by Pete Bodo
It wasn't an earth-shattering revelation or a piercing observation, but ESPN commentator Patrick McEnroe hit the Lleyton Hewitt nail right on the head. As the Aussie veteran left Rod Laver Arena last night after his truncated win over Andy Roddick (Roddick retired with a bum hamstring when Hewitt won the third set), applause cascaded down from the packed stadium. McEnroe broke the silence and observed, "They've learned to love him down here. . ."
Some might say, Yep—and it's a day late and a dollar short.
Let's face it, the 30-year-old veteran, a "true-blue Aussie" who's loved nothing more than playing for the green-and-gold, flung his entire being into the effort but never lived his dream of winning his native Grand Slam. The closest he came was in 2005, when he lost a four-set final to Marat Safin—after beating a few guys named Blake, Nadal, Nalbandian, Roddick. . . In that title match against the rangy Russian, Hewitt was giving away five inches of height and 25 pounds of potential ooomph! And while Hewitt had made a career out of overcoming such disadvantages, on that occasion he just couldn't get over the hump.
It's unlikely that Hewitt will get over the hump at this tournament, either, although the faithful can load up on prayer and always hope for a miracle. Lleyton is no longer the habitually irritating snot-nosed punk, out American-ing the Americans with that backwards baseball cap (a fashion statement he continues to make), seemingly oblivious to all things but that W-L column.
Hewitt is no longer No. 1, or even No. 10, or 100. He's the banged-up and broken down father of three who played just nine tournaments in 2011, got by the second round in just three of them. He's had two hip surgeries and one on a foot. Don't try telling him to face the facts.
Hewitt's ranking is No. 181, and there probably are still stiff-necked Aussies out there who still find Hewitt so off-putting that they're miffed he got a wild card. But they're in increasingly short supply. Because it's become clear over the years that while Hewitt was never nominated in a Best Personality contest (never mind seconded), and while the most memorable thing he ever said was interpreted by some as a racist dig, he's also that rare individual who's squeezed every ounce of potential out of his game, using his unassailable joie de combat as the wringer. Hewitt is not the greatest player ever to play this game. But he's on the short list of greatest competitors.
Hewitt has paid a heavy, karmic price for his nearly astonishing lack of social skills. There isn't a player—although young Ivan Lendl came pretty close—who was so emotionally tone deaf, or experienced so much difficulty transcending the literal. As the youngest player ever to become No. 1 (at age 20), and with the great tradition of Australian tennis lying in ruins all about him at the time, this iconically blue-eyed, blond-haired "Aussie battler" ought to have had most of the world, and certainly all of Australia, eating out of his hand.
But Hewitt's callow and pugnacious manner, words, and actions managed to override all the good bits—no small feat, given his on-court skills. The press, of course, loved this its own sick way. Hewitt certainly inspired those easily given to righteous indignation. The National Press Association ought to give Hewitt a special citation for making it so easy for so many to sound like hard-hitting reporters standing up for the public good and civilized standards of behavior.
Jim Courier's post-match interview last night produced a classic Hewitt moment. Almost any other player in a comparable situation probably would have found a way to talk about what a shame it was that Andy had to quit. How disappointed he felt that the crowd didn't get to enjoy the predicted four-hour barn burner. After all, theirr rivalry can be described as a true and worthy, even if it the quality far outweighs the quantity. Roddick had a 7-6 edge going in. Only five of those matches were straight-setters either way, and Hewitt had a 3-2 lead at majors (although one of those wins was also by retirement).
But when Courier asked the obvious question about what it was like to play a fella who was injured and had received emergency treatment in his chair, Hewitt spoke truth to television and marketing power: "He was hurting, but I tried to block that out as much as possible. I don't mean to sound mean. You try to run him around a little more. . ." I had to smile when Hewitt paused and somewhat defensively added, "You would have done it in your day, too."
Courier's "day" was enormously productive but relatively brief. The thing with Hewitt is that he still thinks it's his day, and even if that's no longer true, or when it's no longer true, he'll be the last to know.