Stone Cold Gone	05/31/2010 - 1:19 PM

by Pete Bodo

Greetings from Paris. When I touched down at dawn the morning sky was bright, with dazzling white clouds lined with gold. By the time I arrived at Stade Roland Garros a few hours later, that same sky was drained of light and color, and a fleet of battleship-gray clouds drifted by overhead, gently colliding and moving on.

After Venus Williams was beaten by Nadia Petrova yesterday, she spoke about being off her game, about how it was just one of those days when, "I want to hit the ball crosscourt and it went down the line."

It was a neat way to describe one of those "one of those" days that is the lot of every tennis player; the trick, as Venus inadvertently learned again yesterday, was to suffer such days in Strasbourg, Bali, or New Haven. Not at a Grand Slam event, not at Roland Garros.

She also added, in essentially the same breath: "Sometimes, when it gets really cold, it's hard to feel the racket. Especially in Europe. It gets really cold here. It just wasn't a good day."

If you want a resounding "Amen" to that, go see Justine Henin. She lost at this cold, gloomy, sometimes borderline-depressing French Open today, felled like a tree among the seedlings in the Bois de Boulogne forest by Slammin' Sammy Stosur, this year's Yes, I can! girl- the WTA's answer to Fernando Verdasco. Justine, too, is stone cold gone.

Weather, of course, is the default setting in any conversation; so it's a little dodgy going there when you're actually writing about something and getting paid for it. But sometimes, it's worth stating the obvious. Note that Williams talked about the European brand of cold. I take her words at face value; you don't go out there in the second week of a major expecting conditions that account for a startling number of empty seats around a court (why sit there freezing when you can be sipping coffee in a hospitality tent?), conditions that make it a chore rather than a pleasure to unlimber and move those legs and arms.

On a sunny, warm day, the clay underfoot can be like the soft, inviting surface they now install on outdoor playgrounds. You just want to run on it, and if you trip, slide or fall, who cares? But on days like this, the court just looks and feels and smells like damp, cold dirt. Dirty, granular, stick-to-your skin dirt. A chilly gust kicks up, the smell of the clay fills your nostrils and there it is: a sobering reminder of mortality. Not conducive to the frame of mind you want to cultivate when your profession demands that you live or die anew each day.

I'm sure that in her comeback dreams, Henin envisioned Roland Garros the way we like to imagine it, and whether or not we've been here, won the singles championship, or merely snuck into Philippe Chatrier and plopped down in the upper deck, hoping the seat-holder wouldn't show up until at least the end of the set, has nothing to do with it.

Henin probably remembered the roar of the crowd and the dazzling colors, the looseness of her muscles and that feeling of utterly satisfying exhaustion. A sense of accomplishment. The warmth that still radiates outward from her physical core; it would continue to do so until after her shower. She was her own sun. The champion.

You know Justine; she's the "feelingful" one; a woman of sentiment. I'm never sure that even the interest sympathetic onlookers have in her matches her own. She has introspective down pat, and has any player ever used the word "beautiful" in such an amorphous way?

She put on a brave face when she came to meet the press. Justine was dry of eye, measured in tone, and reasonable, in that wistful way of hers. This is a young woman who could stroll into her kitchen, pick up the remnants of a wheel of brie, and think deep thoughts about the role it played in the past two weeks of her life. Two weeks that, in this case, were cut to a mere nine days thanks to Stosur, with an assist from the conditions.

Henin started well enough, smacking forehands and belting that those uncharacteristically reckless backhands that seem so. . . out of character, yet figure as her signature shot. She won the first set, 6-2. But things weren't entirely right in her world.

"The conditions haven't been the best that I knew here in Paris, but it's part of the game," said Henin. "Emotionally, it was difficult to deal with all these matches, I mean, the two matches I had to stop and start again, especially against Sharapova, emotionally probably took a lot from me. That wasn't easy, to come back on the court today."

Once again, we see how certain people given to introspection don't do well under cold, leaden skies. They've got plenty to be depressed about going in. But all kidding side, Henin's spirits might have been dampened by the events of the past few days, but in the end it was that familiar hobgoblin - nerves - that failed her.

Stosur is no longer the fair weather player of yore. She's a focused, thoroughly fit and practiced professional whose first thought upon seeing the conditions probably was: Wonder if they'll let me wear spikes? With each passing day, she seems more and more of a rebuke to some of her weaker-willed sisters, and a subscriber to the old Aussie ethic: Just shut up and play. You're lucky you've got a job you can do wearing a short skirt and tank top.

