BuggBlog

Paradise calls, and she ain't cheap

Settling in this morning for the first Roger Federer v. Rafael Nadal final of the year, this is one of the  tournaments where you can appreciate the beauty of the facility as much as (or even more so) than the quality of the play. Really, if you were to die and go to tennis heaven, I'm pretty sure you'd find something like the Monte Carlo Country Club (though maybe with a hard court, depending on your preferences). The view is gorgeous, and I imagine the smell of the the water coming in over the stands would only accentuate the experience.

Of course, it would be easier for me to pass through the eye of a needle than to be rich enough to enter this particular kingdom of heaven. Lucky for me I'm an agnostic.

The tragedy of the B level tennis player

The worst thing about being a B-level tennis player is that, often, you're just good enough to know how bad you suck.

Basically, I can hit the shit out of a tennis ball. Take me out on the court to casually bang a few balls around and I can consistently hit deep, penetrating top spin forehands with good direction. My two-handed backhand will find that perfect height over the net and angle sharply off the court. My form will be not quite textbook but certainly on-spot enough to show that I've had the benefit of good tennis instruction early in life. I have no problems just hitting with players one or two levels above me -- just warming up can be a Zen like experience where the limbs move with the order and precision that can only be summoned through on-court calm.

Then I start to play a match and, as they say, it's a whole 'nother story.

Of course, this is because when you hit a ball in practice you generally want it to come back so you can hit it again. In a match, the guy across the court doesn't want that and will do what he can to make you miss. It's harder to hit a forehand when you're scrambling around way too far behind the baseline.

But that's all doable, if you have the basic skills in stroke production and point c0nstruction, which most strong B players have. The problem is all that stuff going on between the ears. If I'm up two breaks in the first set, I'll suddenly think, I just have to get the ball in and the set is mine, a thought which I quickly follow with, No no no! Don't change anything you're doing, keep up the pressure! a thought that I then quickly follow with a nervous double fault. Or my borderline ADD will kick in just as I have a chance for an important service break and I'll spend three points trying desperately not to think about the book I'm reading or the project I'm finishing or the Battlestar Galactica episode that's upcoming or the fact that I really like ice cream.

In this, I am generally unsuccessful.

Some days, however, it all comes together and my mind calms down and my body complies and my game elevates itself by a level -- even two -- and I experience that moment that always brings me back to the court. The moment where everything clicks, everything is clear, everything works.

Which makes it all the more disappointing when the next day I once again play like the B that I am.

Disclosure that proves a point: In the photo above, I'm serving in a match at the Liberty Open in New York. I won the first set easily, and was up two breaks in the second. I proceeded to lose it anyway.

Democrats are driving me to distraction

After this morning's post, I was going to take a day or two off from political topics, mostly because my far-better half is beginning to get really annoyed by my primary election antics. I think he hit his limit last night when Hillary Clinton began listing all the states she had "won" and she said "Florida" and I screamed "Bullshit!" and then it became one of those awkward nights where we didn't really say anything else to each other beyond "Good night."

So I was going to focus exclusively on non-political topics that are of great interest to me, like, who has the best ass in men's professional tennis. Believe me, that's something I could go on about for hundreds, thousands, of words. And not just about Rafael Nadal. There's something special about Guillermo Cañas every time he turns away from the camera as well. Oddly, it does seem that all the truly fine asses in tennis hail from Spain or South America. I'm not going to hazard a guess why, but like the blue in the sky and the green in the grass, I'm going to take it as a sign of a wonderful, wonderful world.

But politics keeps breaking through. Specifically, all the Clintonian antics and superdelegate shenanigans that make me weep for the fact the so many Democrats seem determined to go to any lengths to lose what should be a grand slam election year. How so? Well, let's see:

Ohioan superdelegates are attempting to extort Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton by withholding their endorsements until one candidate surpasses the other in promising radically protectionist trade policies that will not only hurt our overall economy but would further damage our already tattered status on the world stage. Way to go Democrats! You've shown that by sticking with the outdated and undemocratic superdelegate system you can gin up an election that's even fundamentally more screwed up, unfair and politically damaging than Bush v. Gore in Florida. Which candidate is most likely to give over their first born for the Ohio support? Get ready to take one for the team, Chelsea!

