33 posts categorized "April 2011"
by Pete Bodo
The rain in Spain may stay mainly on the plain, but the hot air tends to blow all over the danged place. That includes the city sitting in the lap of the Pyrenees, Barcelona. These past few days, Barcelona has been the venue for the airing of some dirty laundry and some eyebrow-raising claims and accusations, at least in the insular world of pro tennis.
First we had the Fernando Verdasco affair (I hope you've been reading TW's own [he says, with a note of paternal pride] Hannah Wilks, reporting form Estoril; she adds the latest chapter to this saga today). And did you see where Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario took some huge shots at the state of the WTA the other day?
 Here's a part of her moan, which appeared in an interview in the Spanish newspaper, El Pais: "(Back in the day) We had eight or 10 players who always had an extreme rivalry. And to be number one, or winning a Grand Slam or two, that just didn't come. Now everything is much more open. You can be number one without being a great champion. There is a lot more power in the game, but it lacks variety. If you ask people, they know names of the Williams sisters or Clijsters and Henin, but don't ask them to tell you the name of the number one. (Caroline Wozniacki)."
First off, how tactless can you be? For gosh sakes, Sanchez-Vicario is the tournament director of the Barcelona event -- why didn't she just tell her fellow Barcelonians not to bother buying tickets or coming out to the tournament because the women all stink nowadays? Why doesn't she call a big players meeting and tell all the women how terrible they are?
So let's go back and look at Sanchez-Vicario's record, and see how some of her claims hold up. Granted, the Barcelona Bumblebee won four majors (three at the French Open) and reached the no. 1 ranking (in 1995) in an era dominated by Steffi Graf and Monica Seles. She was a steady force and, periodically, a factor. But bear in mind that she was a big beneficiary of Seles's two-plus-year absence following that horrible stabbing incident in Hamburg. Sanchez-Vicario hit her peak in 1994 and 1995. Seles didn't play at all in '94, and played just a handful of events in 1995 as she hit the comeback trail (and ultimately made the final of the U.S. Open).
The top 10 at the end of 1995 were, in order: Graf and Seles, co-ranked at no. 1 (Seles's no. 1 ranking was protected when she returned to the game), Conchita Martinez, Sanchez-Vicario, Kimiko Date (boo-yeah!), Mary Pierce, Magdalena Maleeva, Gabriela Sabatini, Mary Jo Fernandez, Ivan Majoli and Anke Huber. Take Graf, Seles and Sanchez-Vicario out of the equation and you're looking at a grand total of five Grand Slam titles (Pierce had two, and Martinez, Sabatini and Majoli had one each) for that top 10.
Funny, I don't see Sanchez-Vicario's "eight or ten" players who could be considered "extreme" rivals. The only players in that group who fit the description are Seles and Graf, who were extreme rivals but only with each other. They went at it in the grand, Evert-Navratilova or King-Court manner. Most of the other women were more punching bags than rivals for those two.The career head-to-head between Sanchez-Vicario and Graf is 28-8; nothing too extreme about that, tough as it was to get the measure of the female GOAT. And when it comes to Seles, the odds on a win by Sanchez-Vicario were even worse: the career H2H is 20-3 for Seles.
But give Sanchez-Vicario, if not her theory, credit -- she pushed those two titans, but had a poorer winning percentage against them than some of the other women. Sabatini was a combined 14-40 against Graf and Seles. Martinez was 2-33 against them (ouch!). The most respectable H2H against Graf and Seles was the one posted by a woman who was never ranked higher than no. 3, Pierce. She was an impressive 9-6 against the twin icons.
I suppose Sanchez-Vicario was thinking in career-wide terms, which would introduce the likes of Lindsay Davenport, Jana Novotna, Martina Hingis, and even GOAT runner-up Martina Navratilova. But then you also have to open up the time frame for the women Sanchez-Vicario is implicitly criticizing.
Take Wozniacki, the much dumped-upon Slamless no. 1. She's still at the start of her career, but she's already had to contend with the any-given-day GOAT, Serena Williams, as well as her sister Venus. Then there's Maria Sharapova (otherwise known as Pierce 2.0), Justine Henin (she could play some), Kim Clijsters, Svetlana Kuznetsova, Amelie Mauresmo, Ana Ivanovic, Davenport and Hingis (Wozniacki has played all of them, and all have won majors).
You can see where all this leads. The most salient fact is that Graf and Seles dominated the period in which Sanchez-Vicario played, although her admirable longevity (18 years on the tour) and the inevitable overlap it created may make it seem otherwise to her.
Since Sanchez-Vicario made her remarks, TW regular Sblily has taken exception to the translation posted in our Ticker piece (linked at the top). She says that a more accurate translation of the sentence, You can be number one without being a great champion would be: You can be number one without being champion of a Grand Slam. Fair enough, but I think the potential for a Slamless no. 1 always existed and that's not really the point anyway. The generational claim is the important one.
Sanchez-Vicario also said: "(Back in the day) There was more variety, players with different games, stronger minds, more character. I played with three generations and they evolved. . .If you want to compete in today's game you have to play a much more physical and more power than before.”
 There certainly was more variety, and a broader representation of various styles during Sanchez-Vicario's career, but that's neither here nor there when it comes to the case she's making. It's mostly an aesthetic judgement. That stuff about "stronger minds" and "more character" is really dubious, as the head-to-heads ought to make clear. And hey, Majoli was a flake, Martinez always seemed too depressed while Sabatini seemed too nice. I imagine Jana Novotna was also one of Sanchez-Vicario's "extreme" rivals. Enough said.
The last statement Sanchez-Vicario makes is, if anything, an endorsement of the way the game is played today. The last time I checked, being "physical" and using plenty of "power" are not just assets in sports, but the heart and soul of athletic competitions featuring instruments like ball and bat. This is tennis, not modern dance.
Still, it would be a shame if the increase in those areas eliminates stylistic variety, but it wouldn't be the only example of natural selection at work. Besides, the jury is still out on that issue. Henin (for our purposes,she certainly belongs in the present generation) was as celebrated for her style as any female player since serving-and-volleying fool Navratilova. And how would you account for the success of Francesca Schiavone, or the difference in the styles of, say, Kim Clijsters and Serena Williams, if today's game were just a slugfest among stylistically identical bores?
