Howdy,everyone. We had a fine family vacation on Cape Cod and at a cottage in Westport, Ma., an off-the-radar town up in the corner where Rhode Island and Massachusetts meet. We were actually on a tidal "river", as Westport is on a peninsula with water on either side, and fine ocean beaches down at the tip. We had access to this nice little Elephant Rock Beach Club, as well as the fine, public Horseneck Beach. Cowboy Luke loved it, except when he got all upset when I swam out to Elephant Rock and climbed to the top of the 75-foot boulder. Luke thinks he can swim, which is a dangerous position to take for someone who can't, although he does a pretty good job of finding almost-drowning depth and hrusting his head up out of the water and kind of hopping along on tiptoes.
Luke hates wearing his Tweety Bird life jacket (And water wings? Forget it!), and here's something interesting: at Horseneck Beach one day, there was an official warning about rip currents. There were still plenty of people in the water, so I figured it was okay to go in with the little 'poke, but I insisted that Luke wear his life jacket (You know how you lay down the law on that: No Life Jacket, no Starburst after dinner - and I mean it!
A few minutes later, a lifeguard came down and told me that it was against beach regulations for children to wear flotation devices under rip current conditions. I was amazed. He explained the reasoning: it's easier for the current to catch kids up and sweep them away, presumably, like little corks. It still doesn't make sense to me; if the current is that strong, what chance does a four-year old who can't swim have if he gets into the grip of a strong current? At least in a life jacket he survives until someone can pluck him out.
Luke has become a nut for "Saving Nemo." He watched it every morning or before bed. Finally, something has broken the spell of Thomas the Tank Engine! We got back to the farm in game-rich Andes just in time to catch the last day of the Delaware County Fair, which is the highlight of the summer up in our neck of the woods. We missed the "pony pull" and that was a bummer.
Luke really enjoyed the 4-H barns,where he got to pet pigs and goats and giant bunny rabbits.He also won a stuffed Nemo Clownfish in a fishing game at the amusements (with a little help from pop) and he hasn't let it out of his sight. Each night he stuffed it in this nice cedar cigar box I have at the house; it was where Nemo slept. I was thrilled when Lewis Pardee pulled up with his heavy machinery on Friday morning; the new pond is now officially being dug. I was so excited I almost drove to town to shoot out the lights. But I settled for smoking a cigar and drinking half-a-bottle of tequila on the deck.
Although I got a fair amount of work done Pete Sampras's autobiography, I finally also had time to read a book: Larry McMurtry's *Leaving Cheyenne* (you may recognize the title from a song I've quoted here in the past). It's kind of a cross between Willa Cather and Richard Russo, if you can get your mind around that.
I expected more of a cowboy book (especially in light of that familiar title) but this was pleasant surprise - a touching, wise and lovingly (and humorously) told tale of a lifelong triangle between two hayseed cowpokes and one of those women who these days is described as "passionate, honest and ahead of her time" (never trust that "ahead of her time" bit; independent, strong women were never kept from existing by their times, nor have these theoretically enlightened times created more of them - if anything, they've cheapened and diluted the idea by using it as an urban matra. End of rant).
McMurty is a terrific writer, perhaps too good, in that he's been prolific and so consistently good that he is taken for granted. While the glitterati of New York are wondering if and when the latest artsy-fartsy Jonathan Whoever-from-Brooklyn, armed with his seven-figure advance, is going to deliver his next (meaning second) novel, secretly praying that it is, in fact, readable, a lot of people who ought to know better can be caught at cocktail parties muttering, Hmm, yes, that McMurty - didn't he write the screenplay for The Last Picture show?
I have an ulterior motive for bringing this up. Earlier today, I posted my latest ESPN entry, What a Grind for Federer. I basically argued that Federer is the guy who best fits the description, "Grinder." For if you had to describe the noun in question, you would surely say that a grinder is a player with an enormous capacity for work, a tremendous amount of will, and a solid game with no conspicuous holes in it.
