by Pete Bodo
Many of you probably saw the news about Lleyton Hewitt's latest physical breakdown, which occurred at the Hopman Cup event. As this story makes clear, the hearing problem is unlikely to diminish Hewitt's chances - dwindling though they may be - of breaking through at long last at the tournament that I had always expected him to win - the Australian Open.
Now hold it, I'm not that dumb. I can hear you Roger Federer fans howling, Fat chance! Roger owns the little dude! Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray backers might issue similar objections, and the record justfies their protests. While Hewitt is a surprising 4-4 with Rafa, he's 1-3 against Djokovic, 0-1 versus Murray, and 0-2 down to Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. Hail, he's even got a losing record against Gilles Simon, falling to Simon in the only match they've played. But hey - he's 6-3 up on the guy who's emerging as his main rival in the Forgotten Men of Tennis department - Andy Roddick. My own feeling is that Hewitt and Roddick both deserve better than that, which is why I'd like to see both of them have a good Australian Open. But let's set Andy aside for now.
I've felt for a long time now that Hewitt is suffering one of the cruelest fates that can befall a blue-chip pro athlete - seeing the game pass him by in his own time. If you want to be charitable, you qualify that by saying that injury played a significant role in his premature decline, but there really is more to it than that.
At the peak of his game, 2001-2002, nobody had a good solution to his effective if not especially artful combination of competitive grit, great defense, and first-rate counter-punching ability. His quickness was a significant asset - as attested to by his surprisingly mediocre showings at Roland Garros. The clay slows the game down for everyone, which shifts the premium from quickness and accuracy to consistency, power, and stamina.
Hewitt was outstanding on faster surfaces because he could make the transition from defense to offense (albeit sneaky, thread-the-needle offense) more effectively than most of his rivals. While slower opponents struggled to get to certain balls, especially wide balls, Hewitt arrived earlier and thus had enough time to reply with a more pressing return. In other words, he was able to open up the court, and he always knew how to close a point - staying a critical half-step ahead of his most men.
All that changed when Federer matured into a Grand Slam champion, showing comparable quickness combined with greater firepower, equal consistency, and more creative shotmaking. It didn't make Hewitt's life any easier when Nadal, with his Ultimate Defense, appeared on the scene. But in reality, the toll on Hewitt was already beginning to show. Hewitt's commitment level was always exceptionally high, and burnout became a part of his competitive equation. Every player is capable of a certain amount of focus, on a day-in/day-out basis. Hewitt began to exhaust his supply at about the time he made his best run at his home major, as a runner-up in 2005.
Just months after that effort fell just short of bagging Hewitt his third major, Hewitt got married (his wife, Bec Cartwright, a poetess of some renown, dropped a baby a few months later). Deeply dedicated players often get whacked by marriage. They're responsible and disciplined as a way of life, and the obligations of marriage and fatherhood often draw off some of the emotional fuel they're accustomed to pumping into their tennis.
But also bear in mind that Hewitt was a quick study; Boris Becker's astute observation that tennis player's lives ought to be measured in "dog years" is especially pertinent to Hewitt's case. Hewitt reached the No.1 ranking in November of 2001, which made him both the youngest (20 years and 8 months) no. 1 and the first Aussie to claim the spot in the history of the ATP rankings.
However, Hewitt never had charisma, nor the broad, international appeal, that would have allowed him to fully capitalize on the potential of his astonishing achievement. Some forms of intensity are more socially acceptable than others; this isn't a matter of degree, it's a matter of style. And Hewitt's brand was often off-putting, even to his fellow Aussies. Hewitt became a Big Name, but not a Big Star. He was a polarizing figure, with a striking inability to connect with people. He had all the trappings of an Aussie hero - straw-blond hair, pale blue eyes, an unpretentious, even parochial view of the world, and things in general (I forget how long it was before I realized that 'The Crows' was a reference not to some obscure rock band, but Hewitt's beloved Adelaide Aussie Rules Football squad). I spent half the day with Hewitt the day after he won the US Open in 2001 and wandered away struck by his inability (or was it indifference to?) making ordinary conversation.
Still, Hewitt carried the green-and-yellow boxing kangaroo standard all by his lonesome for quite some time. He wanted wins, not friends. And he got them. His Davis Cup record is stellar: 32-8 in 26 ties starting in 1999, with two championships secured. His immensely popular countryman, Pat Rafter, by contrast, was 18-10. Clearly, there was a national hero deep within this combative lad, dying to break out. For that reason, I always felt that he'd win his national title someday.
In this, I may have been influenced by the degree to which Jimmy Connors - and there are parallels between the two players - managed to perform his very best at his home major, the US Open. Connors won many friends he otherwise never would have made by virtue of his ability to lift his game in New York. It was Jimbo's way of evening the score with his domestic critics - giving the naysayers a big, fat, middle finger with a robust cry of: How you like me now? Hewitt always seemed the sort who might yield to similar impulses, or find a way to motivate himself with them. But he never pulled it off.
Hewitt has 12 Australian Open appearances to his name, and it took him three years to get past the first round (was it an omen that the first man he played at Flinder's Park was the very tough, swift baseliner and Roland Garros champ, Sergi Burguera?). At the peak of his career, Hewitt could do no better than the round of 32 (losing to Carlos Moya in 2001 and, despite holding the no. 1 ranking, going down to Alberto Martin the following year in a sensational first-round upset). Those losses struck me as odd, anomalous. This guy should do well in Melbourne, I kept telling myself. Maybe he feels a lot of pressure, but that's something he's always handled pretty well.
Hewitt stumbled again (round of 16, to Younes el Aynaoui) in 2003, and the following year trouble arrived in the form of The Mighty Fed, who roughed Hewitt up in four sets (including a bagel) in the round of 16. Lleyton's window was closing - and fast. He responded by hurdling the quarterfinal obstacle for the first time in his Melbourne career, going all the way to the 2005 final before his flame was extinguished by TW's favorite Alpinist, Marat Safin. Hewitt hasn't reached the quarters since, falling, in ascending order, to Juan Ignacio Chela, Fernando Gonzalez and Novak Djokovic - but let's remember that two of those three men went to the final, with Djokovic winning the championship.
Is there hope for Hewitt in 2009? On paper, the answer must be "no." But great players - and Hewitt certainly was one - can surprise you, and almost all of them refuse to go quietly into the night. They have a knack for coming up with late-career statements - a la Connors storied US Open run in 1991. Ah, but that was Connors at Flushing Meadow, not Hewitt in Melbourne. The comfort zone for Connors had to be much wider than it will be for Hewitt. But I'm keeping my mind open to all possibilities; even forgotten men are capable of making some noise.