportunity.
Stosur had already laid a little wood on Jankovic's fanny when I walked into Court 1, under the erroneous impression that I had plenty of time to settle in and enjoy the show. I might have suspected the direction things were taking by the pair of menacing turkey vultures that rode the gusts like a rollercoaster right above the court. They dropped low often enough to make me wonder if one of them wasn't about to descend and peck out Jankovic's eyes, but some things are better left to coaches, moms, agents and other professionals.
I say that only half in jest, for while windy conditions are equal opportunity irritants, they ought to have been more manageable for Jankovic, one of the most lithe and adaptable of players. Instead, they seemed to have an unduly deleterious effect on Jankovic, at least judging by the scoreboard, and the way her sherbet-green dress kept boiling up around her waist, as if our favorite WTA flake were doing an interpretation of that famous Marilyn Monroe subway-grate photo, but on behalf of Anta.
It ought to have been the other way around. Slammin' Sammy Stosur's game is, on the whole, more dependent on precision and timing (more on that later), and acting out something very like set pieces, all based on her outstanding serve. That serve, she would tell me after win, has been the cornerstone of her recent success. "I've had some good results starting about this time last year, and a lot of it has to do with the fact that I'm serving well. I've been getting a good percentage of first serves in, and no matter how well you serve the ball, if you're not getting it in, who cares?"
Jankovic, by contrast, is at her best when she's free to improvise, counter-punch, and use her natural flexibility to retrieve her opponent's most invasive questions. In fact, she's a lot like a yellow lab, or similar retriever breed of dog. She goes into a serene, focused state when when she's scampering east-to-west along the baseline, at full stretch, making desperate reaction-born fetches. She can do wonders chasing a ball, and never seems happier, or more in tune with what she's cut out to do. But like that lab, there isn't a whole lot she can do if you just give her the ball with the command, Okay, Jelly, now do something...
Whether it was the difficult conditions or Jankovic's flair for the dramatic, or some combination thereof, she was error-prone, grumpy and out of sorts; time and again she would drive a backhand into the net, or miss with the forehand, then volubly rue her fate, addressing the crowed with a slender arm elegantly extended - until she had to drop it to quell the hemline fluttering around her waist.
Jankovic began to pull herself together in the second set, but she was up against a young lady who's as practical and disciplined as Jankovic is flighty and profligate. Stosur has gradually evolved into something like the consumate professional. When her own hot-salmon dress rode up, the serious tan lines on her upper thighs told the story - this is a woman who has spent a lot of time in shorts, presumably whacking balls under a broiling sun. The dedication shows in her game, too, and not just in the familiar ways. There's a point of diminishing returns where focusing on technique and execution, on maximizing your strengths and hiding our weaknesses, eventually leaves you with a game that, apart from anything else, looks studied.
But such hard work has its rewards, even if it's at the expense of the natural. The serve is the one shot over which a player has absolute control; theoretically, at least, a player could go an entire match without having his or her serve returned. Stosur plays as if that's her aim, and the priority and focus she assigns the task is palpable. She's learned to trust her serve, and to try to get the most out of each delivery. She's built her game around it in a way that suggests that screwing up is not an option, and that's unusual on the WTA tour.
Jankovic returned her share of Stosur's well-placed bullets, but she was backed into a corner throughout the second set. Stosur's ability to hold, and to work her way out of potentially sticky situations (15-30, or deuce) with the serve must have had a corrosive influence on Jankovic's game. Oh, the Serbian star kept finding ways to stay with Stosur, for that's what she does best; she's the human equivalent of the philanthropic world's "matching grant." But Stosur set the pace, and her ability to hold, slamming the door of opportunity shut each time she leaves it open a crack, eventually took its toll. It always does.
In the tiebreaker, however, Stosur served up a mortifying double fault at 1-1 (let's remember, it wasn't all that long ago that Stosur was a poster child for head case tennis players worldwide). But Jankovic responded in kind (see what I mean about "matching grant?"). From there on, though, both women played pretty tight tennis. Jankovic started points, then tried to figure out ways to win them. Stosur figured out what she needed to do, then started points - and tried to end them on her terms.