Stosur buckled down and blocked out the first set result, and Henin began to sense that she was in trouble as early as the third game of the second set, which Stosur won to go up 3-0. Henin began to get nervous: "I felt very nervous, very upset, which is normally not the way I am. You know, the last few days have not been easy either, and playing all those matches back to back was not easy. I lost a lot of energy at the beginning of the tournament, and maybe today I was feeling some nervous fatigue. Maybe that prevented me from seeing things in a calmer way. I felt right from the beginning of the second set that the match was turning and my aggressiveness was missing."

The third set was tight, on serve until Henin's fate was foreshadowed by a Stosur service break in the fifth game. Henin earned back the break and held for to go up 4-3, but Stosur played a solid hold game, broke again, then served out the match. The first point of the final game was emblematic. Henin had a sitter backhand with Stosur far out of position, but drove an ugly one into the net.

"Generally, I haven't been in the position in the second and in the third to really play my game and, you know, be aggressive," said Henin afterwards. "She was in control of the rallies, and she was hurting me a lot with her forehand and her serve. But I think it's a bit more mental than talking about tennis, so that point is one point in the match that probably, yeah, tell us that. I mean, the story of the match."

Give Henin credit for honesty; it's good to know that she's aware of the difference between introspection and delusion. And she nailed it when she analyzed Stosur's recent success as well. "She was very consistent. There's nothing to say about that. She just grabbed the opportunity. She took control over the rallies in the second and third sets. She really hurt me.

"I was not in one of my best days, obviously. It's difficult to come to grips with that, but maybe it's showing me a few things. That's what I think is positive. I know now the road still ahead of me. Today I was against an opponent who was stronger, more consistent, stronger when she needed to be stronger in the important times of the match."

Shortly after the match, the PA announcer for the press room told us what time Henin would arrive. And not long after that he came on to say that Stosur would do her press interview about three hours later - after her doubles match. It's not like beating Justine Henin at Roland Garros is sufficient reason to bask in glory and neglect your due diligence to the game of doubles, as well as a partner who's depending on you, right?

But that's the old Aussie way, and Stosur is doing a fair job, on various levels, representing it these days.

Seeing is Believing	05/31/2010 - 6:00 AM

If the French Open women’s singles winner comes out of the bottom half of the draw, you know what that means: We’ll have a first-time Grand Slam singles champion. Grand Slam winner Francesca Schiavone… like the sound of that? Or maybe it rolls of your tongue more easily when you insert Caroline Wozniacki, Elena Dementieva or Nadia Petrova?

If Sally selling seashells by the seashore twists your tongue less than Jarmila winning a major by the Seine, I get it. Like I said in my French Open preview, the best way for a player to convince us she can win a big one is to win a big one. It’s like the Academy Awards. I didn’t believe Sandra Bullock could win an Oscar until she went out and won an Oscar. (I can’t say the same for Helen Mirren, who I’m convinced was born with a gold statuette in her hands.)

Of course Oscar winners have usually not won one before, while Grand Slam winners usually have. In fact it’s been two years since we’ve had a first-time winner, when Ana Ivanovic won the 2008 French Open. If I have my facts straight we’ve only had eight first-time winners this decade:

*Jennifer Capriati (2001 Australian Open)

*Justine Henin (2003 French Open)

*Anastasia Myskina (2004 French Open)

*Maria Sharapova (2004 Wimbledon)

*Svetlana Kuznetsova (2004 U.S. Open)

*Kim Clijsters (2005 U.S. Open)

*Amelie Mauresmo (2006 Australian Open)

*Ana Ivanovic (2008 French Open)

Two of the four quarterfinalists in the bottom half have been so close (yet so far). In 2004 Dementieva was a finalist at the French Open and the U.S. Open. In 2009 Wozniacki was a finalist at the US Open. Petrova’s been as far as the semifinals, twice at the French Open. Schiavone’s been as far as the quarterfinals, in all majors but the Australian Open.

Here’s more information (from the Sony Ericsson WTA Tour) on the quarterfinalists in the bottom half of the draw. The chart shows number of wins, number of losses and win percentage at the French Open coming in to this year’s tournament.
 

Why bother with all this, oddsmakers and many fans might say. They seem confident this year’s winner will come from the top half of the draw and the first quarter to be more precise. It’s where we find Serena Williams and Justine Henin, the two major winners left in the tournament. If they win their matches today though, they’ll meet in yet another quarterfinal. Which means that no more than one previous major winner can make the final to try and prevent a first-time winner once again. But maybe a Sam Stosur here or a Jelena Jankovic there can prevent them from getting there first? I guess we'll see.

