By TW Contributing Writer, Asad Raza
During this part of the year, tennis players spend a lot of time scuffing and beating clay off their shoes. In my time in Rome, I have yet to see any sportswriters do this, largely because they don't have any clay on their shoes. They don't get to step onto a court often. Yesterday, in my ongoing investigation of the particularities of the surface, I got a chance to change that.
Two nights ago, I met a American tennis fan who lives in Rome. After he got over the shock of my tidings ("He lost? Nadal LOST!?"), he insisted that I come to his club, the Circolo Tennis Belle Arti. The next morning, I hit balls with a pro there, Matteo Falqui. Afterwards, I talked to him about what skills he thought were important for clay-court players to learn (through the translation of my kind American friend.) Matteo told me that developing lots of topspin, unsurprisingly, was the number one priority. He also echoed what many players have said this week: an important clay virtue is patience.
I learned at least as much from watching how Matteo hit the ball: right away, I noticed that it was impossible for me to rush him, thanks to the extra beat of time that clay gives to the ball. I also noticed that he slid only on certain balls, tended to hit dropshots off my dropshots, and was expert at "holding" until the last second before telegraphing whether he was going crosscourt or down the line. All of this adjusted the conventional ideas about clay: not only stamina, but deception become more important when you can't simply hit through the court.
In general, what occurred to me from the visit is that hardcourt tennis has horizontal vectors--the ball must be hit PAST the opponent--whereas on clay the vertical dimension of the court is utilized--you must hit balls the opponent is unable to reach, whether short, long, or wide. An interesting corollary here: given the importance of the frontcourt area as a source of winning shots, I believe that volleying and net play are more important aspects of the terra rossa game than is generally appreciated. Matteo confirmed this as his view as well. Then we had an appropriately colored glass of freshly squeezed blood orange juice in the club's bar (they don't have that in East River Park), and I was on my way.
(A sentimental aside: after leaving the club, I came upon a typical Roman water fountain. These are stone mounds from which water continually streams from a protruding steel pipe. To drink from them, you block the steady flow with your fingers, diverting to a smaller hole pointing upwards. I'd seen them and been wanting to try one, and, still thirsty from tennis, I did. The water was very cold. Standing there on the street, hunched over a stone fountain under a pale blue sky, with a couple of miles of beautiful strolling along the Tiber between myself and the Foro Italico, I had the thought: this is happiness. Maybe it was the endorphins from the tennis. Anyway.)
The lineup on Pietroangeli yesterday included Djokovic, Federer, and Roddick, but I wanted to see the last day of singles play on Campo 1, the second-largest court at the Foro during this year of construction. The first matchup was irresistable: the Peruvian Davis Cup hero, Luis Horna, versus one of the tour's great entertainers and serial monogamists, Radek Stepanek. Also intriguing was the stylistic matchup: Horna is a true South American claydog, complete with the classic one-handed backhand, while Stepanek continues to bamboozle the tour with his serve-and-volley game.
Stepanek was not as clownish as he was in his five-set encounter with Djokovic at last year's U.S. Open--here he seemed more intent on reminding Horna of the pecking order, scowling and doing a kind of combination kissing/spitting pantomime every so often (the kiss-off?). The emotional currents of the match (and they were not undercurrents) were crucial here, as neither player possessed the game to dominate the other.