The tiebreaker points went on serve until Stosur reached match point, at 5-6 (with Jankovic serving). Stosur made a forehand error and in the blink of an eye Jankovic had a set point. But Stosur brushed it aside. Stosur had another match point at 8-7, but blew it with a wild forehand error. Then it was Jankovic's turn again, with a set point, but Stosur erased it with a good forehand. She ended it two points later with a backhand laser down the line.
Stosur is aware of her shortcomings and she's built around them just as much as she's based her game on her signature stroke. She's developed a streamlined game plan on her journey from electric but sometimes ghastly shotmaker (think Amelie Mauresmo, or Hana Mandlikova). She's become a spartan believer in "the game plan."
Of course, tennis isn't entirely about figuring it out; you have this little matter of physical and even mental limitations, a complex and inter-related set of strengths and weaknesses. Every player's game is unique, like a fingerprint. When a player does due diligence, the way Stosur has, it tends to heighten the visibility of her shortcomings as well as her strengths. In Stosur's case - and it really seems a novel one for a player with such natural feel and athleticism - the outstanding flaw is, ironically, something as fundamental and seemingly second-nature as body positioning relative to the ball.
You'd think that any world-class player would have this distance-to-the-ball thing down pat, but it's surprising how often Stosur overruns a ball, or ends up playing it too close to her body (one by-product of that is a slice backhand that lacks sting). I suppose it's a sign of bad footwork, or slow reflexes. The conditions certainly had something to do with her positioning difficulties tonight, but it was still clear that Stosur doesn't - make that can't - adjust nearly as well to the ball as does Jankovic. Never mind. Stosur compensated for the shortcoming by having a clear idea of what she was going to do, and deciding that nothing was going to stop her. She had the game plan.
When I asked if she was worried that the tiebreaker might slip away and leave her dead-even despite the great start, she merely shrugged and said: "Well, I knew what I wanted to do in that match (serve well, take the game to Jankovic, end points with crisp, positive tennis), so it didn't really matter. I had to keep pushing her. If I'd lost that second set, I would have gone on in the third doing the same thing."
And that's the spartan way, isn't it?
Over two thousand comments at the last thread! I arrived here in Miami this afternoon, after delays at LaGuardia due to heavy rain. And when I arrived, the Miami area was still mopping up from heavy thunderstorms. Well, it's all good now, think I'll go out and catch Jelena Jankovic vs. Sam Stosur on Court 1. Back later on. Meanwhile, move your conversations over here, before we blow up Typepad! -- Pete
[Howdy. Sorry for the glitch that seems to affect some comment posters on recent threads. Maybe a fresh start will help. Lance Harke filed this report a few minutes ago. Seems like he's shell-shocked, like the rest of us, by the losses by Murray and Djokovic - a pair of upsets that makes some of the comments we made in our recent Tennis.com podcast even more relevant - PB] Wow, life is all about timing, right? Just as I arrived at the Sony media center Mardy Fish was up 2-0 in the stadium court, and I heard several media personalities discussing the possibility of a "Mardy upset."
Sure enough, as I sat down I saw a thinner, fitter Fish taking the ball very early, flattening out his backhand, and generally taking it to Murray.
Murray, by contrast, seemed to never find his rhythm, and employed and discarded a variety of approaches -- from back court exchanges with Fish, to slowing down the pace with loopy forehands, to slicing and keeping the ball low, all to no avail.
One thing I noticed was Fish, who did not have high first serve percentages today, really scored on his kicker second serve to Murray's backhand, which jumped high and put Murray out of position on his backhand return.
That coupled with some clutch first-serve winners from Fish in the final two games of the second set clinched it, with Fish winning 6-4, 6-4.
Boy like I said the other day, with The Djoker and now Murray out so early, maybe the possibilities really are endless.
Oh yeah, there's still Federer, Nadal, Roddick.....
-- Lance Harke
By Jackie Roe, TW Social Director Greetings, TWibe! Countless thanks for the warm reception of my Indian Wells report last week; I'm so glad I was able to share the experience with y'all, as I knew you'd appreciate it just as much as I did. Still wish I could've made it to Miami ... Speaking of Miami, are any of you planning to attend the tournament? (Or maybe you're already there? I know Coby and GVGirl are.) If so, feel free to send me reports or photos to post here in the Deuce Club. I think we all enjoy hearing about our fellow TWibers' live tennis adventures.