Roland Garros 2010 CC: Midpoint	05/30/2010 - 3:52 PM

By TW Contributing Editor Andrew Burton

Afternoon, all.  We've now reached the mid point of the 2010 Roland Garros tournament, with half of the quarter finalists in the ATP and WTA singles tournaments decided today.

I wouldn't say there have been any major upsets so far: the highest seed to go out on the WTA side, Venus Williams, has had much more success on grass than she has on clay.  And Andy Murray, who just lost to Tomas Berdych, also has had limited success on this surface.

Please use this post for continued comments before Pete starts us up from RG.

-- Andrew

The Clay Ran Red	05/30/2010 - 12:55 AM

by Pete Bodo

Given the events of the past 12 months, I wonder how many people shrugged and thought: Oh, yeah, Roland Garros. . . that means Roger and Rafa again. It's sure starting to look as if that might be the case again, although I must say that the sight of Robin Soderling's name so close to Federer's gives me pause - not as much pause as if Soderling's name were closer to Nadal's than Federer's, but you get my point.

I have a particular, self-interested reason for anticipating a final between Federer and Nadal: So brace yourself for a little shameless self-promotion, although the nature of the pitch might be of interesting for larger reasons. I have a new book out called The Clay Ran Red, which is a history of the Federer vs. Nadal rivalry at Roland Garros. I need to explain about that.

Faithful readers of TennisWorld for the past five years know I'm proud of the fact that this weblog was a groundbreaking enterprise, made possible largely to the support of Tennis magazine and Tennis.com. They've enabled me to be a gainfully employed blogger. So it was only natural that I'd be interested in taking this adventure in new media to a new level, and this book is it. The Clay Ran Red is a different kind of book, because it doesn't exist - at least not as that tangible object we call "a book." It's an e-book, which means you can only download it to your e-reader - in this case an Amazon Kindle.

This all started when Scott Waxman, my literary agent, decided to get into the e-publishing business. He suggested that since I had covered every match Roger and Rafa have played at Roland Garros, why didn't I just use that five-plus years worth of material, and anything else that's relevant to it (various posts and articles on the clay-court game, for example) and find a way to weave them into a continuous narrative that tells the history of the rivalry in Paris? 

I thought it was a great idea, even though my 2005 TW archive has vanished into the ether(net). Journalists produce a massive body of work, but because they do it at such regular intervals, whatever they wrote last (whether it's good or bad) is immediately rendered obsolete by whatever it is they write next. That's not just sort of sad, it also represents a tremendous amount of pure waste, because journalists write - as the saying goes - the first draft of history.

But that first draft is never seen or even presented as a whole. Traditional book publishers avoid "collected works," and previously published material, like the plague (unless the author is hugely famous), mainly because of the time and cost involved in publishing a typical book. But an e-book is different; it can be created by a publisher at a comparatively low cost, pulled together quickly, and made available for purchase painlessly - and at an attractive price. I found it interesting to review my thoughts on this rivalry in a tight, narrative form, and I'm hoping tennis fans will as well. Furthermore, my new book simply could not exist if it were not for the advantages offered by e-publishing, yet now it does. That's a marvelous thing in a way that has nothing to do with me.

Would someone with a Kindle (or a similar Kindle-capable portable device) want to plonk down six bucks for, basically, a full-length book (The Clay Ran Red is probably around 45,000 words) that focuses on rivalry of Rafa and Roger at Roland Garros? I guess I'm about to find out.

I wrote about the Kindle back in December, after I got one for Christmas. All I can say is that after reading three books on it, I decided to go back and try a "regular" book. But I decided, "why bother?" I had my doubts about e-readers. I don't have them anymore. I've gotten so accustomed to the device that I'll only read a book on paper anymore if I can't get it electronically.

I'm not alone in this, and the introduction of the Apple iPad has accelerated this shift to electronic books. If you look at the projections for e-publishing, and the sale of e-readers (all kinds of manufacturers are working overtime to catch up with "tablets" of their own), the numbers are staggering. Quite honestly, I don't really expect to be a big winner in this rush to e-books; it's still too early in the game. But I like the idea of being out in front on this, not so much because I'm a techie (which I'm not), but because I like new ideas, innovation, and experimentation. That's how this very weblog was spawned.

Anyway, I hope those of you who have an e-reader buy my book, or recommend it to someone who has one. Because I'd like to do this again, with another subject. And I'd like to see all kinds of writers who can't bust through the logjam at traditional publishers get their shot at success, at having their books available to interested readers (doesn't everyone have an unpublished novelist in the family?). Right now, that doesn't happen; book publishers are simply too captive to the "commercial realities" that dictate what is published.