Then there's the always ethical Harold Ickes and Terry McAuliffe putting out their spin that the delegates Barack Obama has won through the primary and caucus system -- the rules of which have been in place for longer than his children have been born -- aren't actually pledged delegates, but are simply "automatic" delegates no different from the superdelegates that Clinton is so vampirically courting. Voting? Who needs that trouble? According to the Clinton calculus, the nation could save a lot of money having a handful of primaries in the states that count -- those would be the states she's won -- and letting everyone else eat cake or something. It is not hyperbole to point out that this is exactly the kind of parseltongued, doublespeak, backstabbing political maneuvering that would be on display in the event of a Clinton restoration.

Politics is a game for the tough. Lying is a game for the venal. You pick which sentence the Clinton campaign fits best.

Then there's the ongoing attempts to seat delegates from Michigan, where Obama wasn't even on the ballot, and Florida, where he didn't campaign -- all according the the agreements and rules that Clinton signed onto before the primary. Yeah, Howard Dean, the DNC leadership, the Michigan and Florida legislatures, and their respective governors all bear more responsibility for this clusterfuck than the candidates. But the fact remains that Clinton had the chance to protest on behalf of those states before this all started -- she chose to stroke the egos of Iowa and New Hampshire instead. Rules may be made to be broken for elementary school students, but not for democratic elections.

Oh, and then there's the Clinton "Well, he can be my vice president" approach. Because after amassing a huge debt, insulting half the states in the nation, losing 12 states in a row, insulting black voters, claiming that being First Lady counts as political experience except in those cases where plausible deniability is needed, not releasing tax returns, trailing in delegates by a consistently significant amount, and softening up her opponent with Republican-ready attack ads, Clinton is totally in a position to dictate to Democrats who the lower half of the 2008 ticket is going to be. Hey Hillary! Maybe you can save him a seat at the back of your bus while you're at it!

Damn it, I'm hyperventilating again. Time to go catch some Cañas action at the Tennis Channel Open. At least there I know the rules won't be changed in the middle of the match.

Fresh air, sunshine and a crappy serve

With the temperature pushing close to 70, today was the perfect day to start my outdoor tennis season. Well, maybe not perfect, since the sun was right in my eyes every other service game and the incessant wind kept blowing the ball into bizarre trajectories I'd need a physics degree to figure out. Yep, there's nothing like stepping onto an outdoor court after three or four months of play in the perfect atmosphere of indoor courts.

Of course, when November rolls around again I'll be bitching about how indoor courts never have enough room behind the baseline for me to retrieve big bouncing moonballs and such.

So, today was not an auspicious debut for me -- I lost 7-5, 6-1 to Lucas -- the guy I'm supposed to beat by September. Neither was it a pretty match in either way, especially when he went all Martina Chang and started underhanding serves. Or when I would set up to hit an easy forehand only to whiff it.

The upside is that's it's easy to get a court during the first week of March. When I started squeezing in weekday lunch matches late last summer, I expected grabbing a court would be simple since, you know, real people worked and stuff. Not actually the case, as it turns out. But for a few weeks, at least, when the weather provides a spring preview, I can get some much needed practice in.

And judging by my junky serve, I need it.

A tennis boor, defined

I've had a couple of non-tennis-oriented readers ask me what the big deal was with Andy Roddick's behavior in his match against Kei Nishikori that I complained about earlier this week. Without some sort of context -- either experience seeing Roddick's asshole act in operation or knowledge of the spoken and unspoken rules of on-court tennis behavior -- the "just stick me with it next time" thing doesn't translate well, I suppose.

Jon Wertheim at Sport Illustrated takes on the exact subject in response to a reader who notes, rightly: "Bad news for Andy Roddick if he has to resort to blatant intimidation to win a match over an 18-year-old newcomer." Wertheim, who I think generally maintains a great balance in criticizing players' stupid behavior while defending them from unrealistic expectations, doesn't completely agree about the Nishikori incident -- "I'm not sure this episode rises to the level of 'felony trash talk'" -- he does go on to flat-out state that Roddick has morphed from a tennis golden boy into an abrasive asshole.