As previewed by Pete last weekend, today's DC is all about ... pets! He just welcomed a new puppy into his home, so he'll be here in a moment to tell you more about it. But before he does, I thought I'd contribute my own pet story. Disclaimer: It's rather somber - Pete's will be a good pick-me-up after this.
When I was 6 or 7, my family decided to buy a cocker spaniel. I was ecstatic, being an avid animal (especially dog) lover. I knew nothing about taking care of a pet at that age, of course ... and turns out, neither did anyone else in my family. We tried our best and loved that puppy like he was a member of our family, but taking care of him was a struggle from the get-go. Not to mention, cocker spaniels aren't the easiest dogs to train - or so I've read - so it's not surprising that things didn't work out. After only a few weeks (and a biting incident that I tried to cover up since I couldn't bear to see him get in trouble!), we gave him away to some friends in the neighborhood.
Less than a year later, we heard that those friends put him to sleep because of the biting. It still pains me to think of how his life was cut so short, perhaps unnecessarily so. And for a long time, I harbored guilt for the role we may have played in all of it ... but what's done is done, and I'd like to think he enjoyed his time with us. It's funny - I knew him for barely a month, but decades later, I still remember his impossibly soft fur, still blow a kiss in the air on his birthday (June 20). That's the effect that animals have on us, huh.
We settled for goldfish after that.
Told you that was less than uplifting. Pete'll rescue this post - take it away, Cap'n!
Well, Luke finally has his wish – a dog. His name, when I located him at a rescue kennel in South Carolina, was Dana. He’s since been given a new name, Buck(y). I found Buck about a month ago via Adopt-a-Pet, a website where you can choose a specific breed (or mix) that you seek. Your alert goes out to an entire network of rescue kennels and such, and anyone who has a dog that might fit your needs then contacts you.
To tell you the truth, we hadn’t fully committed to getting a dog at the time I started screwing around on the Internet (famous last words in many other respects too, right?). But I posted my request anyway, and more or less forgot about it.
Then, about two weeks later, I received an email from FIDO, a kennel near West Columbia, S.C. Once I saw Dana/Buck’s face, I knew he was our dog, even though he was billed as a golden retriever-hound mix. Of course, I was somewhat concerned about the various logistics, including taking possession of a nine-month old dog without even having seen it, in person. But Charlotte Ramsey, the kennel lady, seemed such a thoughtful and caring person that I plowed ahead without hesitation. We must have exchanged 50 emails. Long story short: we soon booked transport for Buck in a mobile home that makes regular runs along the east coast, from Georgia to Maine. They have twenty-odd dog crates built into this Winnebago, and they just drop dogs off to new owners along the way (they charge $125 to cover gas and expenses).
So about a week before Buck arrived, I wrote Luke a letter, in kid handwriting, from a “secret friend” named Buck. Luke opened and read the letter, which asked if some unspecified “Bucky” could have a playdate with Luke. Of course, Luke was baffled and I played dumb (my default position in household matters). But two days before we were to pick up Bucky (last Saturday), I also wrote and printed out an email from Bucky to Luke, asking if their “playdate” was on.
On Saturday, we took the truck out to the Vince Lombardi Rest Stop on the New Jersey turnpike (a short 20 minute run from home on a weekend morning) and parked in a big park-and-ride lot near the Winnebago. Luke was a little bit nervous, since he didn’t know anyone named Bucky.
One of the men on board the Winnebago came walking toward us, with Buck on a leash. Luke got all excited seeing him and I said he could go yonder and pet the dog. I asked the man the dog’s name and he said, “Buck.” Luke put two and two together, but it was gradually and with some disbelief. He kept asking if we could take Buck home. I kept answering “Forever.” He would then ask if we could keep him overnight. . . like that. The little shaver was simply stunned.
 Buck has been wonderful – gentle but high-spirited. Turns out we have a terrific enclosed dog run right near our home on Riverside Drive, and we’re already known there. People just fall in love with Buck on sight. But as the person who mainly walks and looks after him, I notice a certain amount of. . . withholding. It’s like he hasn’t decided whether or not to accept me/us yet (despite how well-mannered and behaved he is).
It figures; it’s still all so new to him, and he had probably bonded with the trainer I kept him with for about 10 days before he arrived (I wanted to get a sense of his state of development and character). Buck loves to mix it up with all the other dogs, he wrestles endlessly and runs like the wind. He’s extremely friendly with people also, although he’s still pretty skittish and somewhat insecure. All in due time.