But on to the tennis. I was stunned to see that David Ferrer lost to Jurgen Melzer (and with a 6-0 set in that straight-set blowout!). And that made Andy Roddick's equally desultory loss to Teimuraz Gabashvili seem that much more disappointing. One thing these past few days has impressed on me is the brutal and, quite frankly, not entirely satisfying scheduling (or is it a format issue, plain and simple) system in play at a Grand Slam that plays best-of-five deuce sets but is also at the mercy of the weather.

I mean, look at Ivan Ljubicic. He notches up an inspired, epic five-set win over Mardy Fish (10-8 in the fifth!) on Friday, and he suddenly looks like he may have sloughed off that Grand Slam hex. Then he has to bounce back today and play Thomaz Bellucci, and he runs out of steam after losing the first set tiebreaker, to go down in straight sets. Is there a better example of the idea of wasted effort out there?

I guess such things have always happened. But in this day and age, do things have to be set up to make it so likely that they'll happen? 

[[I'm traveling to Paris tomorrow, but Bobby Chintapalli will be here with a Crisis Center post to keep you all busy until I get out to the stade Roland Garros to produce the first of my red-meat posts. I'll be in Paris for the duration.]]

Justapova X	05/28/2010 - 6:36 PM

[This is your 'French Open Crisis Center' post. Feel free to use this to discuss Saturday's matches.]

by Bobby Chintapalli, Contributing Writer

Both have been showing up at the net quite a few times too – even between the coin toss and handshake. Henin, in a continued effort to Wimbledonize her game, approached 29 times. More surprisingly Sharapova, in a possible effort to temporarily Heninize her game, approached 26 times.

Sharapova’s serving stats are a little better than Henin’s – she hit more aces and fewer double-faults and had a better first serve percentage.

The Major Stuff

Sharapova isn’t as high on the list of contenders to win this whole shebang as Justine, who’s on top, but winning it would mean a lot to Sharapova: For one thing, it would get her a career Grand Slam. Henin too needs just one more major to complete a career Grand Slam. (It’s Wimbledon, as you’ve heard a million times.)

Despite the hole in their major kitties these ladies have some of the best stats around, even when compared to the five other active women’s Grand Slam singles winners. Consider these stats, which show the number of Grand Slam singles titles won, career singles titles won and career win percentage going in to the French Open. (The list is sorted first by Grand Slam titles then by career titles.)

The three players at the bottom of the list aren’t in the tournament now. Kim Clijsters didn’t play because of a foot injury, Ana Ivanovic lost to Alisa Kleybanova in the second round and Svetlana Kuznetsova lost to Maria Kirilenko in the third round. That leaves The Sisters and Justapova. We know at least one more will be out of the tournament after this match. But which one?

What a Girl Wants

When Justapova X gets underway Saturday, I hope we’ll see big groundstrokes, changes in pace and spin, net play and, generally, tennis worthy of its billing. What I expect we won’t see is anything close to choking – that’s not how these two roll.

Henin knows what I’m talking about. “I think there’s one thing we share,” she said. “We are fighters.”

Sure, they may get nervous. If they do Sharapova may grunt louder, and Henin may look at her coach more often. Who cares? When it’s over I, for one, just don’t want to see – or have – a good cry over some great mental collapse. Now on with it. In the Twitter words of the wise Jelena Jankovic... I am ready!

The Deuce Club, 5.28	05/28/2010 - 5:00 PM

By Jackie Roe, TW Social Director

Now on to what's become a DC tradition during the majors ... our fashion round-up! Since I haven't seen many players this week - waking up at 4 AM to watch never used to be this difficult - I didn't put together full best and worse dressed lists. Maybe you guys can help?

Luckily, Getty Images came to the rescue and I was able to slap together a few comments on the outfits I found noteworthy for whatever reason - good, bad, confusing. This'll get you started.

Wrapping up this post with a lil' bit of karaoke: Click here and here.

Bon week-end, TWibe! And happy Memorial Day to my fellow Yanks!

Fat, Fit and La Monf	05/27/2010 - 4:34 PM

by Pete Bodo

Mornin'. I was not exactly surprised by some of the reactions to my comments about Dinara Safina in yesterday's post; I'm accustomed to the ease with which some people toss around words like "sexist" and "misogynist." Such ease that it seems almost Pavlovian.