Oh, you could add that a grinder has an uninteresting style, or plays a game that is boring to watch, but that's a bit beside the point, and getting into secondary and tertiary definitions, as well as subjective taste. Whether a player is "boring" or not has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not he is a good tennis player, and one of the glorious things about tennis is that whether someone is "good" or "lousy" is a matter not open to debate (as much as some presumptuous critics want to make it so). The truth is there, as surely as in mathematics, in the won-lost column.
Maybe it's that I've been away on vacation, but when I got on the Internet Sunday night and checked the news, I had to crack a smile. The Mighty Fed, laid low in the Montreal final, hopped on his jet and showed up in Cincinnati seeing red and looking to kick some booty. Isn't that what grinding is all about?
The guy is on track to be the GOAT (Greatest of All Time), he's got the U.S. Open coming up, yet he actually has a point to make in Ohio. Meanwhile, his main rival (Rafael Nadal) is TKO'd (due to a sore arm) and his new rival - and all-around boy wonder - Novak Djokovic apparently is so intoxicated by his win in Montreal that veteran Carlos Moya spanks him in The Djoker's first match in Cincy. I love the sympathy and compassion Moya expressed after he beat Djokovic. He said:
Impolite translation: I knew Djokovic was not going to be ready to grind in Cincinnati.
This is no criticism of Djokovic, really. He's still young, and he had a lot to celebrate. You can't blame him for taking his eye off the ball, but at the same time I think that if he wants to be the player he says, he is going to have to learn to grind like Federer. Here's a relevant quote from TMF: "I used to have tough times in Grand Slams and Masters Series, believe it or not, in the beginning of my career. So to come through and win that many Masters Series and Grand Slams, that's a great surprise, and I hope to keep it up from now on."
Impolite translation: I used to be just a gifted, moody, artistic player, now I'm a grinder.
If you get to the ESPN site real quick, you'll see that Pete Sampras is all over it. There's a little symmetry there, because Sampras was a grinder, too. IN fact, on the Grind-o-Meter, I put Federer's win in Cincinnati after his loss in Montreal up there with Sampras's match against Alex Corrteja at the U.S. Open of 1996.
TMF's achievement lacked a comparable level of drama and an equivalent sense of occasion, and it took place over two weeks, rather than in one epic Warrior Moment. But Sampras had no more reason to stick it out in New York that time against Corretja than Federer "needed" to win Cincy. They both did it for the eff of it. Why lose when you can win? That's the grinder's code.
It seems illogical to argue that a great player can be anything, first and foremost, other than a grinder: somebody who does the same thing, over and over again, with striking consistency and, usually, determination. In the big picture, it doesn't mean jack that this one hits a drop volley to faint over, or has a butt-ugly forehand. But notice that the true grinders (Federer is currently the fifth youngest player to win 50 titles; the four players ahead of him on the list are (youngest first): Bjorn Borg, Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe and Ivan Lendl. It isn't that none of these players had an ugly shot (think Connors' serve), it's just that pointing it out is a little like saying that William Shakespeare had poor handwriting. Who the hail cares?
Federer, McMurtry, Connors, William Faulkner, Sampras, Billy Wilder, Borg, Mozart (starting at age 4 - that's younger than Jet Boy!), Lendl, Graham Greene, McEnroe. . .all grinders first, artists (or not) second.
Feel free to comment on that, but this also is your off-topic post for the next few days. Speaking of which - we are trying to figure out a good time for a TW gathering during the Open; opening night (Monday) has been suggested, but I've been thinking more like the end of Week 1. When are most of you apt to be there and interested in get-together in Manhattan?
We will also have an official TW meeting place at the Open; Heidi will announce the location in her post on Thursday. And I'll post a New Haven Crisis Center in the morning.
It's good to be home. BTW, does anybody have an opinion on whether it's more (or less) acceptable to go Commando on vacation, or is it one of those deals where it's either acceptable or not, depending on how you view the practice?