Once again, Sanchez-Vicario's comments prove just one thing: comparing generations in tennis is a fool's errand. But we're all entitled to build sandcastles on the beach of our imagination.
 by Jackie Roe, TW Social Director
Welcome to an early edition of the Deuce Club! Last week, a number of you requested that I put something up in time for the Royal Wedding and I was happy to oblige. (Ask and ye shall receive—that’s how things work in the DC!) But before you work yourselves into a wedding frenzy, check out this special write-up from our very own gauloises, aka Hannah Wilks. She’s been covering the Estoril tournament for Tennis.com—you can read her terrific “Postcards from Portugal” here—and took some time out of her busy schedule to reflect on both her tournament experience and the wedding of the century, just for us. A fun, enlightening read (would we expect anything less from Hannah?). Enjoy, everyone!
Time changes when you’re at a tennis tournament, don’t you find? As you may (or may not) have noticed, I’ve been at the Estoril Open in the suburbs of Lisbon this week, and it’s extraordinarily difficult to care about anything else happening in the world, especially when—in the course of trying to write decent coverage for Tennis.com—I end up rushing from match to match, press conference to caipirinha, expending a wildly disproportionate amount of time and energy in relation to what I actually produce. But seriously, a tennis tournament can become your whole world when you’re spending every day there. Munich? Who cares! Serbia Open? The what Open?! Madrid? Whatever—the real competition is happening here in Estoril.
Actually, I plan—or more accurately am resigned to—spending much of Madrid (it’s next week, right? I don’t even know) curled up under a blanket quietly weeping. You know that feeling you have when you come home from your local tennis tournament unable to believe that it’s going to be a year before you get to see live tennis again (that feeling that often leads to an impulse credit-card purchase of tournament and plane tickets that you can’t possibly afford in order to see some more again sooner than that)? Multiply that feeling by a thousand, and you have what it feels like to wake up in the morning and realize that today you don’t get to write a thousand words on whatever the hell seems interesting to you.
All of this is a roundabout way of saying that the wedding of HRH Prince William and Kate Middleton seems like something that is happening on another planet. Even if I was at home, I think I’d still be at a loss to understand people’s excitement; not only do I consider the royal family basically a harmless irrelevance, but I never dreamed about my wedding as a child and don’t want to get married as an adult, either. If I ever wanted to be a princess, it was the sort that put on armor and grabbed a sword and went out to defend her kingdom when in danger. But when my friends in London keep texting me to invite me to either royal wedding parties or anti-royal wedding parties (forgetting I’m in Portugal), there’s no denying such enthusiasm is real. There’s obviously been a swing in sentiment back towards the Royals in recent years, due partly no doubt to the fact that our politicians have been revealed to be lying bastards and partly to films like The Queen and The King’s Speech, but judging by a quick scan of the comments at TW over the past few days, this enthusiasm is world-wide.
So for those of you at TW who are fascinated by the big event, I suggest everyone comments using their “royal name” (you can generate one here, or alternatively take either “Lord” or “Lady,” combine it with one of your grandparents’ name, then for a surname take the name of the street you grew up on and double-barrel it with the name of your first pet—for example, mine would give Lady Violet Broomleaf-Scully) and generally go mad with the virtual Pimms and champagne cocktails. [JR: My name? Duchess Jackie Eugenia Roeskitt of Chicagobury. HA.]
As for the rest of us, whom I hesitate to call the sane minority . . . well, Portuguese TV is covering the event live from 9 a.m. apparently. I shan’t be watching, and will instead be enjoying a splendid quarter-finals lineup in Estoril and trying to decide what to write about (and ignoring the texts from already-drunk friends once again forgetting I‘m in Portugal and telling me just what they think about whatever Camilla‘s wearing). Let’s revive the always-young topic of favorite tennis tournaments to watch live, shall we?
The photos posted here should give you a flavor of the Estoril Open, but they can’t capture its charm. Located in Jamor, a suburb of Lisbon, it is like the city itself an extraordinary mixture of chaotic energy and laid-back pleasantness. Court Central, the stadium, is nice enough, but Centralito—a sunken clay court with stone bleachers rising to colonnades and arches—is almost absurdly beautiful, especially in late afternoon when one side of the court is in shade and the other is bathed by sinking sunlight. The layout of the site is sufficiently Byzantine that everything is close to everything else—walking from the restaurant to Central, for example, you can stop and look down on what’s happening on courts 1 and 2—but intimate enough, divided by palm trees and thick hedges, that whatever space you’re inhabiting feels enclosed and somehow special. The fact that it’s a joint ATP and WTA event means that courts are at a premium and there’s plenty to see even late in the week with a grounds pass. Moreover, your unscripted encounters with players are likely to prove even more satisfying. Yesterday, for example, we saw Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, disregarded, having to push through a crowd of Verdasco fan girls and then explain to a security guard who he was just to get to a practice court. You don’t see that sort of thing at a Grand Slam.
So let’s hear about your local—or favorite—tennis tournament. Where do you go when you can, and what do you love about it? Have you ever seen an unguarded moment from a player that’s become a cherished memory? If anyone has any questions about Estoril or the players that I’ve seen there, I’m here to answer them. And if everyone would rather discuss the royal wedding, that’s fine too. This is a safe space, TW. Go nuts.
Couldn’t have said it better myself, Hannah. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, and we look forward to the rest of your Estoril dispatches!
Enjoy the wedding and have a great weekend, TWibe!
by Pete Bodo
Believe it or not, I am not going to begin this trip around the tennis world with comments, snarky or otherwise, on the news that Serena Williams is going to record a rap. Given all the factors in play and the nature of the bodacious lady herself, my only comment is . . . What took you so long?
But let's stay with the WTA and the Williams sisters for a moment.
No News Is Good News
Ignoring the possibility that Serena turns out to be the next Queen Latifah, the news coming out of the Williams family camp these days is uniformly bad. The latest is that neither Venus nor Serena will play in Madrid or Rome, which means that the only chance either will have to get matches before Roland Garros will be in Brussels -- a tournament that Venus is apparently eyeing. Serena has yet to make a decision about her return date, and apparently still is recovering from the surprise pulmonary embolism and hematoma she suffered in February.
