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 This week TENNIS.com will be featuring one of our blog regulars, Asad Raza, who is in Rome for the men's Italian Open. He'll be writing back and forth with me here a couple times; reporting on the home page; and blogging over at Pete's as well.
Hey Steve,
I've just returned from a nighttime ramble to the Campo dei Fiore, where I digested the day's events, and some ice cream. Walking home from there, a friend pointed down a dark alleyway guarded by an ancient iron portcullis, whispering, "they say that's where Caesar got stabbed." Funny, eh?
As we all know, the unthinkable just happened: Rafael Nadal lost in the first round of a major clay-court tournament. I've been marveling to myself at just how different the event already feels--any sense of prevailing normality has been lost. Of course, the assumption that one player will win every single clay-court tournament is a strange form of prevailing normality, but that's what Nadal succeeded in constructing over the last four years.
In the press conference, Rafa himself seemed both exceedingly unhappy and already putting the loss behind him--he visibly progressed from despondence to complaint (about his injury) to anger (at the schedule) to acceptance during the press conference. He must have half-expected this outcome, given that he wasn't even sure he would play today, but despite his obvious dismay he got over it quickly, and signed autographs and posed for pictures immediately after the presser. Perhaps it's this kind of quick processing that makes him so impervious to letdowns.
The result today was definitely not caused by a letdown. Rather, it was a combination of the injury, which Nadal said made him unable to generate power from his legs, and the play of Brutus... uh, I mean Ferrero. As the match wore on, the former number one (as Neil Harman mentioned in those press seats, it's strange to think that he has accomplished something Rafa hasn't, and may not) definitely caught the scent of blood.
I headed to the media center while they were on serve in the first, and rushed back after JCF took the first set. I beheld a much more aggressive player, dictating in the rallies and even grunting much louder than before. If nothing else, it shows you that players on the tour do not show the top dogs exaggerated deference. The minute Rafa's level slips, the guys are waiting to tear him down. It would take a churlish fan not to feel some vicarious enjoyment on Ferrero's behalf, after his unfortunate history--you could see Nadal was certainly happy for him afterwards, albeit in a complicated sort of way. For one moment, as Ferrero knelt on the service line absorbing the moment, all was redeemed.
Back on the piazzas of Rome tonight, I caught at least three Italians talking excitedly about the match. No other encounter, of course, could match its newsworthy shock--at this point, David Nalbandian turning in an inspired, focused performance would be more of a surprise, right? Andy Murray losing on clay has turned out to be drearily predictable. Novak Djokovic tuned your man Steve Darcis, who hits a heavy ball but doesn't have the maturity yet to deal with as focused and relentless an attack as Novak's. By the end, Djoko was toying with Darcis, teeing off on first and second serve returns and hitting plenty of dropshots. Afterward, I was quite impressed with the seriousness with which Djokovic took questions--he clearly understands that he has people to win over when it comes to his injury issues.
I asked Djokovic, and had a conversation with another easy victor, Nikolay Davydenko, about the Roman clay, but that's grist for later. Davydenko's match today reconfirmed that when he's rolling from the baseline, he has only equals, no superiors. Poor Mario Ancic found the see-saw of rallies tilting away from him very quickly, and he was reduced to desperate lunges that only set up Davydenko kill shots. Steve, have you ever noticed now smooth Davydenko is when putting away midcourt balls? He flicks them away expertly.
As for the Foro Italico itself, "pleasantly low-key and rough around the edges," as you said, is exactly right. I agree with you that the sunken side-court area is the best place to while away one's time, but the entire place is a relaxed and wonderful place to see matches, and practice sessions (note to Federer-obsessives: Rodge was practicing shallow, crosscourt backhands with a vengeance today). Also, the Foro is just across the Tiber from a tram to the Piazza Flamminia, making it very accessible to the center of town (each night, I've taken the tram and then a long, stunning walk through the center to Ostiense, where I'm staying). Oh, and by the way, the ushers remain twentysomething dancers, you'll be pleased to know.
Near the side courts are two uninspiring "avenues" lined with booths, banners, and fast food. These are similar to Indian Wells or the food court area of Flushing Meadows, places where you can't go three feet without encountering a corporate promotion or piped music. The assumption seems to be that you'd die of boredom if forced to walk a twenty feet without some kind of artificial, plasticated stimulation.
Yet you only have to walk a bit to run into some teens sitting on a pile of old marble blocks moldering next to a highway gas station. Could they be leftover from Mussolini's day? And did he take them from some prior project, perhaps a Counter-Reformation cathedral or even an Augustan ruin? It's quite possible here. In Rome, history is like a wonderful mold infestation: try in vain to keep it out.
A presto,
Asad
Addendum in reply to Ed McGrogan (warning: this will bore you if you don't like eating): Ed, it turns out Rome is an unpretentious and traditional food city, which means you get delicious standards at very good prices. All the things you hear Romans eat--thin pizzas, offal, fried artichokes, anchovies--they're all all over the place here, unlike, say, Manhattan clam chowder in NYC. Some superb things I've eaten: zucchini flowers stuffed with anchovies, salt cod with some heartbreakingly good tomatoes, and bucatini (thick pasta) with gunaciale (pig's cheek)--the pork here is really good, salty and porky and full of nice, differently textured bits and pieces. But earlier tonight came the best morsel: a friend of a friend dropped by, having just returned from Sicily with some food from his mother: sardines, caught yesterday, then stuffed with raisins and bay leaf and cooked with bread crumbs and olive oil. Mamma Mia!! That's the kind of thing that happens here.
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