Tonight, Buck is going to game-rich Andes for the first time, and we’re curious to see how he interacts with our cat, Biscuit (who lives at the farm). Buck was “cat-tested” at the kennel and he seems fine. Frankly, I’m more concerned that Biscuit will smack Buck around, because he’s a brave cat who’s been known to walk over to a visiting dog as it’s eating, shove the dog’s face out of the way with his own, make the dog back off, then look back over his shoulder as if to say, “You got a problem with that?”
Biscuit always tried to lie down and cuddle with Cady and Lucy, my former dogs (Buck is my first male dog), who just couldn’t handle it. Maybe over time, Buck will have a better, more relaxed attitude about that. It’s just one of the many things we don’t know as we embark on this great dog adventure yet again. Funny to think that, God willing, Buck will be around to see Luke off to college (or welding school). That notion makes me feel really good for some reason.
Aw, Pete - Buck is adorable! Luke must be in heaven. And I love how you arranged their "meeting"; for the rest of his life, no other surprise with compare! Enjoy your new dog, and hope you'll give us updates. Now TWibe, in honor of TW Pet Day, tell us about your pets, past or present. If you've never had one, explain why not (doesn't appeal to you? living situation?) and/or what you'd want to get if given the chance. And if you're feeling especially creative - or are just in a tennis state of mind - give us your ideas of what pets would suit what player. Example: Another horse for T-Rob, duh.
Have a great weekend, guys. And psst, it's crazyone's birthday - make sure to sing to her!
 [Greetings. The poster known to most of you as Todd and in Charge has sent us a postcard from Miami; feel free to comment on the day's action at this post. I'm hijacking Deuce Club this afternoon, because I'm late sending Jackie-Oh my copy (sorry, Jackie), but she'll be around this evening to share stories at the pet-themed post. I'll be around all weekend, then traveling to Miami early Monday to provide live coverage for the duration - PB]
What a treat to be able to finally break away from my day job in downtown Miami and venture across Biscayne Bay to catch some tennis! Although I can see the Key from my office, being out there is like another world entirely.
Today was picture perfect for South Florida, with clear skies, light breeze, and lots of sun. As you cross the Rickenbacker Causeway onto Key Biscayne, you experience the magical buzz of the setting -- lots of signs, posters, palm trees, police officers directing traffic, fancy people in fancy cars with their tops down, shuttle buses, giant tennis balls and blue blue water everywhere. I love the first week of this tournament. I like seeing all the players practicing, running laps, working on their games, working on their hopes. There is such optimism early on, where possibilities can seem endless -- until you find yourself facing Roger Federer in stadium court.The recent "freeze" killed all the giant wild iguanas that used to roam the grounds, and perhaps that's just as well with all the human predators taking to the courts.
Today, I watched a very comfortable Andy Murray work on his return of serve, while on the next practice court Roger Federer sweated through a vigorous - and fan-friendly - workout. In the stadium Ivanovic handily defeated Parmentier 6-4, 6-3, though Ana clearly is off her game. She inexplicably dumped too many balls into the net, and she continues to rely on that ugly backhand slice which is more suited to my rec league than a former number one.
I'm glad I caught her early because I'm not sure how much further she will advance.I also watched Petrova -- surprise! -- struggle to close out her match against Krumm, and Chela -- surprise! -- struggle to close out his match against Lorenzi. The South American players are very popular here, and there were numerous excited chants of "Chela!!" and "Vamos!!" as this talented headcase made it through another round.Maybe the possibilities really are endless. -- Lance Harke PS - You can follow my tweets from the Sony here.
by Pete Bodo
Mornin'. Obsessing over Roger Federer's inability to convert match points? Agitated over the condition of Rafael Nadal's wisdom teeth? Bummed that you won't get to see what Ashley Harkleroad looks like with her clothes on (she already lost her first-round match in Florida)? It's all part of gearing up for Miami. And speaking of crossover stars, I'm hoping to bump into Anna Kournikova down there next week. I had a nice telephone visit with her just a few weeks ago.