Kim Clijsters, who injured her ankle dancing at a cousin's wedding a few weeks ago, is also expected to miss both big clay events. Which raises the interesting possibility that Clijsters and Venus - perhaps even Serena? -- will headline the Brussels tournament. If all three players decide to get their Roland Garros prep work done in Brussels, the tournament will overshadow the two big events that preceded it.
I have a sneaking suspicion that if Clijsters is fit to play the French Open, she'll play Brussels.
I Guess Janko Really Is an "Ambassador for the Game"
It's a sign of how much Serbia values its tennis players that the government has issued diplomatic passports to Novak Djokovic and his Davis Cup teammates, as well as Serbia's two top women, Ana Ivanovic and Jelena Jankovic. Does anyone else find this weird?
Granted, the burdens of travel these days are especially tough on tennis players and others who travel a lot, but aren't diplomatic-grade passports supposed to be for. . .diplomats? And doesn't this give the Serbian players an advantage, small as it may be, that players from other nations are denied, simply because their governments reserve diplomatic passports for. . . diplomats?
Maybe I'm particularly sensitive to this issue because I live in New York, where "diplomats" get away with murder (sometimes, quite literally - or at least rape, assault, and failure to pay $3 million worth of parking tickets collected while night-clubbing).
I understand that those tennis players are icons in Serbia, but I'd like it better if they named bridges after them, or built each one his or her own palace in Belgrade.
Defensive Much?
Jarmila Gajdosova (formerly Jarmila Groth) might have consulted with Donald Young before she started punching out those sometimes fateful 140-characters that make up a Tweet. Apparently angry at suggestions that she married Aussie journeyman Sam Groth merely to obtain citizenship in the Lucky Country, she wrote:
"To people who say bad things about me: I didn't need get married to become aussie citizen-check the facts... and check the law!". . .Also, "I got married because I loved sam and did it from my heart not because I am from poor country or I need him for passport!"
I don't know what the facts are here, but this isn't the first time this particular issue has come up in all its seedy glory. The most famous of these cases also involved a player from the former Czechoslovakia and an Aussie, albeit not a tennis player. That was Hana Mandlikova, who made very little effort to convince people that her marriage to Aussie restaurateur Jan Sedlak (by lineage, apparently also a Czech) was a match-madein heaven -- unless it was immigration heaven.The Wikipedia entry for Mandlikova doesn't tap dance around the issue, either, although it's worth noting the call for additonal citations.
Whatever the case, I suppose it's the business of the couples involved. The noteworthy part is Gajdosova's reaction to the rumors.
Today Queens, Tomorrow the Wor. . .Wimbledon!
You saw where Prince William and Kate Middleton, who will be married tomorrow in a ceremony in which I have not the least bit of interest, played mixed doubles at Queens Club, site of the ATP Aegon championships, the major Wimbledon tune-up tournament. Apparently, Kate's sister Pippa is a Queen's Club member. Who knows, if Kate gets to be Queen of England someday, perhaps Pippa could trade up and become a member at the All-England Club.
A Queens Club member who caught glimpses of the mixed doubles match sniffed: "I thought with all her sporty, boarding school background she (Kate) would be rather good, but she was a bit hit and miss. She reminded me of Princess Diana. Mind you, she was better than William, who was very wooden. Still, there was no bickering between them."
Of course not. Couples who play mixed only begin bickering in earnest once they're married, right?
 Someday Devvarman
Someday apparently is now for Somdev Devvarman, the two-time NCAA singles champion. In case you hadn't noticed, Somdev slipped through to the third round in Belgrade today, taking out no. 3 seed Guillermo Garcia-Lopez in an excruciatingly tight third-set tiebreaker, 10-8.
I took a shine to Somdev after watching him at the US Open a few years ago; I'm not even sure why. I suppose I liked his fighting spirit and his clean game. What he is, I think, is the ideal underdog. You watch him against most anyone these days and you just naturally sense that he's over-matched (on paper) but so game that you can't ever write him off. At 26, he's not a kid anymore, which must make his current form all the more gratifying. In recent weeks, he's logged wins over Milos Raonic, Xavier Malisse, Janko Tipsarevic, and Marcos Baghdatis (I know, I know, everyone beats Baggy these days).
Devvarman is no. 71, no great shakes, right? But sometimes it's good to acknowledge guys who are doing great within their own playing ecosystem, even if they're not apt to make headlines.
Beauty and the Beast
Brad Gilbert wrote one of the great tennis books in recent times, his wonderfully conceived and titled Winning Ugly. It's a book that will improve anyone's game, but especially if you're one of those idealistic types who wants to play "like you're supposed to" (which is like Roger Federer or Serena Williams), and therefore doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hail of going two rounds in the town tournament because. . . he or she isn't Roger or Serena. Winning Ugly is a great book for those who have yet to come to the adult realization that winning beats losing, no matter how you get there short of cheating.
The other day, Gilbert told IMG Academies that the player who most closely adheres to the principles he espouses in his book is. . . Caroline Wozniacki. So I suppose those who denigrate her for playing a game that's essentially defensive, and based on consistency, anticipation, court sense and strategy can feel justified in their contempt for her abilities. But as Gilbert, one of that rare breed we can call "exuberant realists" (for realism and gloominess go together like Nadal and clay), says:
"The person that I like to watch the most because so many people talk about how she doesn’t have any weapons and that there is no dominant woman’s player is Caroline Wozniacki. She is a great counterpuncher, she works hard every match, and she is just doing as good as she can do. I love watching because she doesn’t have the biggest shots. She works hard, gives 100%, and she is No.1 in the world because she is out there winning the most matches. She is one of my favorites."
I never in my life thought I'd think of Gilbert and Wozniacki as birds of a feather in any way having to do with "pretty" or "ugly." But the nice thing about life is that it's full of surprises.
 Greetings. I have a day loaded with medical appointments, so I don't know if I'll break free in time to do a red-meat post later. I do have a few in mind for the coming days as we advance toward Madrid. Speaking of . . . I like the way this Spring calendar has worked out. It's choc-a-bloc with Masters Series events, which is a tribute to the history, tradition and strength of the game in Europe, and on clay.
Under the revised schedule there's a nice pacing to this intense and densely-packed clay-court circuit. It's almost like an entire year's worth of tennis crammed into a two-month period. If there were no other tournaments or tennis events at all, the Euroclay season could still claim to be a significant sport, and the attendance and prize-money figures would confirm it.
