We’ve heard many times that pro tennis is an assembly-line game now, one long baseline slugfest with no variety, nuance, imagination, charisma, smiling, you name it. Some of this criticism has merit: Virtually every player now hits hard from the back of the court. If you stroll around at the U.S. Open this week, you’ll get your fill of perfectly struck ground strokes—you may not need to see another one for months. But it’s casual fans and sportswriters who most often voice the assembly-line complaint. What are they basing it on? An examination of the sport as a whole, or an examination of the same few players who appear on TV over and over for years, and who can’t really be blamed for looking the same every time they play?
I mean, I can relate. I spent close to an hour in Arthur Ashe Stadium on Tuesday watching a match, which was also televised, between James Blake and Michael Russell. It looked pretty much the way I thought it would look—I should have a decent idea of how Blake plays by now. But I also spent much more of the afternoon watching matches that were not, as far as I knew, available on TV. Were the fans at home missing any variety and nuance? Here’s what I saw in a day of strolling between the big courts and the back courts on an admittedly mundane first-round day at the Open.
Ashe Stadium: James Blake vs. Michael Russell
When Blake made a correct challenge, his J-Block supporters chanted, “Har-vard!” So two years in the Ivy League makes you see better now? The Block has caused tension with Blake’s opponents this summer, and it caused some more with the crowd on Tuesday. After one of their haphazard cheers, a guy behind me shouted up at them at the top of his lungs, “Get a life!”
As for the match, it was easy to tell from his deferential body language that, no matter how close he came, Russell didn't believe he could win this match,
Court 15: Juan-Martin Del Potro vs. Nicolas Mahut
The teen Argentine Del Potro is coming around, and not slowly. He’s pretty much got it all, in a raw stage right now, and he rolled the moody Mahut in three easy sets. The Frenchman, if he had shown up, would have given fans a look at some old-fashioned serve and volley with a little Gallic flair. As it is, they got a lot of Gallic pouting (and good hair; always with the good hair, Mahut). At one point, Mahut sulked on the sideline after a close call long enough for a seemingly mild-mannered U.S. fan to yell from across the court, “It was out, get over it!”
Court 8: Fabrice Santoro vs. Albert Montanes
Del Potro, while excellent, didn’t offer much in the way of alternative playing styles. But here I hit the jackpot. Santoro offered an entire alternative tennis universe to the fans who trekked out to Court 8, deep in the corner of the grounds where the Open meets Queens and the Unisphere looms overhead.
First, there’s the name; it doesn’t get more fitting than Fabrice. Then there’s the look. He’s short—most of the pros appear taller when you see them in person; not Santoro—stocky, and he always has the Lacoste crocodile stamped to his hat like a warning sign: “Quirky Frenchman here.” Then there’s his age: Santoro will be 35 in December and has been on tour since 1989.
It’s not just his age that’s remarkable, it’s the game that he plays at that age. Santoro is not merely a scrambler. He’s a scrambler and a net-rusher. He even spends a fair amount of time in no-man’s land (where he has no trouble controlling a point). Now that’s all-court tennis. When you see him up close, it’s clear that Santoro is affected by all the running he does. He huffs and puffs, but he has a sly way of doing something between points—fixing his hat, pretending to look for his towel—that will buy him a few more seconds of rest. In the second-set tiebreaker against Montanes, Santoro was clearly tired but the score was only 3-2, so no chance for a break, right? Not for the wily vet. He snuck to the sideline, acted like he was just toweling off, but then put down his racquet and took a quick drink. The umpire looked down and Santoro gave him a guilty, gap-toothed, highly French smile. How can you penalize that?
Then there’s his game. Santoro does it all backwards. On the first point I watch, he runs straight through a backhand from behind the baseline, hits a normal ground stroke up the line, and follows it all the way to the net. From that position, he can only get to the service line, but no matter. Santoro takes a forehand volley with two hands and deadens it for a perfect drop winner. In this point alone there are probably three things I didn’t know you could do on a tennis court—maybe more if I thought about it.
The list of his eccentricities goes on from there and takes in every stroke except his serve. Santoro’s forehand is a two-handed slice hit from the right-hand side, in which he holds onto the racquet with his left hand after contact. His backhand, also hit with two hands, is the shot he drives. But he can’t do that mundanely either. Wwhat would be the point? On mid-court backhands he adds a little jump, just for flair’s sake. He hits his volleys with two hands when he can; he uses a forehand slice lob effectively; in his ready position on returns, he holds the racquet downward, not up, the way you’re taught; and as I said, he can keep his opponent on a string from no-man’s land by blocking balls into the corners.
Santoro thrills the crowd for a couple hours and wins in four sets. I walk away wondering whether you could teach someone to play the way he does—is there an antidote to power-baseline tennis in his game? I would say Fabrice-ball probably can’t be learned by many. You’d need his hands and his feet, and not many people at any age have either. But he is someone to watch while you have a chance. In the future, he’ll become a cult figure among tennis snobs, perhaps along the lines of the (now overrated) Miloslav Mecir. Tune in Thursday or Friday when he plays James Blake. Hopefully a few casual fans and sportswriters will join you.
Daniela Hantuchova vs. Julia Vakulenko
I hadn’t seen the Ukrainian Vakulenko play, but it’s Hantuchova who catches my eye today, and not (just) because of the way she looks. She really is taller in person, a kind of waif-giant if that’s possible. Which makes it all the more amazing that she has what may be the smoothest backhand in all of tennis. Even rushed and stretched wide, her swing and contact remain elegant. Too bad we won’t see it again at the Open; Hantuchova lost in three.
Radek Stepanek vs. Carlos Berlocq
Usually it’s Stepanek’s all-court game that’s a strange pleasure to watch. Live, you also get to see how weird he really is. In the first-set tiebreaker, he gets excited after going up 2-1. He walks quickly toward a ball boy, motions to him to give him a ball, then flips it upward off his racquet and head butts it back to the kid. Stepanek wins in four and now has an intriquing match-up with Novak Djokovic.
Agnes Szavay vs. Sandra Kloesel
We’ve heard things about the young Hungarian Szavay lately, and she looked solid in almost winning New Haven last week. She looks even more solid in person as she launches into her two-hand backhand and levels it—the ball comes off her racquet with an enviable thwock. Szavay also hits aces and volleys confidently. On the last point I watch, she flies forward and knocks a high forehand volley—a deceptively difficult shot that requires timing and arm strength to put away cleanly—into the opposite corner and far out of Kloesel’s reach.
Xavier Malisse vs. Kristian Pless
My day ends with the sun going down and these two stylish, talented disappointments from Northern Europe trading ground strokes for four sets. Each has tons of variety and can knock any ball into either corner at any moment from any position. Malisse has more feel, but Pless has a superbly balanced, textbook power-baseline forehand. As they rally and move and throw different shots at each other, my friend Jon Levey of TENNIS Mag. and I start to laugh. We imagine the two of them talking to each other across the net as they make contact with a shot (in a French accent, of course): “Now take this!”; “OK, can you handle this?”; “What about that?” After 10 of those, one of them misses and says, “Ah, touché.” (What, you don’t make these things up with your friends on the sidelines?!)
In that sense, Malisse vs. Pless is assembly-line tennis, a baseline slugfest in which all the possibilities are known. But it’s still stylish, entertaining, and even a little awe-inspiring in the casual skill that’s thrown around the court. Maybe assembly lines get a bad rap. After all, that's where ’57 Chevy and the ’68 Camaro came from. Can we really ask for more than that?