The subject, then, was the December USO tour that took Anna to Iraq, Afghanistan and a U.S. military hospital in Germany. Also along on the trip: Nick Bollettieri, comedian David Attell, country singer Billy Ray Cyrus and Kim Dozier, the CBS news correspondent who was seriously wounded in Iraq in 2006. That's Anna above, with Attell (photo credit to U.S. Navy petty officer 1st class Chad J. McNeeley). The group was shepherded by U.S. Navy Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The mission was the familiar one: holiday season morale and comfort building for the U.S. troops based overseas. These USO tours are not the typical celebrity drive-bys, nobody who ever took part in one ever mistook it for hosting a charity golf pro-am, or a Las Vegas New Year's Eve party. Let's start with the fact that the participants don't get paid a dime; they're obliged at times to wear forty pounds of protective body armor and helmets; they travel "in country" in military helicopters, and run - not unlike soldiers in a hot zone - on caffeine and adrenaline.
Going back some years, to the heyday of Kournikova's notoriety, you might feel obliged to ask, "Anna Kournikova and the USO? Who woulda thunk it?"
At the peak of her career, Kournikova was often described as a prematurely haughty starlet who was overly engaged in manipulating the public with her sex appeal (her No. 1 ranking as a Internet search term surpassed her career-high singles ranking by seven places). Some saw Kournikova as Lolita ver. 2.5, or a precursor to the Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan generation; let's remember, Kournikova famously called out to a fan who proposed marriage, "You can't afford me!"
And when did it become a crime to issue a withering put-down of the kind that gained Kournikova such notoriety? The kind of piety that Kournikova's remark teased out of some makes me roll my eyes, much like the professed horror of those who think Pete Sampras's tipping habits constitute some sort of judgment on his character. Some people will leap on any opportunity to declare their moral superiority.
When it came to Kournikova, I was always more interested the spunky but determined child who recognized her charms for what they were - tools. And even back then I was curious about the tomboy who used to get chased away from the supermarket near where she lived for whacking tennis balls at the exterior wall, who had no use for dolls, and was interested in boys only insofar as she could make a game of being chased (literally) by them. When I wrote a Tennis magazine cover story on Kournikova in the spring of 2001, it was that dimension of Kournikova's personality and (untold) history that intrigued me and led me to go on an exhibition tour in South America to spend a little time with her. It was a fruitful trip.
Anna, I learned, was often chastised for the same ball-whacking offense in the lobby of the apartment building where she lived, because growing up with her parents and grandparents in an apartment that she described as "six or eight meters square" didn't give her much opportunity to practice at home. When we spoke recently, I reminded her of the way she described the difficulties of developing a world-class game in Moscow as the spearhead of the Russian WTA revolution: "We often played with tennis balls that had no hair."
Knowing a little about how far Kournikova had come, I was always irritated when people - including scores who failed to distinguish themselves despite having far, far more opportunity - suggested that Kournikova was merely a media sensation, or ridiculed her for having become so famous while not having won a single WTA title. Scads of WTA players who won tournaments never came close to matching Kournikova's career-high singles ranking of No. 8, nor her two Grand Slam doubles titles. And the one thing I do know is that they don't sell or give away those ranking numbers and titles. And how good are you at what you do, bucko?
Of course, that's all ancient history. That controversy has run its course, and the Kournikova who emerged from it is appealing in a different, more fundamental and substantial way. My pal El Jon Wertheim of Sports Illustrated had the same feeling after spending some time with Anna not long ago. He was amused by how genuinely mortified and apologetic she was when he reminded her of some of her imperious, youthful transgressions. As is so often true in cases like Kournikova's, it's a good idea to wait until someone grows up before we being making judgments about his or her character.
In addition to three tours for the USO, Anna is involved with the Boy's and Girl's Clubs of America and Population Services International (she has toured Haiti and Russia on behalf of that organization). If you want to engage her on a topic of humanitarian interest, she's happy to talk about the push for better world health, clean water, or the battle against malaria. "It gives me emotional satisfaction to know that with the name I acquired through tennis, sports, bikini photo shoots and all that, that I can bring attention to causes I care about," she told me. "It makes me feel that I now am giving back."
Some of you may react cynically to the idea of Anna Kournikova as a sort of South Beach Mother Teresa, but she makes no claim to that. But also ask yourself, just how notorious has Kournikova been since she was forced off the tour by persistent back problems? I read the New York Post on the subway every day and I haven't seen much of Kournikova on the infamous Page 6. I know that she's been in a long relationship with the pop star Enrique Iglesias, but she seems to live at the edge of the celebrity radar screen. And that's certainly by design rather than choice, or lack thereof.