Barcelona, Belgrade, Munich and Estoril, none of them a Masters event, really get to shine because of spacing of events—they're essentially satellites of Monte Carlo on one hand and Madrid on the other, but the gravitational tug and push of both make those events seem more interesting if not more important. The other thing that really helps these sub-Masters events is how they're now targeted by many top players as good places at which to begin their preparation for the French Open. Why leave the hard courts and immediately fling yourself into the deep end by playing the Monte Carlo Masters?
If there's a flaw in the schedule, it's that the Madrid and Rome Masters are in back-to-back weeks, because none of the players is keen on the idea of playing a Masters and then immediately going into a Grand Slam event. I'd venture to guess that Rome is going to become a very interesting tournament, given that it comes right on the heels of Madrid, and pretty far along in the clay season.
You could compare Madrid and Rome to the Indian Wells/Miami challenge, but there's one critical difference: the latter are the end of something, while Madrid/Rome are still part of the prelude to the main event, Roland Garros. They demonstrate the beauty of having a run-up to a major, but they are also a little overshadowed by its imminence. Maybe Indian Wells and Miami are, or seem, stronger or better tournaments because they are the main event.
Enjoy the tennis today.
- Pete
4.25.11
Dear Rafa:
Hi. At first, I wasn't at all sure that I ought to write this letter. For most people, that gut feeling is enough to make them put down the old pen, so to speak, and maybe get on the Stairmaster for half an hour, or go Ajax the plates around the light switches. Not me! I'm averse to exercise and cleanliness and when I get an idea in my head I like to let it rip. You might be surprised to learn how much fun it is to celebrate birthdays, important holidays and home-team Super Bowl victories in the company of your goldfish.
So the particular idea in my head at this moment is that you should hang up the sticks now, before this Madrid tournament starts, and just kick back and smell the roses. You've achieved more already on clay than any man before you, including Bjorn Borg. Let me go warm up this coffee and I'll explain.
Okay. We get it, Rafa. You're good on clay. Really good. So how many times do you really need to win Monte Carlo. . . Barcelona. . . Madrid. . . Paris? Seven (Monte Carlos)? Six (Barcelona)? Five (Roland Garros; sure its a so-so number, but then it's a Grand Slam event and 99.9 percent of your peers never even get a sniff of a final). Enough already!
I can anticipate your answer: "The true is, is not about the tournaments."
Okay, so it's about the competition, about the challenge to see just how good you can be. It's about the adrenalin rush, and the ecstasy of victory and the agony of defeat, blah blah blah. But I've noticed that the only guys who go around claiming that it's about the ecstacy and agony have no freakin' idea about the "agony" part. They never experience it! I'm talking guys like you, Michael Jordan, prelapsarian Tiger Woods, Joe Montana. . .
Oh yeah, it really, really hurt to lose to Robin Soderling in the fourth-round of the French in 2009 when your knees felt like rusty hinges on a barn door. Nothing will ever make that little "1" on your career record at Roland Garros (38-1) go away, will it? (I need a little more coffee here.)
Where were we? Oh, yeah, cry me a river, Rafa, but what about your friends and countrymen, like that little dude David Ferrer whom you took to the woodshed in the last two tournaments? Hello, agony! Hello, defeat!
 Does it ever occur to you that while you're biting the trophy, they're contemplating swallowing cyanide? These are people you grew up with, Jet Boy. People you like. You are to clay-court tennis tournaments what a wolf is to a pen of sheep and don't think they don't notice. Don't for a minute imagine they're standing there on the awards podium, holding their dinky little runner-up trophies and thinking, as they watch you hoist and lock your fangs on your big shiny one: That ecstacy of victory looks kind of overrated to me. . . I'll take the agony of defeat anytime! Or even, Those are some guns on that Rafa.
They're thinking, I wonder if that Tonya Harding girl's phone number is listed?
I'm here to tell you, Rafa, that Da-veed, No. 5 in the world and one of the best clay-court players of this era, isn't all that jazzed about having lost in your last 10 consecutive meetings on clay. And you know what? Were it not for you—man, what is this, decaf? Hang on.
Were it not for you, Mr. Guns 'R Us, Roger Federer would probably be closing on 20 Grand Slam titles. With you in the picture, he's Oh-for-three-in-Grand Slam-clay-court-finals-also-featuring-Rafael Nadal. With you in the picture, he has to keep fielding embarrassing questions about that weird quote from Mats Wilander, you know, the one about "How can he be the greatest of all time if there's a guy in his own time who he can't beat?" Up until around 2007, everybody—including probably the great man himself—thought you'd be kind of cute playing Robin to Roger's Batman. But you know what? You're not Robin, Mr. Pirate Pants. You're. . . Clayface!
Well, anyway. . . I'm wondering, if it's not the tournaments, nor the competition (WHAT COMPETITION?????) . . . sorry . . . what else could it be?
Surely it's not the money. You come from Spain, where apparently everybody has plenty of money even though few people seem to have jobs. (You have one, I'll give you that, although at this time of year it's about as demanding as being from Pittsburgh and drinking beer for a living.)
Can it be the ego thing? I mean, do you get some kind of sick thrill out of all those pictures of you throwing a vicious upper-cut while simultaneously mimicking a knee-shot to the groin? What do you do at home, photo-shop images of your enemies faces into those iconic photos? And where might those enemies come from—certainly they can't be in tennis. Did some kid steal your lunch money in grade school? Give you wedgies that have left you kind of paranoid about them for life? You're just like Ivan Lendl, another pretty good clay court player, but with nobody around to play the part of John McEnroe.
This may sound a little bit like I'm criticizing you, or have some kind of hater hat on. But really, I'm telling you for your own good. People are starting to talk. Sure, they pay lip service to the idea of perfection, but they sure get tired of it quickly. Often, they end up hating it. And the way you're going to town here on this clay-court tour, people are beginning to say you're. . . boring. That maybe watching you destroy people is still fun only in a vaguely sadistic kind of way. They're starting to see you as Johnny Carson with a revolving cast of Ed McMahons.
You don't really look like a stoner to me, Rafa, but when it comes to playing on clay you might consider the wisdom of Nancy Reagan, who advised many of us to "Just Say No."
