Commitment to Excellence

It's a big college football Saturday, and I know Matt  Zemek won't be joining us for too much of the tennis today; we'll miss you Matt. BTW, I'm an Oklahoma fan, but I'm for Texas today, and not just because they have by far the best helmet logo and those ultra-cool "creamsicle" uniforms (okay, start the "best uni" debate! The way Roger Federer is toying with Nikolay Davydenko, you'll need something to amuse yourselves, anyway).

See, who said I don't care about "fashion?"

Speaking of football and fashion, I was curious to see what Roger Federer would don for the U.S. Open, after that waiter-from-Starship Enterprise jacket he wore at Wimbledon. Since they've pretty much kept The Mighty Fed under wraps here - what are you all complaining about, the Department of Defense isn't exactly leaving cruise missiles parked on every corner, either - I didn't get a good look at it until the night of the his match with James Blake.

What I really wanted to see was, to crib Steggy's typically on-target observation, the "bobcat" draped over Mirka. Did anyone else notice that they didn't show her at all during the final set-and-a-half. What've we got, some PETA agenda in the broadcast booth (it was probably fake, anyway). And while we're nosing around Planet PC, how about the way they change the lyrics in the "I Feel Pretty" Nike ad for Maria Sharapova? If memory (and Google) serves, the original lyrics are: I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay. . ."

Not that there's anything wrong with that! But just close your eyes for a moment and imagine the commercial with the correct lyrics, you might see why some genius at Nike's too-slick-for-their-own-good ad agency might have piped up: "Uh, oh. Let's not go there."

That's life, as they say, in the modern world, and I have no judgments to make at all on this one, except that it's pretty funny in a quirky, loaded kind of way.

Back to TMF. When I saw Roger don that tight black warm-up top and saw the tumo, er, logo on the back, I experienced what the lit crits, trying to figure out the appeal of J.D. Salinger, call "The flash of recognition."  Oh, I thought, it's a silver scarab! No, not quite. I know! It's a leftover jacket from Billy Idol's black-leather-and-chain-mail period (circa White Wedding).

Ah, close, but not exactly.

Then, viola! I've got it!

It's a top TMF borrowed from some demented denizen of Raider Nation, complete with sword and shield! For all you international readers, Raider Nation is composed of fans of the NFL's Oakland (Ca.) Raiders, and over the years they have developed what may be the most bizarre and mortifying fan aesthetic we've ever experienced, face-painting fans of the New Jersey Devils (of the NHL) nonwithstanding (This is probably because all the reading they've done has been on the backs of cereal boxes).

The RN "look" and vibe is, roughly: outlaw biker gang meets Jesse L. Weston meets white-trash meth lab operator meets KISS meets your everyday, good old-fashioned God-fearing and sports loving football fan. Are you with me on this?

So what's this world coming to when the international tennis community's most beloved Pan-European Metrosexual icon decides to become an honorary Raider?  What's next, motorcycle boots and a bandanna skull cap (but what will it do to my hair?). Well, I have no answer for that, but I'm pretty sure it spells even more bad news for The Mighty Fed's tennis rivals, among whom Blake, who's recuperating quite nicely, thank-you very much, stands as Raider Rajah's latest victim.

News flash: they just bounced an image of the notorious fahionista Anne Wintour (editor-in-chief of Vogue, or one of those other magazines that smells like perfume), sitting with Mirka (the Federers must have et the Bobcat, or she left it back at the cave today).

Back on topic, my feeling is that Federer has done something nobody thought possible; stepped it up another notch. The Blake match demonstrated TMF's breathtaking grasp of this game, as well as the current dilemma of James Blake (although I freely admit we should all have such career dilemmas). For the closest Blake was to actually being in an honest-to-goodness match was in the first set tiebreaker; and this was a Top 10 guy on a genuine hot run, before a packed stadium of supporters.

As we all know, Blake failed to capitalize on some pretty choice opportunities to win that first set. And once he let those slip away (with a little encouragement from Federer), the subtext was established: This was going to be a tussle in which Blake, in no real danger of actually winning the match, was going to be the perfect straight man playing to the comically divine Federer. Kamakshi put it best when she turned to me and said: It's a blow-out disguised as a close match.

Precisely. The match was a pleasant exhibition of Blake's electrifying game and nimble athleticism, destined mostly to prod and nudge Federer into producing his best level, which happens to be a level nobody can challenge on a multi-surface level. **

You NFL and Raider fans also will remember that Al Davis (the Raider's controversial owner who was separated-at-birth from Nick Bollettieri), had a favorite expression he liked to trot out when asked why he rarely interfered in his players' personal lives, and fed the Raider Nation's prized outlaw sensibility by allowing his guys to to get in touch with their Inner Thug. He always said that what his players did off the field or in the locker room made no never mind to him; he asked only one thing of his players: Just win, baby.

Well, that's TMF for you, but without the gunfights, drug busts, or practice field punch-ups (somehow, Roger rolling around punching, oh, Tim Henman, brings a smile to my lips). That's okay, even the Raiders had some clean-living dudes on the roster.

Blake, to his credit, seemed entirely aware of the secret life of the match. In his presser, he was asked if he ever felt he was worrying or "getting to" Federer in the later stages, where we saw some  shotmaking that was nothing short of stunning. He replied:

This was a truly humble and accurate analysis, and a great reason to keep pulling for Blake to develop his game. What he needs, in my eyes, is a little less flash and a little more grind, especially in the mental department. That is, he needs to modulate his game so that he can work his way into a match, establish control, and sustain it - slapshot forehands be damned.

But this match was instructive and in some ways representative of what Federer does so well, and almost any day he hefts his Wilson. And let's use another football analogy to make the point. TMF is like the football team that, having a great defense, puts up a few early scores and leads, 21-O, by the second quarter. The situation actually enables both teams to play with a certain freewheeling, let-it-rip enthusiasm (what does anyone have to lose at that point?), and the final score ends up 48-12.

If you think that's a reach, here's what Blake said:

Still, like the legendary Raiders of yore, Federer is principally an offensive player. And after striking with a quick score, he saw just what Raider war horses like Ken Stabler or Marcus Allen once did:

The good news for Blake is that his honesty and patience add up to realism, which means he probably will continue to make progress.

Federer evaluates Blake's current game like this:

So Blake's rallying cry is, Today a set, tomorrow the world!

For Roger, though, it's simpler than that: Just win, Baby.

For us, contempating TMF's genius, something less vulgar serves equally well : The official Raider slogan, Committment to Excellence.

The jacket, Roger. As Anna, by now,simply must have told you: Simply fabulous, darling!