 Anna told me that the USO tour was a pretty exhausting drill (this was her third). Although Bollettieri and Kournikova spent a fair amount of time together, they had little time to reminisce about her early years at Nick's eponymous tennis academy (he was her career-long coach). "Our schedule on tour was to leave at 6 am and get back to our rooms at midnight," Anna told me. "Then we had the 'bag drag' at 4:30 am. So we slept four hours a night, sometimes with no heat, six to a room. Of course, having grown up in Russia, I was used to the brutal cold in Afghanistan. But I still got the flu. Everybody was breaking down. And whenever we had a quiet moment on a plane, we tried to nap. It was very draining, physically, but completely worth it."
I always felt that life as a tennis glamorpuss took Kournikova by surprise, at an age when she was still very impressionable and apt, because of her background, to take full advantage of every opportunity that came her way. This, after all, was the same girl who showed up for her very first lesson with Nick Bollettieri on a day when he was running a little late with a previous pupil. When the precise time of Anna's lesson arrived, she marched right onto the court, interrupting the ongoing lesson, and declared that she was present, and ready to start playing. Brazen hussy, or eager, determined pup? Come to your own conclusions.
There's a toughness about Kournikova - how could there not be? And she also has a good, long memory. She doesn't flee from her past or feel shame about the straits from which she emerged to become a star and celebrity of remarkable reach. "I remember how I got to where I am, I never forget it," she told me. "And I also feel like I earned it. But to this day I still take care of my own s*it. I go to the grocery store, the gas station, do all the everyday things for myself. I don't see life any other way. I like to care of myself and my stuff, and also the people around me. To me, the life of privilege is great, but I never forget where I came from and what's important - which is relations, people, what you do with your life."
Maybe that doesn't exactly qualify as wisdom for the ages. But it wasn't offered up as if it were, either. And according to her own website, Kournikova's favorite non-sporting activities are reading and barbecuing. So much for the fast lane.
I wondered if Anna had plans to start her own family. She said, "I'm not sure about marriage, although I've been in an eight-year relationship (with Iglesias). Somehow, I never dreamed of wearing a pouffy white dress. And the older I've gotten, the more I just appreciate myself and know myself, so when I think of having a family of my own these days I think, if I feel like this at 28, imagine how much more able I'll be to be a good mother at something like 31. I'm in no hurry."
Anna advised me to make sure my own son "doesn't get into texting," adding, "When I work with the Boy's and Girl's clubs, I really see how important it is to have human interactions. Nowadays, kids sit upstairs and their parents say, 'Come down to eat in 10 minutes.' So what do the kids do? Text. What can 10-year olds text about? When I was 10, we didn't even have cell phones, it was all about interactions."
Yes, but that was long ago and far away. And only Anna Kournikova really knows just how far.
By TennisWorld Contributing Editor Andrew Burton
In the brief space of time between Indian Wells and Miami/Key Biscayne, here are some semi-random thoughts about the week or so of tennis that I saw, and some of the conversations that I had.
Get There - While I was reviewing some of the match calls, I saw that matches I'd enjoyed very much were being panned as low to average in quality. Some of this, of course, is personal taste - nothing wrong with that. But there's a heck of a difference between watching a top ATP or WTA match in the stadium and watching it on TV. It's like the difference between owning a concert DVD and being there to hear the thing when it happens (well, minus the ringing in the ears the morning after).
TV gives you a number of things you don't get in the stadium - action replays from multiple angles, statistics, commentary (yes, I know that's a double edged sword - but every so often I like to have Darren Cahill sitting next to me pointing something out). But when you're close to the players, you get a much more visceral connection to the action in front of you. You can hear, as the strings contact the ball, just how hard the players are hitting. You also gain an appreciation of just how good an athlete you need to be to survive at this level. You're part of a crowd, and close to its emotions. You won't necessarily see a great match, but your appreciation of tennis players is likely to go up. So shake your couch, count your pennies and go see some live tennis.
Good, not great - talking about match quality, I can't honestly say that I saw any matches at Indian Wells which will show up in the year's top 10.