The dirty secret in men's tennis is that the guy has been fairly insufferable lately.

This isn't just from the grumps in the media. This has been noticed by everyone from ATP personnel to former Grand Slam champs to current players. And this diminishing reputation has nothing to do with match results or a stagnating game. It's all about disposition.

I haven't hidden my fondness for Roddick over the years. But it's probably about time he got called on his you-know-what. And heeding Roddick's advice to Nishikori, we're going to stick him with it: I cringed as Roddick dressed down Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and winced as he sucked down champagne and blew off the Portland, Ore., kids seeking autographs at the Davis Cup, and bristled at this laughable, Connors-ian me-against-the-world routine.

But he completely lost me in Australia. Roddick's tirade against the umpire -- some poor guy with kids watching at home -- was not only low-rent, but also played to every Ugly American stereotype. Roddick played the role of posturing bully frat boy, even when he didn't have right on his side.

The Tsonga match Wertheim mentions was from the 2007 Australian Open, and marks the point where I pretty much gave up on Roddick. It was an appalling display on Roddick's part, and it just made it all the sweeter this year when Roddick went out early and Tsonga made the final. And this year's behavior by Roddick was demonstrably worse, as Wertheim points out.

This is disappointing on two levels. First, as Wertheim labors to explain, Roddick has done a lot of good during his career. He launched a worthwhile foundation, he devotes his time to charity (including annual appearances playing tennis with Elton John for his AIDS foundation), and generally has used his wealth and fame in positive ways that many athletes -- hell, most people period -- can't be bothered with.

Second, in the ever-more-distant past he provided an engaging and entertaining face to American men's tennis. He brought an aw-shucks, corn-fed, Midwestern attitude to a sport that too often gets caught up in its own stuffiness (in the U.S., at least). And in an age when the American presence in tennis has become increasingly less relevant by the day, he was one of the bright lights who could help motivate and bring attention to the game.

Now, however, he's fully bought into the boorish, combative and self-centered attitude that so often made Jimmy Connors a narcissistic blight on the tennis court. I actually think Roddick's descent into a miasma of machismo began during his tutelage with Brad Gilbert, but Connors bears responsibility for bringing it into full flower. Many seem to believe that Roddick's attitude is born from his frustration with being blocked by Federer from winning Grand Slams -- problem is, it's not Federer who's been stopping him over the past year. From known young stars such as Richard Gasquet to unknowns who flare into greatness for one Slam match, Roddick keeps aiming for the Master but getting his hat handed to him by also-rans (or, in the case of Gasquet, potential future masters). It's hard not to suspect that those losses, combined with Coach Connors, have totally stoked Roddick's inner boor.

I'll admit, I'm a bit of an outlier on this issue at times because I have such disdain for Connors, et al. I don't believe trash talking, asshole behavior belongs on the court. Competitiveness, yes. Loud cursing? You fucking bet. I don't think I could make it through a match without at some point saying, "You stupid son of a bitch." But I'm always saying that to myself -- if I were saying it to my opponent, I would deserve to have my ass kicked from here to sundown.

Perhaps, as Wertheim speculates, Roddick's current behavior is a phase that he'll pass through before he turns into the second coming of American tennis's other reborn hero, Andre Agassi. I truly hope he does. I've always thought Roddick took too many hits for his "unimaginative" game -- accomplishing what he has so far proves he has something special in both his strokes and his head. Too bad he's chosen to obscure that by becoming a petty, brutish oaf.

Andy Roddick, a bore and a boor

I didn't get to see the match, but this report on Andy Roddick's behavior during his defeat of new Japanese up-and-comer Kei Nishikori sounds like the Roddick asshole machine is in full force for 2008:

In the seventh game of the first set, the Roddick barked at the young player as they exchanged shots at the net. Nishikori held his cool and didn't respond and just walked away.

"I didn't understand a word he said," Nishikori said. But when pressed he acknowledged that he did in fact understand what Roddick had shouted at him but just didn't want to repeat it before the press.