And if you don't want to do this for yourself, think about your image. (Imagine overhearing this: Did you see—that poor boy Nadal got his clock cleaned on grass by Donald Young. He's not very good but you gotta love how hard he fights and he looks like such a nice young man!) And if you don't care about that, do it for us. And if you don't do it for yourself, your image, or us, do it for the ATP.
Did you see how last week, while you were beating up on an assortment of ATP stiffs, the WTA popped two freshly-baked champions out of the oven? That gorgeous Julia Goerges girl won in Stuttgart in front of her countrymen and women (there's no truth to the rumor that certain people wanted to celebrate by immediately marching on Warsaw). What a story! And in mysterious and exotic Fez, a 31-year-old Italian woman with a one-handed backhand named Alberta Brianti won her first WTA title (what did they do, clone that Schiavone girl?). Now, those were juicy stories.
You know what we say in journalism, Clayface? "Dog Bites Man" is not a news story. "Man Bites Dog," now there's news—and a story.
Sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you've become just another rottweiller taking a chunk out of the mailman's butt. You need to reinvent yourself, and stepping away from the clay would be a good start.
Your Faithful Friend,
Pete
 by Pete Bodo
As conference calls and other similar media events go, it was a corker. Patrick McEnroe, General Manager of the USTA Player Development Program, pulled no punches in discussing the recent controversy created by indiscreet Tweeter Donald Young Jr., following his loss to Tim Smyczek in the final of the USTA's French Open wild card playoff. The card belongs to the USTA to do with as it pleases, thanks to reciprocal agreement between the French major and the U.S. Open.
Although the call was billed as a forum for discussing that wild card playoff and other, general player development issues, it was clear from the get-go that the main and perhaps only item on the agenda for McEnroe was the Young affair. At times during the call, McEnroe's tone was so impassioned that you might have easily mistaken him for that other McEnroe.
But Johnny Mac's most exquisite outbursts were always grievances filed on his own behalf. By contrast, the anger of brother Pat, long known as the patient, level-headed, diligent McEnroe, was fueled by the extent to which Young's childish and vulgar outburst on Twitter was felt as a cruel blow by half-a-dozen USTA coaches and trainers whose work for McEnroe and the program consisted in large part of working with Young. "My emotions are not just coming from my personal feelings," McEnroe said. "But from my feelings for our team, the guys who have tried to do everything to help this kid."
If you don't know the background, click on the above link or read the post I wrote for ESPN on the genesis of the controversy. But yesterday, McEnroe accurately characterized the incident as just the "tip of the iceberg," the body of which is a remarkably long history of USTA support for Donald Young frozen solid to a staggering sense of entitlement and self-destructive tendencies in the Young camp. The group consists basically of the 21-year-old champion manqué and his parent-coaches, father Donald and mother Ilona.
This is a truly sad narrative made all the more poignant by the fact that USTA operatives feel that on those occassions when they've successfully kept Young's parents sidelined, Young has been a co-operative, enthusiastic, pleasant kid. That's one of the reasons the McEnroe and the USTA haven't simply cut Young off, although it will take an apology and probably a few healthy meals of humble pie at the Young household if the relationship between the parties is going to survive.
McEnroe took pains to point out that the USTA doesn't want to take over and run any kid's life. The Player Development program is flexible, and it accomodates players with different desires and needs, including those who want to keep their private or non-USTA coaches involved in the development process. "There are lots of parents and coaches involved," he said. "We deal with a lot of different scenarios. But we want the relationship to be a two-way street, when a lot of times these people basically come and say, 'Here's what we want, here's what we need for you to do for us.' That's just not the way it works."
McEnroe feels that the Youngs have frequently violated that basic, good-faith concept, and bucked the USTA even while appealing for—and gladly taking—its help. Mostly, this has taken the form of meddling; Young's parents frequently ignored or reversed the advice and even the specific instructions given to Donald by the USTA coaches working with him. "When the coach working with Donald says that he ought to spend some time before his next match doing some conditioning work and Donald's mother says, 'Oh, no, he can't do that, he has to take a nap...' well, that gets a little demoralizing, never mind how it might affect Donald's progress."
Many USTA-affiliated coaches and trainers have similar stories, all of them pointing toward a culprit that not be a person or persons but an attitude—a sense of entitlement in gifted young players that is so strong that it ruins them—and, in the process, keeps U.S. tennis mired in the doldrums. "We're trying to affect some change in that culture of entitlement," McEnroe says. "Sure we live on our own little world, but we (at the USTA) have a passion for this, we have people who care."
The wild card playoff system (the U.S. has a similar reciprocity program with the Australian Open) that helped create this controversy is part of the effort to diminish the delusional expectations of some gifted players. It departs from the philosophy under which wild cards are meted out to those who are perceived to "deserve" them, rather than those who earned them in an immediate, direct manner—via competition against their peers. Young personally has received 13 wild cards into the U.S. Open (albeit in different draws, including mixed doubles and qualifying) as well as a load of wild cards into other U.S. tournaments. Just how much those free rides have helped—or hurt—him is an open question.
Partly for that reason, the USTA instituted and is committed to sticking with this concept of holding an invitational mini-tournament (this year, the USTA deemed just six players worthy of an invitation, including Young) with the wild card at stake. "This is a golden opportunity to compete and achieve something, not some kind of chore," McEnroe said. "John Isner showed up for the playoffs when he was No. 70 in the world. And he won it and earned a card. We try to send the message to the players—you need to earn what you get."
That can be a hard lesson, especially for someone who's had as much attention and support lavished upon him as Young. That raises the question, Did the USTA somehow have a hand in spoiling Young, simply by giving him too much, too soon? Ironically, McEnroe is one of the few former players who, thanks to his celebrated older brother, understands how wild cards can hurt as well as help you. Between October of 1998 and the following November, McEnroe received wild cards into seven consecutive tournaments—and never won a match. He believes he holds the ATP record for getting the most wild cards in a single year. "I felt guilty taking them," he has said. "Down deep I knew I was just getting them because I was John's brother."
A sense of entitlement can came in many different forms—and have an unpredictable range of consequences.