I thought Nadal - Berdych was the highest quality match I saw during the week. Nadal was the better player on the night, and he made a slight advantage count, rather like a chess grandmaster turning a one pawn advantage into a win (possibly the first time Rafael Nadal has been likened to a chess grandmaster). My formula for good tennis matches is simple:
Good players + playing well at the same time = Good match
To become a great match, the quality of player has to be outstanding, and there has to be a meaningful chance that either player will win. And it helps if there's a lot riding on the outcome - a final, or late stage in a Major.
By this standard, Federer - Baghdatis and Nadal - Ljubicic were pretty good matches, but in both cases the high seed played a good step below his best level, and missed several chances to close out the match. We all know that Federer failed to convert 3 match points against Baghdatis: Nadal didn't get to match point against Ljubicic, but at the start of the 3rd set tie break in their semi final match, Nadal was leading the points tally 97 to 85. That ought to be enough for the win, but as we know, Ljubicic accepted the lifelines and ran away with the tie breaker. Federer came in for some flak in the press room for his rueful comment that the match with Baghdatis should never have got to a breaker - but Nadal said just about the same thing in his own remarks after his semi:
Q. What happened in the tiebreak? It seemed like you were a little passive almost in the tiebreak.
RAFAEL NADAL: No, I wasn't passive. That's for sure, no? I was more nervous than passive, no? Because I never had to arrive to this tiebreak. That's my feeling, no?
I Been Working On The Railroad - I hope by now you've had a chance to read Steve Tignor's posts from Indian Wells. Tennis journalism may seem like a pretty cushy way to earn a living - travel to exotic places, watch a match a day, tell people what they've just seen, collect a paycheck. But just as Federer's seemingly effortless style hides the fantastic amount of work he's doing with his core and legs to achieve the balance and footwork, Steve's posts have come from a ton of legwork watching all kinds of different matches and hours in the media center hammering away on his MacBook. At times, I thought Steve had cloned himself, and one Steve was writing in the media center while Steve Mark II was out at Stadium 3 taking notes on Yanina Wickmayer.
This year, Steve sat in a Murderer's Row of tennis journalists - Doug Robson of USA Today, Matt Cronin of TennisReporters.net, Steve, and Tom Tebbutt of the Toronto Globe & Mail. When I was tapping away at my own laptop, I'd hear these guys checking stats, making observations or just wisecracking behind me. It was like being courtside at a journalist's All Star Game.
Go Big Or Go Home - one of Steve's posts last week looked at Marcos Baghdatis. Steve talked about Baghdatis' failure, so far, to follow through on his spectacular coming out party in Melbourne in 2006:
Baghdatis might not have fallen quite so far if the tour hadn’t become more about physical strength, speed, and stamina at the same time.
“Since 2006, the tour has changed so much,” he says, referring to his breakthrough season. “Players are so much stronger, the style is much tougher, the courts are slower, nothing is easy.”
"Players are so much stronger." It seems strange to think that the game can change appreciably in four years, but I believe I saw evidence of this in the press conferences I attended. I've seen Andy Murray, Ivan Ljubicic and Andy Roddick on several occasions since I first started going to IW on a media pass in 2008, and this year each of them seemed to have bulked up noticeably in their upper bodies, particularly their arms. Even the WTA is getting into the act - watching Elena Dementieva, all I could think was "damn, I wish I could have delts like she has."
uh oh. mines only raison for to live, gones. *MOPE!!!* - When you've just spent a not inconsiderable sum of money on planes, cars and rooms, and gotten excited because the dude did actually show up, seeing your favorite player blow 3 match points and exit early is a bit of a downer - one shared by Jane (jb) and Susan (lpb), so we slunk off to a hotel bar to drown our sorrows. But then I remembered this lolcats parody of Twilight - New Moon ("is mines fambly. thay is want for you to be a snack. i am luvs you too much for you to be snack. stead i jes go way for evar. k thx bye") Through the magic of iPhone, we could read the immortal tale of Bella and Edward, and be hapy gane.
Indian Wells 2010 is in the books. Before the two singles finals began, Steve Tignor and I sat down in the press gallery, and he talked about being a full time tennis journalist, and about where the two tours are right now. It's up on YouTube, so take a look. I hope to keep posting tennis related videos to YouTube - if you want to keep up to date, you'll find me at adbuton1.
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