So, OK, it was hotter out here today, which I really didn’t think was possible—102 in the shade, if there was any to be found. The nice thing is: you don’t sweat. It’s more of a cumulative effect, like eating too much. You feel good, you feel good, you feel good, you feel like you’re going to die.
That’s it for the weather report; here’s the tennis report, morning to evening.
11:15: Hard to believe, but Marat Safin’s practice doesn’t draw a monster crowd. There are plenty of people—read: girls—and they are nothing if not enthusiastic. One stops behind me, takes a look at Safin hitting a ball, and says, “Oh.”
Safin may be the most impressive practice player in the world. That’s because it’s all about ball-striking. No pressure, no thought, no movement, no torture. I stand behind the court and watch him hit from about chest level. At contact, the ball sounds like it’s shot out of a cannon. He and Alexander Volkov work on his down-the-line backhand. The blatant winners he rifles remind of the first time I saw him play, in Paris in 1998. That backhand looked like it was going to be the shot that would change pro tennis. It didn’t, quite, but seeing him hit it today makes me realize it should have.
Still, leave it to Safin to practice with a lefty on a day when he’s playing a right-hander.
The problem for Safin is that when he gets to a match, he doesn’t do much more than he does in practice. He rallies and hits hard, but without any changes in angles, speeds, or spins. He pretty much relies on his serve to win points. When he came up as a teenager, his power from the ground was enough to overwhelm almost everyone—I was shocked when I saw it live. Now even a journeyman (a talented one, of course) like Nicolas Mahut handles it easily.
12:30: Mardy Fish is the French version of Paul-Henri Mathieu, and vice versa. They have big serves, big two-handed backhands, weird forehands, and issues upstairs when it comes to closing matches. So of course their match today is a saga of mental fragility that involves all manner of blown opportunities. It’s just a matter of who will blow the last one, and it’s Fish, who goes up 5-2 in the third-set tiebreaker before losing five straight points and the match. Fish has changed his forehand again—he kind of drags a closed racquet face and a straight arm all the way through the zone now. I’m not sure if it’s an improvement, but either way it will always be his backhand and serve that do the heavy lifting. I felt bad for Fish today; he played some good tennis. But Mathieu, for once, brought his best stuff at the end, drilling ground stroke winners when it counted. He’s got Nalbandian next, who tormented his way past Philip Kohlschreiber in a third-set breaker of his own.
1:00: Evgeny Korolev is a heady player. He doesn’t own half the shot-making skills or explosiveness of Dmitry Tursunov, but he beat him today by playing within himself. He compensates for a fairly weak serve into the deuce court by placing it well. He takes the ball early at every opportunity and keeps it simple, drilling it from corner to corner with topspin. It’s enough against Tursunov, who spends much of the first set experimenting with odd shots like an extreme backhand slice and a looping moonball. He never fully finds his form.
1:30: So much for practice. Andy Murray had two ugly ones this week, then came out sharp against Wesley Moodie, winning in two sets. The kid is a natural, no doubt about it—his touch shots, short slice angles, and wrong-foot plays aren’t done as conscious efforts to mix things up; they’re just part of his game, like his serve and his backhand. He can’t help hitting them, no matter how many times Brad Gilbert scolds him.
2:30: Something is eating Andy Roddick. The shirtless one is doing two-on-one dills with his brother John and Jimmy Connors. They’re working on Andy’s transition game, and it’s not going smoothly. Roddick’s huffing, puffing, rumbling in to the net, and…netting every volley. Connors walks forward and makes various signs with his racquet—“stick it,” “keep the head up”—but nothing works. Finally they lighten the mood. Connors hits a series of lobs and Roddick drills overheads at him. After the third one, Roddick yells “Har-house!” referring to the much-replayed Connors-lob sequence against Paul Haarhuis during Jimbo’s miracle run at the US Open in 1991. Connors comes back with an immediate and perfect response: “I can handle that,” as he puts up one last perfect lob near the baseline.
Now it’s on to the forehand, and something is really eating Roddick. His brother hits the ball down the middle and Andy takes everything with his forehand. The idea seems to be to get Roddick to hit through his forehand more and not come up on it so much. Nice idea, but Roddick can’t find the timing. Connors talks to him gently, soothes him, tells him to go easy, think “smooth,” don’t beat yourself up. Roddick’s having none of it. He’s annoyed when his brother misses, he’s annoyed by a fan who stumbles onto the court, and he’s angered by every last netted shot. Finally, he snaps and smashes his Babolat nearly in half. Connors smiles a little and raises his eyebrows at the crowd nearby.
Jimmy won’t let the session end that way. He takes over the feeds and runs Roddick back and forth on the baseline. He’s still soothing and quietly upbeat, nodding each time Andy makes a shot. Eventually Roddick finds his range and says, “Those felt a lot better.” He wants to hit a few more but Jimmy calls it a day on a good note.
Fan note: While Roddick is hitting, a girl behind me says, in terror, “Oh my God, my camera’s dying.”
6:00: Roger Federer loses to Guillermo Cañas. Before we get to the inevitable wars over how hurt Federer was, how many errors he made, or who made excuses—and I thought Federer’s response tonight in his press conference was admirable; he wouldn’t take the bait and blame the loss on any physical problems—I’m just going to raise a glass (of water) to Cañas. The lucky loser did it all today. He served big, he anticipated Federer’s serve well, he played great defense, and he kept Federer off balance with high, deep ground strokes. The guy’s always been a scrapper, and he made Federer hit a lot of balls on a day when, for whatever reason, Sire Jacket didn’t have it.
After the match, I went out and met Hank Moravec, better known as Dunlop Maxply around these parts, and his son, Liam. Hank naturally had the right take on it. He said Federer, like anyone else, plays plenty of close sets, but the amazing thing is how he always wins them. This time he hit the tape on a big point at the end of the set (was it a set point?). In other words, the sport is a game of inches for everyone—that’s how it’s played. Nobody can master those inches every last time.
Forty-one straight times is about as close as a person can get, I’d say. And for anyone who says Federer has been making the game boring with his endless wins, this one was the payoff—it was just two sets, and not particularly close, but it was far and away the most exciting match of the tournament so far.
Funny presser moment: Pete Bodo asked Roger if any players said anything to him in the locker room. Federer smiled, lowered his voice, and said, “They don't look at me when I walk in.”