The big question now is, Can the Youngs and the USTA move beyond this? Do either of them really want to, or is this the final, disappointing chapter in the history of a former tennis prodigy? It could happen, it could all end right here and now because it's been almost three, long years since Young hit his career-high ranking of No. 73, which is still a long way and many wins away from his present ranking of No. 95. And left to their own devices, the Young's haven't demonstrated any great ability to shepherd Donald to the promised land.
A few weeks ago, Young qualified for Miami shortly after posting his best performance in a big event at Indian Wells. But he lost in the first round to Denis Istomin, after which he promptly disappeared with nary a word to the USTA. I've learned that he was next spotted by USTA eyes at the qualifying event for Houston. He showed up to practice on a court adjacent to the one being used Mardy Fish. Donald was out there with Ilona, and an unknown hitting partner of little note. Young did not qualify—although he did go on to win that Tallahassee Challenger the following week (beating only one player with a ranking in the double digits, No. 86 Rainer Schuettler), with USTA strength and conditioning trainer Rodney Marshall helping him out that week.
During his successful run in Tallahassee, Young reportedly turned to Marshall as he battled his way to the title, shouting and repeatedly pumping his fist. But just about a week later, Young, a loser in the playoff tournament, was denouncing the USTA on Twitter, reducing Marshall in effect to a persona non grata. Young hurt a number of people, and that's why McEnroe let go with both barrels. "I know what all the members of my team are doing on a daily basis, and that's why I take this so personally. Because they're my team."
if Donald Young is going to play in the main draw of the French Open, he's going to have to get in through the qualifying tournament. He'll have to earn his place, and unless Young issues some dramatic and heartfelt statements and apologies in the coming days, it could be a pretty lonely quest.
 Greetings, everyone. We're on the go this Easter weekend, but I wanted to provide a place for you to gather, chat and call the matches for the rest of today and tomorrow. We'll be back to business as usual on Monday.
Last night, we attended a Good Friday service here in game-rich Andes that was so well planned and done that our eight-year old, Luke, paid attention the entire time and enjoyed every moment of it. That, of course, had a lot to do with the swordplay and generally gory bits of the Good Friday narrative (what with loping off the ears of Roman centurions, the flogging of Jesus, all those spears, chains, and shields). The narrative readings from the Bible by a variety of folks were interspersed with singing of a verse or two from seven or eight different hymms. We especially liked a classic but, to us, unfamiliar, spiritual: He Never said a Mumbalin' Word. . .
Anyway, ongratulations to Irinia Falconi and Tim Smyczek for earning the French Open wild cards. Check out the video interview with Smycek here. At 23, it's unlikely that Smyczek will be the savior of American tennis, but he earned the wild card fair and square, beating out Donald Young in the critical final match. Falconi is 20, and will be making her third straight appearance in a main draw at Roland Garros.
It looks like the big men's final this week (Barcelona) will be a replay of last week's battle between Rafael Nadal and David Ferrer. Those of you who wish to be excused are free to go; no permission slip or note from your parents required. The WTA matches in Fez and Stuttgart might be a bit more compelling this weekend, and a hat tip to Julia Goerges for cracking the Top 30 with her upset of Sam Stosur in the Stuttgart semifinals. Of course, Nadal's current clay-court winning streak can't last forever. I don't think. . .
-- Pete
 by Jackie Roe, TW Social Director
Evening, TWibe. Another “All About Me” Deuce Club tonight, spotlighting a longtime TW poster (and stalwart DC supporter!). You guys seemed to enjoy the guessing game last week—even if it stumped exactly none of you—so we’ll keep it going. In addition to wagering your guesses, don't forget to also share your reactions or ask any follow-up questions for our mystery TWiber, who will be around later tonight.
(If you missed our first two TWibe profiles, you can find them here and here.)
Introducing the “real” ___________!
Birthday: December 23, 1975
Hair color: Brown
Eye color: Hazel
Siblings: One (older brother - 2.5 years)
Last film you saw: The Desert of Forbidden Art (a spellbinding art documentary)
Do you have a significant other?: No
Favorite musician: Karen Carpenter
Favorite film: The Natural (LA Confidential a close second)
Favorite TV show: Mad Men
What you like to do on the weekend: Watch sports (that matter; not regular-season NBA, NHL or MLB, or non-major golf)
Favorite sport: The pure sport, sans politics: baseball. The cultural sport (even with the politics): college football. The sport I share more intimately with a community: tennis! :)
Most memorable experience: Having to deal with a roommate-turned-squatter who played hardball politics with the local police and forced me to take drastic measures in order to save myself and the other roommates in a house that I managed (in an unpaid, non-professional capacity). I was later told that this was basically the movie Pacific Heights, which I later watched. Yes, it basically was.
Worst fear: Heights—more specifically, bridges in the middle of a city that have three-foot-high barriers instead of sensible seven-foot-high barriers (insane that barriers are so low in public places).
Best feeling in the world: Enabling another person to gain a foothold in life when s/he previously had none.
Worst feeling in the world: Watching wars and the military-industrial complex advance unabated.
Death: Is spiritual far more than physical.
Do you believe in heaven and hell?: Pope John Paul II said that heaven and hell are states of mind. Like death, heaven and hell are spiritual more than physical.
Who is the closest person to you? My mom.
Bad habits: Withdrawing from contentious situations/interactions. [JR: Yes! Makes life unnecessarily difficult . . . though comes in handy when Fedal wars break out.]
Most prized possession: The people who raised me and mentored me (and the memory of them).
Most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done: As a kid, flubbing the last note of a slow-moving romantic piano piece at a recital (“Claire de Lune”). As an adult, leaving the side gate open at my mom’s house and allowing the dog to wander onto the streets of Phoenix. The dog miraculously didn’t get run over.
Hard liquor or beer? Neither. (No, I’m not Mormon.)
Love or lust?: Why is this even a question unless Don Draper is the one being questioned?
Favorite love song: “Our Winter Love” by Bill Pursell
Favorite break-up song: “Solitaire” by The Carpenters
What are you thinking at this very moment?: The Vancouver Canucks just scored a big, big goal.
Have you ever cried in public?: Four words: Tenebrae with choral chanting.
Something you want to do before you die: Effect substantial positive change in one realm of civic life in America.
Favorite person to talk to: A friend named Meghan (worked on student newspaper together in college).
What do you hate: War and its pervasiveness.
