Like so many of you, I watched the Haas/Davydenko match - sort of. I had the television and headphones on here at the desk, and I'd take in a few points and then do my version of the "get out the Windex and wipe down the bottom shelf of the coffee table" routine: "write a post and check comments."
Steggy was worse than most of us; she went pillow-surfing at around 3 P.M.
I've got nothing against Nikolay or Tommy, but their match struck me as the athletic equivalent of a play out of the absurdist school. Sometimes, two games match up so well (or is it badly?), that the entire exercise is indistinguishable from a good, old-fashioned practice session: lots of grunting and rallying and sweating, but very little of what actually could be termed "plot." Points end more or less because sooner or later, they must; somebody wins, because sooner or later, someone must. I know it sounds mean, and I'm not really feeling mean or even tetchy. And some of what I feel has to be put down to having watched 1,299,320 matches - and still counting.
I'm not complaining, mind you; it was altogether a pleasant day, and the only thing I felt badly about was that Haas lost after spending so much effort, over so many days. Then again, he brought it on himself, didn't he? At any rate, Grand Slams often have a surprise semifinalist, sometimes two; when they have three, it's really St. Polten, masquerading as a major.
This Grand Slam has one true surprise semifinalist, Mikhail Youzhny, and he's the intriguing kind, the good kind. Davydenko, unfortunately, is on the cusp of the all-too-familiar; his ranking and seeding are sufficiently high so that his survival to this round is no real surprise, and he has about him the air of a sacrificial lamb that compliments very nicely his overall appearance - that of a hard-working shopkeeper who suddenly finds himself doing brisk business, even as he watches in horror as his entire stock is depleted and his displays are being knocked over and he's just realized that the line at the register is 20 deep and he has no more singles with which to make change.
In other words, he's in over his head, but that doesn't take anything away from all he did to get to this particular point. I can think of at least 120 other guys who would prefer to be in his shoes, and that includes Rafael Nadal and Marat Safin.
Anyway, I'm tapped out and ready to go home, where I'll fall asleep watching Roger Federer make his 2006 night match debut in Arthur Ashe stadium. Why don't you all talk amongst yourselves? Over and out.