The Lonely Guy

Once again , greetings from California!

After reading some Comments yesterday, I have learned that many of you really have never experienced LA in all its glory – so I'll give you a little background to go with your tennis. LA is, first and foremost, HUGE. One giant urban/suburban sprawl, encompassing approximately 13 million people in the city proper and surrounding suburbs. The area is  44 miles long and 29 miles wide. (that, from Wikipedia). The population is incredibly diverse- white, black , Asian , Hispanic. You can find some of the wealthiest people in the world, as well as some of the poorest. This whole cultural melting pot is tied together by the Freeway system - the bane of every Angeleno's existence. It is this never-ending ribbon of interconnecting congestion that ties us all together. How weird is that? How LA is that?

From my home in Palos Verdes – in the southern part of LA, near the beach – I must take the 405 - aka the San Diego Freeway - to get to Westwood, in west-central LA, and the site of the Countrywide Classic tournament. The tournament is played at the tennis facility on the grounds of the University of California, Los Angeles - better known as UCLA.  On a good day , Mapquest tells us, the trip to Westwood ought to take me 45 minutes.
*
HA! What Mapquest fails to tell us is that there is never* a good day on the  405 – and if you do not give yourself an hour or more, you'll never get anywhere on time. One thing you do have on the trip is time to think. What do I think about ? I think if I had to drive on this road everyday , as many do, I would become a serious alcoholic instead of a mere dabbler.

Westwood is the home of the storied UCLA Bruins athletic teams. The campus is in an upscale area of the kind you see in, well, Hollywood movies about glamorous LA.  I find it odd that a state-run institution – and one that prides itself on being a shining beacon of the liberal arts system in California – is located smack dab in the middle of some of the most expensive real estate in LA.

Westwood is bounded by Bel Air and the Wilshire corridor, which leads directly to Beverly Hills. The irony is even more delicious - or infuriating - when you know that USC, the University of Southern California, UCLA's arch-rival in all things including sports, is located in an area of Los Angeles most charitably described as the turf of the "working poor."  A critic might call it gang heaven. At any rate, USC is often revlied for being conservative, and is sometimes referred to as the University of Spoiled Children, yet it seems much more connected to the gritty street life of LA than does UCLA. It's just this kind of irony that makes LA such an intriguing place. But I digress.

Once on the UCLA campus – I don my Trojan visor (I have a spunky image to keep up!). I figured that would make it easy for posters French Open Fanatic and Veruca Salt to spot me. It wasn't long before I found Lauren (aka FOF), but we never did connect with Brooke. I hope she made it to the tournament and enjoyed her first live tennis match - we were treated to some good stuff.

James Blake and Hyung Taik Lee were the feature match. It was a beauty - three sets of really good tennis. James won the first, Lee took the second, and then James pulled it out in the end. Honestly, the whole match seemed to be about James. He played well in the first , took a dip, and then brought his level back up. Lee played solid tennis throughout  - but he did not have another, higher gear to shift into when he most needed to elevate his game and put a lid on James's comeback. That's something James has going for him - he's mercurial, capable of going on a tear at any given time.

Both men covered the court well, but James forehand ultimately  made the difference in the match. He has an ability to unleash a powerful blow, or combination of blows, to finish a rally in a devastating, dispiriting way. It is a truly spectacular weapon - and one is lost in translation to television. I looked forward to seeing James in the final, on Sunday, although I confess I wasn't looking forward to seeing his shorts again. The gear he's wearing now is neon blue,  with a huge, vertical white  stripe. As TW Comment posters have noted in the past, James has serious booty – in fact, so serious that I see no need to draw attention to it in the brightest blue shorts you can imagine. Shame on Nike, for trying to exploit James' appeal in such a tacky way. They should dress him better.

Lauren and I had fun with the fashion commentary and enjoyed swapping tennis stories – It was a good day. Our fashion eye also fell upon Pam Shriver, who was seated courtside – in possibly the ugliest shoes we have ever seen. They looked like huge heavy black hiking boots and while sturdy,and probably good for walking. . .let’s just say – EWwwwwwww. I mean , she was just sitting there, all day – a pair of good tennis shoes would have been just fine – and much less conspicuous.

In the evening, my husband met me for dinner and some more tennis. However, Kiefer withdrew to kill the marquee match. He was gracious, addressing the crowd to explain what happened, and to express his disappointment at having to quit, but it was still a bummer. But then the Bryan Brothers saved the day - again. They beat the South Africa duo of Moodie and Coetzee.

My husband isn't a tennis player,  but he loved the fast paced action and aggressive net play of doubles . It has far greater appeal to him than does singles, which is kind of interesting and not entirely good news for typical tennis promoters. I don't think he's in a minority, either, and it isn't like he doesn't know his sports.

We did see another doubles match, which was won by Lipsky and Martin – who will be the Bryans opponents in the final. Get this: Lipsky and Martin beat the team of Ratawitana/Ratawitana. If the result had gone the other way, we would have had an all-twins final - the Bryans against the Ratawitanas, and they could have put just one name on the scoreboard for each team.

After a very long day , I turned my little Mini back onto the 405 to head home for some sleep - and to get ready for the final.

Postscript:

In the final, James Blake played Radek Stepanek. That Blake got to the final is probably a good sign, because he needs to rebuild his game - and fast.  But this match was less about the fast pace Blake hoped too impose, and which he likes, than Stepanek's ability to upset Blake's rythym. Blake feeds on pace, so Radek gave him spin and guile. Oh, Stepanek can crank it up when he needs, but that isn't his Plan A, nor his only plan, as it is for some ball bangers. Stepanek knows how to make the best use of the drop shot, and he's skilled enough to play serve and (drop) volley at times. It's hardly surprising that he dates Martina Hingis; there's some serious tennis DNA on both sides in that couple.

Stepanek's crafty, slow, diverse approach messed with James's head. By the third set, Blake was really frustrated. He started going for bigger and bigger shots. He would build a lead in a service game, eager to roll, and then Radek would slow things down - He would go for the towel, adjust his socks, tug at his shoelaces. He did this so often that the crowd almost turned on him, even though he had won their affection in the first set. At one point, he broke a string and took an agonizingly long time replacing his frame - all the while with Blake waiting to serve. It was such a conspicuous stalling tactic that the crowd roared its displeasure. But Stepanek seemed to know he could win them back, and he did.

Stepanek used every weapon at his disposal, and he eventually won. You had to feel for the guy - it was his first tournament win after a long hiatus caused by injury, yet he looked like the lonely guy - he had no coach, no entourage, no fiance along for the celebration. But celebrate he did, falling to the court. He threw  his racquet into the crowd, like he had just won a Grand Slam.  Stepanek was awarded a bottle of champagne from a sponsor. He was so excited that he wanted to pop the cork right there. From the grim competitor on Friday , he had been transformed into a giggly child. He could not contain his glee, and the crowd loved it.

Welcome to Hollywood , land of dreams, Radek!

--- Beth