If you examine the record you'll see that I'm an equal-opportunity offender. I can recall when some readers went ballistic after I described Andre' Agassi's "man boobs," and when I repeatedly called Nalbandian "Tubby Dave" (noting his resemblance to a school bus in that yellow kit he favored at the time). But far be it from me to rob the pious of their opportunity to leap to the moral high-ground, and being a scold is its own reward, if you get my drift . . .

When it comes to (attempted) humor, or snark, take it for what it is: a device. Something meant to bring a smile to your face, but if you're addicted to the frown that's your business. Think of me as the person who enables you to get in touch with your anger or desire to judge. I don't mind.

Anyway, my own bottom line is that Dinara Safina is a professional athlete and ought to be judged by the standards and values of her profession. Larissa Savchenko, that marvelous doubles player, never met a cream puff she didn't like, and it appeared to have some bearing on her career. Pointing it out may not have been polite, but it was certainly relevant to any discussion of her career and results. But godot bless her; I believe everyone ought to follow his or her lodestar, even if it just leads around the corner to the bakery.

The issue of whether or not Safina really is out of shape is a legitimate one, though. Does she really have a unique body that enables her to have an apparent pot belly while being in terrific shape? Perhaps. I was amazed, attending a few triathlons in which my wife took part, to see how many of the competitors who finished well ahead of her (and she was pretty good) looked nothing like the fine athletes they clearly were. In fact, some had pot bellies, love handles, man boobs and any or all of the rest.

And that was in a fitness-based athletic contest. One thing some of you missed here is that you can be in relatively poor physical condition and still survive on the tour; you can win plenty of matches with a combination of skill and the same level of fitness as an ordinary citizen who happens to be conscious of his or her degree of fitness and weight. In fact, if your day job consists of whacking tennis balls, it's impossible not to be reasonably fit. The questions are, how much fitter could, or should, you be? And to what degree can fitness compensate for your other shortcomings?

I look at a Svetlana Kuznetsova, or a recent version of Marcos Baghdatis, and think: these players might do better if they were a little more attentive to their fitness. If they lost some of that body fat. Do they also have the kind of body as Safina? Can anything be done about it, and if not, is anyone going to file a class-action suit against those magazines that never fail to promise, in a cover line, to show you the way to develop those proverbial "six-pack abs?"

What about Mardy Fish, about whom I wrote during the Miami tournament. Was the Mardy Fish of 18 months and 25 pounds ago the "natural" Mardy (we certainly were accustomed to seeing him that way)? And if he was, and it had no impact on his game and results, why did he bother to become the fit Fish of today (dang it, I thought I could find a piscatorial pun somewhere in there!). Why would anyone bother?

You want to know if fat is an issue or not, go ask Martina Navratilova. She ballooned out early in here career (oh, I know, Czech women raised on plum dumpling all have that body type!) but then she started taking care of herself, embraced a diet and fitness regimen that some might even call harsh. She began to behave more, rather than less, like a. . . professional. Then she won everything in sight for nearly a decade.

Tennis is not a fitness-driven sport, although it's become more of one in recent years, and the higher you go in the food chain the more relevant fitness becomes. But skill and competitive determination play an enormous role in tennis, which is why tennis has such a rich history of out-of-shape players winning in spite of a fitness deficit. The weird thing to me is why it ought to be taboo, in some minds, to raise such issues. If Safina were winning tennis matches, I certainly wouldn't be making remarks about her tummy (okay, I would, but only if I thought I had some clever quip to offer).

Moving on, two young players especially bear watching in the coming days, and I hope one or both of them is still around when I arrive in Paris early Monday. Thiemo De Bakker of the Netherlands and Leonardo Mayer of Argentina. These youngsters are not exactly a secret; there's been a bit of a buzz about both of them now and then. But both of them face a potentially career-shaping moment in Paris.

De Bakker is 21 and ranked No. 50, while Mayer is 23 and No. 57. You can't call either of these guys a prodigy; compare their records to that of Rafael Nadal at the same age and you might be impelled to ask, Why them?  Well, both of them, and Mayer moreso than de Bakker because of the age difference, are at the point where they ought to make a big upward move if they hope to be seen as Top 10 or even Top 20 material. Both of them are in the third round, and both have interesting match-ups of the kind they'll need to win more frequently. De Bakker plays Jo-Wilfried Tsonga next, and Mayer has Marin Cilic. Which, if either, will pull the big upset?

