Playing With Matches

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by Pete Bodo

Howdy, folks. I got home from DC late last night, after attending a memorial service and reception in honor of my late friend, Jim Range. This was one of those services that you wish would never end, it was so full of wonderful stories, laughter, tears, the whole nine. What can you say about a guy whose second-in-command at TRCP, George Cooper, said that working for and with Jim made him a. . . happier man? Not a wealthier, or more successful, or more powerful person, but a. . . happier man.

Jim was known for his, er, colorful language, and it was impossible to ignore that in the tributes to him - so here was this enormous tent (pitched at the Fletcher's Cove boathouse on the Potomac, one of Jim's haunts) filled with proper Washingtonians and their children of all ages getting an earful of Jim stories, which invariably contained Jim's salty language. A highlight: Senator Fred Thompson described how both of them were part of a group of Tennesseans who went to Washington "hoping to make a mark on the world, and hoping to do some good."  He said that while all of these fellows from the hills and hollers were lawyers, Jim was the only one who ended up representing only people he. . . liked. And when the Senator joked that if Jim had the Senator's agent, he could become the next Marlboro man, Jim immediately replied, "How about I take your agent - but also keep my anonymity?"

On the way back from the capital, I checked my Blackberry and learned that Andy Roddick had advanced with a win over Novak Djokovic, and will meet Roger Federer in the Australian Open semis. It's funny, I always liked Roddick for some of the same reasons I loved my friend Jim Range. Each is, or was, a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve (that isn't a virtue, in and of itself; I've done my fair share of eye-rolling when some characters begin to share), tackles questions and issues head-on, speaks plainly and unequivocally, lacks pretense, has a sense of humor, and tends to engage others in a direct way. It's a generalization, and thus a little dangerous, but I think of these qualities, and the sum they produce, as distinctly "American," although the truth is probably that this type of man or woman is universal, but enjoys a more robust and favorable climate for success in the U.S.

It's a pity that the rivalry between Federer and Roddick is so one-sided. The most interesting thing about their relationship is that in the period before Rafael Nadal emerged as a world-class threat, Federer's superiority prevented Roddick from winning a few more majors. It's hard to be precise about these things, but every once in a while you get this situation. I shudder to think of how many more majors Ken Rosewall might have won had Rod Laver not been around to throttle him. And let's be honest about this - you don't think of Federer "overshadowing" Lleyton Hewitt, Marat Safin, Nikolay Davydenko or even Nadal, circa 2006, quite the same way as you think of him overshadowing. . . Andy Roddick.

That's partly because the contrast between the two players is compelling, and in a way that's even more sharply focused than the differences between Federer and Nadal. Not that I'm complaining about the rivalry we have - it's flat-out glorious. But Roddick-Federer seems laden with contrasts and associations, many of them quasi-cultural, that seem easier to articulate. And the difference between the two men seems to trigger our urge to judge or favor them based on what they represent to a deeper, if not more passionate, degree than does the contrast between Federer and Nadal.

Personally, I always felt that the northern European (Federer) vs. Mediterranean (Nadal) aspects of this generation's definitive rivalry are rich, but every time I comment on them I end up accused of stereotyping. The only thing that really bugs me about that criticism is that what might be called Fear of Stereotyping also leads to the destruction of any meaningful sense of diversity and, at least for me, it makes the rivalry less multi-layered. If we're all just unique atoms in a human cluster, our functional notion of diversity (and Lord knows we talk about it enough) is weak, redundant, and, ultimately, useless. If we're not representative, to some degree, there's no point in savoring or defining different views and approaches to life, even though letting the cart get ahead of the horse is a mistake none of us should make. That is, what a player represents should never overshadow his unique nature.

This, I think, is precisely the mistake many make with Roddick. The things he represents - the triumph of power over skill, the ascendancy of determination over talent, the conquest of artistry by self-belief coupled with that bane of all our existences, work. . . those victories somehow don't seem right. It's especially easy to go down this road if you look at tennis through the aesthetic rather than the athletic prism. For example, how often does a silver-medal winning high jumper get criticized for getting over the bar in his or her own way? Did the advent of the Fosbury Flop send track-and-field fans into a tizzy or, more appropriately, now that it's the universal approach to the high-jump, does anyone truly mourn the passing of the old, hurdling approach that all high jumpers once practiced?

One of the funny things about this is that most of the people who feel an antipathy toward Roddick seem to forget that all the triumphs listed above are, in fact, imaginary. Roddick's matches with Federer have, if anything, produced the opposite result in each category. This is one of the reasons that Roddick fans - and apologists, like me, although heaven knows Roddick doesn't need me to speak for him - are living in hardened bunkers. They sense something disingenuous and deeply unfair in the standard-issue complaints against Roddick; they're using this big, raw-boned, boyish kid as a canvas on which to paint their prejudices in colors that are deemed acceptable because of their intellectual context.

But where is it written that skill is a higher virtue than power (or a lower one, for that matter)? If you believe it is, you ought to try splitting a log with a scalpel instead of an axe. We all admire and appreciate talent, right? By contrast, determination is a dull virtue - an insidious field-leveler that, among other things, often leaves us wondering how so-and-so got to be Assistant Vice-President, while the vastly more creative and intelligent so-and-so is still stuck in the cubicle. Well, perhaps determination is, in and of itself, a talent - as evidenced by the fact that so many otherwise talented people don't have it. In fact, in many it's the missing link. If it were the missing link in Andy Roddick, he would have spent his career somewhere in the second 50.