What makes you angry: Democrats not doing much of anything to stop unjust wars from happening or continuing.
Who would you want to meet?: Too many people, but the short list of five is as follows . . . Vin Scully, Chris Hedges, Bill Moyers, Chris Fowler, and any journalism- or poverty-oriented philanthropist you might know.
Who do you miss?: My maternal grandfather, my father, and a high school friend now working as a doctor in Florida.
The last person to make you smile: Juan Jose, who actually (gasp!) was able to take delight from Federer’s smile after Melzer won a drop-shot-aided net rally. (Shows he still has a pinch of feeling for the one he calls “Jacket.” Sniff. :))
Personal quote: I don’t have quotes so much as a cluster of strongly-held views. One of them is, “Don’t focus on the perhaps inelegant manner in which someone speaks truth. Focus on the truth being spoken.”
What is the meaning of life?: To help other people; most urgently, the people who—through no choice of their own—didn’t gain the advantages or opportunities I had, and which other people have.
If you could change one thing that happened in your life, what would it be?: Well, there are no regrets in life, not really. Self-acceptance is such a core part of being human and, more specifically, being able to make peace with life’s many crushing disappointments. [JR: *nods* I say it all the time—there’s no such thing as regret, only things we do and things we don’t do . . . ]
Favorite TW moment: Sharing Federer’s Olympic doubles gold medal with a small core of Fed fans who did not give up hope after the singles loss to Blake in the quarters. The intimacy of that bond showed how TW can create poignant beauty and a sense of shared struggle in an anonymous online world.
Start guessing, TWibe!
If you’d like to join the ranks of tan, jewell, and today’s mystery TWiber and take the “All About Me” plunge, e-mail me here. (Or if you’d like to nominate a TWiber to take the quiz, feel free to do that, too. I can’t promise it’ll come to fruition, but I’ll definitely reach out to him/her and pass along the quiz.)
Have a nice weekend, everyone, and a very happy Easter to all those who celebrate it!
 by Pete Bodo
Is there nowhere we can turn these days, other than the WTA, to get ourselves shed of Spain and all things Iberian? It's not that we don't love Rafael Nadal, or enjoy Fernando Verdasco's preening. We appreciate Feliciano Lopez's old-school lefty game, driven as it is by that attack-gene that even the Spanish development program couldn't quite eradicate. And what's not to like about David Ferrer, who goes about his business like a humble farmhand, lacking only sombrero, hoe and rope belt to complete our image?
And we sure miss that Felix Mantilla, who launched the entire Spanish tennis-player obsession with cool hair when he dyed his hair platinum blonde but left the black roots, just like early-career Billy Idol! At one point there, I stumbled on a group of Spanish players eating the same table at Indian Wells and thought for a moment that I'd encountered a British synth band from Liverpool.
But really, this is getting a little ridiculous. One minute, the headlines celebrate the way Nadal has just sleepwalked through the pulverization of another ATP Top 10 stiff, 6-1, 6-1. The next, it's about how mad Verdasco is about not being offered a wild card into Barcelona. (Count me among those who suspect that with Nadal entered, Albert Costa and his fellow officials at Barcelona asked themselves, "Why waste good money on Verdasco, even if he is the defending champ, when we have Rafa? Fernando can't keep the ball in the court these days and he'll probably draw Milos Raonic in the first round anyway. . . .")
And speaking of Costa, how about the way he got all lawyered up and led the charge to ban that Premiere hard court from. . . wait! That's old, old news given how fast the cycle moves on the rain-plagued Spanish plain. Did you see where Nicolas Almagro is guaranteed a place in the Top 10 on the heels of his third-round win over Nikolay Davydenko at the Barcelona Open Banc Sabadell, thereby becoming the 17th different Spaniard to make the Top 10 since the rankings were instituted in August of 1973?
More to the point for our immediate purposes, Almagro will become the third Spaniard in the Top 10, joining No. 1 Nadal and No. 6 Ferrer. I imagine this will automatically knock Mardy Fish out of the Top 10. It was nice while it lasted, eh, Mardy? But that's what you get for putting your feet up in Tampa while everyone else is getting the tar beaten out of him by Nadal.
Note to Roger and Novak: You can run, but you can't hide.
Before taking out Davydenko, Almagro played the winner at the recent Casablanca tournament, Pablo Andujar. He allowed Andujar exactly one game. Almagro can be like that; he's built like a Coke machine and gets a lot of stick on the ball. I always felt that if he were two or three inches taller he would do a lot more damage, and perhaps even give Nadal a run for his money. Imagine my surprise when I checked on his height and find he's listed at 6-feet even. We'll give him the benefit of doubt, but I'll reserve judgment until I'm in a position to stand near him. Anyway, the new honor was welcomed by Almagro, who made his big breakthrough at his home base, the oldest tennis club in Spain, the Real Club de Tenis Barcelona. I've spent some time at that club; it's a pretty and elegant place.
"There’s no better place to achieve it than in my home club in front of my own people and my family and all the home support," Almagro told the press. "It’s a great reward for myself and the work of my whole team.”
Almagro next plays former French Open champ Juan Carlos Ferrero, whom Almagro beat at the same quarterfinal stage in Barcelona five long years ago.
And that brings us to a new piece of news: Ferrero, 31, is playing his first tournament since the U.S. Open of 2010. The former world no. 1. . .
See what I mean?
by Pete Bodo
Well, well, it must be that tennis season is bursting out all over, just like the first blossoms of spring here in much of the northern hemisphere, because there's no shortage of news to comment on, starting with the ongoing and still unresolved (as I write this) controversy over the Indoor Hard Premiere surface the U.S. hopes to use in its upcoming (July) Davis Cup quarterfinal tie at home against Spain.
Rafael Nadal, top dog on the Spanish team, weighed in on the matter yesterday. He was quoted by the Associated Press as saying: “if at the end (the surface) is not among the official ones, it should be ruled out or stiff fines should be applied, because for tournaments like that $50,000 is peanuts.”
First off, I wonder if Nadal really had an opinion here; it could be, in fact I think it more than likely, that federation types and Spanish captain Albert Costa prevailed upon him to weigh in on the issue, knowing that the world No. 1's word and opinion have heft.