Condolences to fans of Gael Monfils, who lost to Fabio Fognini today, 9-7 in the fifth: That's a tough way to have to leave your own party. All credit to Fognini, though. When the match was suspended yesterday evening, it seemed like a great break for Monfils, for the same reason that a suspension is a benefit for any favorite (how often have we seen a seed in trouble literally begging the tournament referee to suspend play because of darkness, rain, or an imminent meteor shower).

The break, especially an overnight one, gives the favorite a chance to re-group, and it usually increases the degree of pressure felt by the underdog, who's apt to spend the night of the break tossing and turning, cursing the fate that prevented him finishing what is a monumental, nerve-wracking task. It takes a lot of poise for an underdog to go out the following day and pick right up where he left off; it's far more likely that he'll remember his station in life, and be tempted to accept defeat knowing he has a reasonable excuse to fall back on.

By contrast, a favorite often flourishes when he's been granted a stay of execution. The career of a great player is built upon narrow escapes, unexpected but fully exploited opportunities, a willingness to take charge when the slate is wiped clean, and providence.

Monfils has been building a solid Roland Garros resume these past few years, and showing an increasing immunity to Mauresmo Syndrome (the condition that keeps native players from doing well in their domestic championships), but this loss represents a significant setback for him. Now, it's back to Square One for 2011, and all the usual questions will be raised at this time next year. You don't want to draw sweeping conclusions from a single match, but this one was a bad one to lose at this stage of Monfils career.

Feel free to use this post as a Crisis Center, and I'll be back with you tomorrow. Bobby C. may be around this weekend to spread a little love for the WTA.

The Desperate Housewife of Boulogne	05/26/2010 - 6:00 PM

by Pete Bodo

In the electronic age there's no such thing as yesterday, and every tomorrow is eternally today - if you want it to be. I engage in such Deep Thoughts because this morning, long before Svetlana Kuznetsova jerked us around on an emotional string even more effectively than she exercises opponents on the court, the rain delay at Roland Garros enabled Tennis Channel to re-broadcast the Dinara Safina vs. Kimiko Date Krumm first-round battle of yesterday.

And here all this time I thought "rain delay" in the language of tennis translates only to "Krickstein vs. Connors!"

I was fired up for this, because I didn't see any of that Safina vs. Krumm match, live, and I was really curious to see Kimiko in action. She did not disappoint.

I know that everyone has been talking for the past few weeks about Dinara Safina's struggles with confidence, but the first thing that struck me when she began banging balls was the struggles she may have been having with the Napoleons or seven-layer cake. Maybe it was the fit of that raspberry dress she wore, but if this were London, the tabloids would be posing the question, Who's the father? The next time Safina goes out to play, she might ask her coach that timeless question: "Does this dress make me look fat?"

If Safina is in the kind of shape her tummy - or that dress - suggested, it helps explain how she she seemed to run out of gas in the third set against Date Krumm. One of the reasons Safina's condition is worth noting is because while Date Krumm is showing signs of that dreaded "middle-age spread" (sure she's 'only' 39, but let's remember Boris Becker's comment about measuring a tennis player's lifespan in dog years), and had her right calf heavily-wrapped, she seemed to have greater reserves near the end of the match than did Safina.

In all fairness, you can probably put some of Safina's woes down to that primary, "confidence" narrative. You know a player is in trouble, mentally, when she handles a small, light, nappy-headed object like a yellow Dunlop as if it were a medicine ball. At times, especially when Safina was serving, she left the impression that the ball weighed a ton, and it was all she could do to lift it, never mind hit it where she wanted. She would manage to loft the ball and, with a prodigious grunt and swing, perform the Heruclean task of accomplishing a serve. On her follow through, she frequently looked like a mighty oak, toppling under the axe of a logger.

All this was good news for Date Krumm. Last year at this time, Safina was No. 1 in the world and trying to explain how she could claim being the best player in the world when she had yet to win a Grand Slam event. Meanwhile, Date Krumm was answering questions about how it came about that she decided to take a 12 year break from the game and still expect to get four or five games off anyone whose name ended in "ova."

Twelve years. That's a Rip Van Winkle number, but unlike that popular character in folklore, Date Krumm returned to the same world she left. A world full of talented players, like Safina, who could be exploited because they simply don't have the mental strength to match their physical talents and skills.

Date Krumm could be the star of a reality show, The Desperate Housewives of Boulogne. She would be the one who takes tennis lessons at the country club twice a week, runs the bake sale at her kid's school, and has the working women in her neighborhood green with envy. It's a small price to wear for the privilege of hanging around Starbuck's at 10:30 in the morning, all dressed up to go hit the stairmaster at the gym.