And then there's this "work" thing, especially when it's positioned as antagonistic to artistry. Let me offer a context-appropriate definition of a good "artist": A person who manages to disguise the incredibly hard work that has gone into his or her creation by the particular way he's structured and presented that work. Or put it this way: does anyone doubt the extent of work that The Mighty Fed has put into his seemingly effortless game, and if he has indeed done that, is his work somehow superior to the work of Roddick, or has he just married it to his other talents to create a more satisfying - and seemingly work-free - product?

I have to 'fess up here; I'm a big work guy. And the harder, dirtier and more dangerous the work is, the more it fascinates me, which is why my motor vehicle of choice is America's ultimate symbol of hard, physical work, the pick-up truck. This makes me pre-disposed to appreciating a tennis player who obviously seems to be. . . working. I'm glad I never believed that TMF's artistry has been achieved too easily, or with work-avoiding shortcuts, and it's also why the players who least move me, no matter how bewitching their games or personalities, are those who seem lazy. I can think of very few successful people in any field (including manufacturing prose), whose status isn't partly the fruit of simply working harder than their counterparts. It's not very romantic, I know. But there it is.

Anyway, despite these issues, the towering fact is that Roger Federer has owned Roddick, through almost their entire history. I would expect that to have created a little more sympathy for Roddick, given that his nominal virtues have been trumped by those of TMF. At the most shallow level of the discussion, the skilled artist has subjugated the brute and determined worker. But it's hard to be an American these days (although easier since last Tuesday), especially if you appear to represent the qualities that seems stitched a little more conspicuously into the American soul, or are accorded greater value and respect in this nation.

By the way, I thought Roddick's presser was a gem - a pretty good window on not just what he thinks and why he feels that way, but on how he meets the world (although the mirror of the press room can be a lot like the one at the funhouse). And it's interesting to compare his comments with the ones TMF made just a few hours later, after his own big win. Actually, a comparison of the comments themselves is less interesting to me than the contrast between the way they're delivered by the respective men.

The thing that comes across most clearly to me is TMF's instinct to qualify what he says, his search for nuance and a form of speech that seems fundamentally diplomatic. Curiously, his most unequivocal statement is the speculation - only semi-solicited - that Novak Djokovic wouldn't have quit the match against Roddick if he were up instead of down by two sets. TMF has become quite skilled at surgical criticism. He may couch his thoughts in pauses, digressions, tangents (you can almost hear him beeping as he backs up from a comment) and verbal ticks born of ambivalence (and a desire to see all points of view), but they're just anesthetics he injects us with. In the end, he always gets his point across.

For example, let's look at the way the two men responded to basically the same question - how they feel about the rule allowing trainers on the court, and the effect it has on the momentum of the match. In Federer's presser, the question contained the observation that he himself eschews calling the trainer out.

Roger Federer:

Now, here's Roddick's response to a similar question:

There are a few interesting elements at play here, starting with the fact Federer tends to de-emphasize the personal nature of his response (even though his reply is much more personal than Roddick's) by using the second-person singular pronoun "you" instead of "I". Federer tries to objectify himself, and the situation, while still making a pronounced point about how the rules have been onerous on him, and how he overcame that less by using grievance procedures than, well, opening up a can of whupa** on everyone.

Federer tends to speak in code. He seems torn between the urge to be diplomatic and show forbearance, and to understand all points of view (including that of a theoretical journeyman who flew all the way to Melbourne). Yet he clearly thinks the rule is being abused, and he's not about to let that go unnoticed. And let's not forget, the guy he's standing up for here is Andy Roddick, although the codebook some of you are using undoubtedly will suggest that what he's doing is trashing Djokovic and the entire hungry upstart gestalt.

By contrast, Roddick tackles the question in a straight-forward fashion, while taking pains to ensure that he's not directly insulting Djokovic. Roddick's focus is on the rule itself, and how it is applied. In this instance, I like the way Roddick handled the question, and while I don't believe it was Federer's best moment in a presser (nor was it his fight to wage on that given day), this is a pretty good (or is it extreme?) example of his tendency to speak in code, to rely on nuance and innuendo, but in a skilled way that doesn't give short shrift to to his own rights and grievances, and the authority he feels he's earned by virtue of being such a great champion. Reading his comments, you could almost be lulled into missing this almost comically un-Federerian quip: I'm almost in favor to just say, you know what, if you're not fit enough, just get out of here. Whoa, Roger!**

What we see in Federer is the tension between the necessarily ego-centric world view of a man in his position, tugged at by his decent guy's attempt to be fair and understanding of all points of view. A lot of former champions (Jimmy Connors, anyone?) would just ask, "Why bother?"

I enjoy the contrast between these two players, and the fact that we're hard-pressed to call it a "rivalry" is a shame. I think Roddick, especially in his loose cannon moments - could bring out things that even Nadal can't in Federer. Those things could be dangerous to Roddick and others (we all know about playing with matches, right?), and I think the fact that Nadal, by virtue of his personality, can't tap into them is too bad. It's also one of Nadal's best weapons, but let's leave that for another time.