Meanwhile, hat tip to TW comment poster Pierre and others who pointed out that the rules regarding surface stipulate that a Davis Cup court need be of the "type" used by a Grand Slam event or three men's pro tour events (here's the full quote from the rulebook: "For all ties in the World Group and Zonal Group - the court surface must be of a type (my emphasis) used in a Grand Slam tournament or in a minimum of three tournaments in the men's professional tour held in the year previous to the tie." I confess that I feel like I fell asleep at the switch yesterday, for failing to note that critical reference to "type."
That word is the game-changer to me. Indoor Hard Premiere most certainly meets that "of a type" standard. Premiere is certainly the same type of court that's used by two of the four Grand Slams as well as most if not all hard-court tournaments. Beyond that, it's absurd to even suggest that the U.S. is somehow trying to pull a fast one, when you consider what other nations—including Spain—have done to maximize their chances to win home ties.
And on top of that, the second-leg of the two-legged Spanish appeal (common use being the first) is that Indoor Premeire is not on the ITF list of "approved" surfaces. Matt Cronin is reporting that this list of approved surfaces is just a guide for those who wish to build courts that conform to ITF specs. Read the details here.
Originally, I thought that Spain had a legitimate if not actionable beef, but the more I know the more it seems like plain and simple whining.
 Silent Struggle of a Victim . . .
The sad saga of Anna Chakvetadze just keeps getting stranger. You may remember that Chakvetadze rose to No. 5 in the world in the fall of 2007, partly on the strength of her semifinal performance at the U.S. Open. By then she'd won six singles titles, and it seemed to many that she would be a fixture in the Top 5 for a long time to come. In December of 2007, six invaders bound and gagged Chakvetadze in her home and beat her father, Djambuli. The thugs made off with over $300,000 in goods and cash, although the psychological impact on Chakvetadze was worse and probably far more costly.
Chakvetadze's 2007 year-end ranking of No. 6 fell 12 places over the next few months. But as is usually the case in a situation like this, the real horror show began the following year, at the end of which Chakvetadze made a hard landing at No. 70. The Russian player with Georgian roots fought her way back in 2010, knocking on the door of the Top 50. But she's struggling again, this time due to fainting spells that caused her to retire from three events so far this year (most recently, a few days ago in Stuttgart), where she fainted at 4-4 in the third in her match with Zuzana Kucova.
We Don't Talk about Money. . .
The French Tennis Federation has announced the official prize-money figures for Roland Garros; the overall figure is up over $4 million, to a nice, round, $25 million. The open-draw singles champs get a hefty raise of $300,000 from their payoff last year ($1.4 million), which pretty much proves that tennis players do in fact inhabit a different universe from the rest of us—at least when you consider how so many of the rest of us have been affected by the economic downturns of recent times. But never mind. . . bread and circuses and all that. Where would we be without the jugglers and clowns whom we've never met, but in whose defense we would slit the throats of our own kin?
The funny thing about this prize-money increase is that the winner's purses falls a paltry 100k short of matching the dole-out at Wimbledon. I suspect this is a conscious decision by the French, where many still strongly feel, or at least pay lip service, to that old rule, "we don't talk about money (although we're free to think about it all we want and do anything in our power to get as much of it as we can)."
I can just see the French officials deciding to pay out $1.9 million to the singles champs only to have a board member leap to his feet, declaring, Mon Dieu! If we do that, we'll be the ones offering the most prize-money of any Grand Slam. We will seem terribly . . . vulgar. There will be accusations of 'gigantism,' like there would be if we moved the French Open to a new venue. I say we knock it back to $1.7 million, and let Wimbledon look like the materialists with their 'richest tournament in the world' aspirations!
A Rising Tide Lifts all Boats. . .
Remember when everyone thought that Boris Becker and Steffi Graf would launch a two-person tennis boom in Germany? Well, spectatorship certainly exploded, as did general interest in tennis. Newspaper editors were all prepared with those Heirs to Boris, Children of Steffi headlines—only the boom in pro players never really occurred on the expected scale. Once Becker and Graf retired, all things tennis faded in Germany.
 Well, maybe we dust off that old headline, although with a slight modification. Four German girls are through to the quarterfinals of the ongoing Porsche Tennis Grand Prix, the only WTA event held in their homeland. We're talking Grandchildren of Steffi, right? The fab four are Andrea Petkovic, who tacked up another win over No. 7 seed Jelena Jankovic (to go with her recent triumph in Miami), Kristina Barrois, who took out No. 8 seed Marion Bartoli; Julia Goerges, who advanced when No. 4 seed Victoria Azarenka quit their match with a shoulder injury and Sabine Lisicki, who upset No. 6 seed Li Na.
A quick take on each win:
Petkovic over Jankovic: Further confirmation that Petko is bent on becoming reliable force in the WTA game. She's been working her way up through the rankings in a sure-footed and sure-handed manner.
Barrois over Bartoli: Just one of those sweet wins before the crowd that matters most. A win like this for a journeywoman like Barrois (age 26, rank No. 79) must make it seem like all the hard work and diligence is worth it.
Goerges over Azarenka: Okay, she caught a break. But it makes this a story, because it's the first time since 1984 that four Germans are in the quarters of this event (back then, it was Graf, Eva Pfaff, Bettina Bunge and Claudia Kohde-Kilsch).
Lisicki over Li: Granted, Li's game has really fallen off since her appearance in the Australian Open final, but she's still a tough out—especially for a No. 155 player struggling to find the form that once enabled Lisicki to hit No. 22. She's coming back from an serious ankle injury, and this will speed the mental rehab.
Still Swimming Upstream. . .
Mardy Fish has not only hit a career-high ranking, he's also realized one of the major items on any aspiring tennis pro's dream career "to-do" list. He's become a Top 10 player, with the special status and recognition that entails. It wasn't a moment too soon, either—at 29, Fish is the fourth-oldest player to debut in the Top 10 since the inception of the computer rankings in August of 1973.
Fish joins a company includes one major surprise—Tony Roche. I would have thought he'd been a Top 10 player far earlier in his career, and he probably was. But he didn't crack the ATP code until July of 1975, almost two full years into the computer-ranking era. Bear in mind that Roche was one of those guys who straddled the amateur and Open eras.
I have a hunch that Fish is going to be heard from during this clay-court season.
|