Krumm wears a visor. is there a piece of gear more emblematic of the weekend warrior? In her case, it encircled a top-knot bound with a white elastic hair-thingy that looked a lot like that white plastic tab then now use to close off the end of the bag containing a loaf of bread.

The bandage on Krumm's calf suggested that, all nods to convention aside, this is a woman who comes to play. It represented an attitude and a statement of seriousness; you can find it any level of the game, including at the country club. Don't underestimate me, it seems to declare. I may have a proper, conservative, sporty look, and I may have other things in my life besides tennis, but I'm a lot tougher and more of a gamer than you might think. Serve 'em up, sucker!

Well, Safina did. And she more or less blasted her way through the first set, looking pretty imposing in that clingy raspberry dress topped with a necklace that featured a strange amulet (a shrunken head?) dangling from a black cord. It must have presented  Date Krumm, who stands 5-4 to Safina's 6-feet even, with quite a menacing image, especially when Safina periodically let go with a wild Tartar shriek. Krumm played silently; as women like her are wont to do.

The racket looks almost comically large in Krumm's hands, something a cartoonist might draw to emphasize the diminutive stature of his subject. And the way Krumm hits her shots doesn't exactly disabuse you of the notion that she has trouble manipulating an object so big and seemingly unwieldy. That's because she has one of those curious forehands that begins with a loosening and drop of the wrist, and often ends with more of a snap than a swing.

Krumm's lack of sheer power reduces her options; that racket is never going to be swept in a swift, authoritative arc, to swallow the ball and send it flying back at warp speed (a la Serena Williams) with a good does of topspin. Krumm is a counter-puncher, a dart-thrower. And in the second set, those darts began to find the 10-ring.

Krumm's only concession to the drama-queen behavior that is so fashionable on the WTA tour these days was a tendency to throw her hands up and fling back her head when she made a silly error. It was sometimes accompanied by an expressive grimace, although there was always a big smile buried just under the surface of her mien. Desperate? Maybe for the moment. But happy, too.

Safina's game began to crumble in the second set and Krumm took it. But it took plenty out of the 39-year old Japanese as well. Krumm was broken the first time she served in the second set, and broken again shortly thereafter. By then, she was visibly limping as she tried to scamper to retrieve Safina's punishing groundstrokes, but she still had reason to hope. Safina seemed to tiring, and her body language suggested that she felt by no means on top of things.

So Krumm continued to plug away, diligently avoiding errors and carefully choosing her opportunities to pull the trigger on a placement. This is her stock in trade - pursuing a well-modulated, discreet game plan. She was giving nothing away; if Safina wanted the match, she'd have to take it.

This was something Safina was incapable of doing. She gave back one break, but served for a 5-3 lead only to double-fault away that game. She grew more and more emotional, and therefore less and less emotionally sympathetic as the match slipped away. Krumm just kept chipping away, knowing that revenge is a dish best served cold, as women like her are wont to know.

That attitude often pays off against a player like Safina, and it did once again. A deadly combination of Krumm placements and Safina errors became the undoing of the former No. 1. She lost six of the last seven games in the match, and didn't win a point on her serve in the final game.

It was a bravura performance by a tough little player who, despite the disadvantages of her size and age, meets the challenge of competition with open arms and a healthy appetite. Safina ought to take note, and learn to eat more wisely.

Second Chances	05/25/2010 - 2:23 PM

by Bobby Chintapalli, Contributing Writer

The Pleasant Surprise	05/25/2010 - 12:08 PM

by Pete Bodo

Things are just heating up in Paris today, but it's already been an interesting and somewhat appropriate day for U.S. players and fans. I say "appropriate" because these days, American tennis is trending toward the "glass half-empty/glass half-full" theme. Andy Roddick continues to be a threat to his rivals near the top of the game. More important - and granted, this transcends all the stats and punditry, and may not be all that big a deal in the big picture - he's developed a wonderful habit of delivering the pleasant surprise.

He did it at Wimbledon last July; he did it in Miami this spring. Today, he did it at Roland Garros, by grubbing and slugging his way back from a two-sets-to-one deficit against Jarkko Nieminen in the first round at Roland Garros. I'm at the office today, so I saw only the final stages of the match on our out-of-date television (but hey, at least we have cable), which makes it look dark, gloomy, muddy and cold, no matter what you're watching.

But I saw enough to feel justified in some remarks I made in the recent past. There's nothing to prevent Roddick from doing well on clay and, let's face it, while Andy's game is pretty well maxed-out on grass and the faster indoor and hard courts, he's got lots of room to improve his resume on clay.

You can still establish control of rallies with a serve like Roddick's (although keeping control is another issue when it comes to a top quality opponent), and the extra time granted Roddick during his return games is most valuable. Return of serve has never been his forte; the longer a look he gets, the better off he is. Roddick now has a rally backhand and while his forehand isn't as menacing as it once was, he still strikes it with enough power to hurt an opponent. He uses it better now - moves it around more artfully, uses the wider angles better than ever, and because he feels more confident in his backhand he can push and probe around the perimeter of the court more confidently.

Coming back to win a five-set match, the way Roddick did today or Andy Murray did yesterday, is always an uplifting experience; both men will be more confident and relaxed in the second round, even though neither man is likely to be accorded elite status on the red clay. Swing from the heels, fellas; it's all gravy.

The other glass, the one half-empty, is in Sam Querrey's hands today. He lost his first-rounder to, of all people, Robby Ginepri. It was a four-set routine job for Ginepri, but you had to feel for Sam, who's played well in Europe this spring. It isn't easy having to face a countryman who's got a solid baseline game in the world championships on clay (why Ginepri even at his best was so much better on hard courts than on clay remains one of tennis' great mysteries, if not a major one).

I like to look at the context in some of these early-round matchups, because they can be thorny, or contextually murky. The looming question in this one was: What exactly did Querrey have to gain? I know the obvious answer: a W, which comes with a ticket into the next round. You keep piling those up and the next thing you know you're in the quarters, Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal is across the net, and the whole world - including your aunt Mabel in Indianapolis - has got the television turned on even though it's two o'clock on a weekday afternoon.

But really - Ginepri has been off the radar, more or less written off as a factor on the world stage, as well as in the future of the U.S. game. He's been in and out of the top 100 lately, after having been deep into the Top 20 at one point in his career. And he's just 27 years old, and under the wing of Jose Higueras.

A guy in Ginepri's position (currently, No. 98) can get a hate on - nothing personal, Sam! - at his situation, even if it is of his own making, or determined by bad luck or unforeseen circumstances, including injury. When you get to the point where Ginepri currently is, many of the things you played for when you were arcing upward, and your name was on many lips, have slowly fallen or been stripped away. In some ways, it's the time when you find out what you're made of - where your motivation lies, and how much faith you have in yourself. That's because, all financial considerations aside, you're playing for one thing and one thing alone - personal pride.

I don't know how well Querrey and Ginepri get on; for all I know they're great buddies. But many Americans are hoping that we're at the start of the Querrey/John Isner era; the fact that the two big galoots are good friends only makes the prospect more appealing. You can see where Ginepri might be thinking, Hey, what about me, what am I, chopped liver? These dynamics are never as clear-cut as I may be making them sound, nor are they of towering significance; I doubt that Ginepri has been sitting in his hotel room, plotting to take back the reputation he once enjoyed and the hope that was once invested in him. But I also think he had plenty of motivation to go out and make a statement - to assert himself and remind everyone that he shouldn't be counted of the mix just yet.

Querrey was in a somewhat tricky position, subject to a surprising amount of pressure. I'm sure he didn't take Ginepri lightly, and I can't imagine that he went out there thinking about the pecking order in the U.S. game. This was a match Querrey needed to win to maintain and move forward the status quo, but also a win from which he had not that much to gain, against a guy who didn't have a whole lot to lose. That Querrey and Ginepri were teammates at last week's ATP World Team Cup event in Dusseldorf (Ginepri was a sub for Isner) only helps put these issues into perspective.

When we look at the draw at a Grand Slam event, we scout for the most appealing match-ups. We're tempted to look beyond certain matches (like this one) that aren't especially sexy and focus on things like Querrey having a winnable second-rounder against Potito Starace, or a gut-check third-rounder against David Ferrer. Somehow, you don't really see Querrey losing in the first round at Roland Garros to Robby Ginepri, although only a fool would think that could never happen.

So the upshot is that Isner will be Roddick's wingman at Roland Garros, starting in the second round. Let's hope they both survive.

Also, you may have noticed that Kimiko Date Krumm, fresh from her 12-year layoff from the tour (it kind of puts Kim Clijsters and Justine Henin in perspective, right?), put out Dinara Safina earlier today. But wait, Date Krumm is Japanese, and married to a German race car driver, right?

Forget it, I'm claiming her for the U.S. I don't care what the rules or protocols are for passports and all that junk, or even what her chances are to win the title at Roland Garros, this is the lady I want on my team. Have another hot dog and Coke, Kimiko. I wish I were in Paris to write a post about you.