But Roddick had no trouble repeating what he had said. "I told him to stick me with it the next time. I just let him know that he needs to finish it. I had no problem with it. But it was a monologue."

Roddick, who's has stated that he wants to be more aggressive this season proceeded to win the next game to win the first set.

Back when Roddick was actually doing interesting things like, you know, winning a Grand Slam, he was a pretty charming and entertaining guy. Now he's just a prick with a game that can't keep up with the best of the field. At least I can enjoy watching him lose the big matches throughout the year.

Sunday morning tennis fan

It's been about two days since Novak Djokovic took out Jo-Wilfried Tsonga for the Australian Open men's title, but only one day since I caught the match via the magic of DVR. I almost wish I had stayed up and caught the match live at 3:30 a.m. Sunday morning -- it was that much better than the women's match, even though my guy Tsonga lost. I think the match has been commentated to death, so I can't add much beyond how interesting it was to watch Djokovic be placed into the role of on-court bad guy. He really had the crowd on him and, as Mary Carillo pointed out, he's used to being the crowd favorite. Even his family seemed taken aback by the pro-Tsonga crowd. I wondered during the match if his vaunted arrogance would eventually put him into the on-court asshole role originally forged by Jimmy Connors and carried on today by Andy Roddick -- but Djokovic's disarmingly charming victory speech put those fears to rest, at least for now.

Other than the afterglow that comes from watching a fairly high-quality final, the main thing I came away with was a renewed feeling of urgency that Dick Enberg must be stopped. His crimes against commentating are legion and cringe-inducing. Some examples:

• His treacly essays that opened and closed the match are monuments to mawkishness. Mercifully, these weren't quite as risible as his Wimbledon women's final piece a couple years back when his stretching of metaphors about hunger and desire made it sound like we had accidentally tuned in for "Breakfast at a Lesbian Orgy."
• Enberg emoted that Djokovic and Tsonga were "breathing new life into the men's game," as if men's professional tennis were on life support under such luminaries as Federer and Nadal who've managed to break through as stars even in our insular America.
• Given Tsonga's much-remarked upon resemblance to a certain famous boxer, is anyone surprised that Enberg camped out at the well of bad boxing metahors?
• Enberg actually spoke the words "sing a Tsonga."
• Best bumbling moment of the match: Noting that Tsonga was caught "between a hard and rock pl...um, a hard place and a rock."
• Enberg never misses a chance to say terre batu, because "red clay" just doesn't sound frenchy enough.

In all fairness, and as Mary Carillo did point out, Enberg missed his chance for "Sting like a bee" when the Police front-man was found sitting in the stands. But in the interest of viewer sanity -- or, at least, my sanity -- can we limit ESPN tennis commentary to, say, Darren Cahill, Mary Carillo and -- seriously -- Jimmy Arias?

Shrieky, squeaky covergirls: Liveblogging the Australian Open Women's Final

Y'all can keep your primary debate liveblogging, I'm going with what really counts: the Australian Open women's final, so all five or so of you out there can follow along. That is, if I can keep up interest in this match all the way through. Or if lasts more than 45 minutes. Seems like a toss-up.

9:42: Mary Carillo says Ana Ivanovic is "like Bambi out there" compared to Maria Sharapova. I've always thought that Sharapova shrieks like a lamb being slaughtered, so it's not hard to look cuddly.

9:44: We're two minutes into actual play and I already want drop Dick Enberg over a steep cliff.

9:48: By the way, since I'm definitely going to be watching the men's final on DVR delay, anyone who slips and tells me who won before I've watched it will be punished accordingly. That goes double for anyone who already ruined the Federer semifinal match, Randy.

9:54: Does anyone else think Sharapova looks evil when she throws those sideways glances? Like, Damien getting ready to knife a nanny evil?

9:56: If I were straight, I'd totally be the president of Ivanovic's fan club. The leggy blonde thing doesn't do much for me.

9:58: Sharapova just snagged her first break for 3-2. God, this is going to be inevitable, isn't it?

10:00: Hmmm, Ana's got some hotties in her box. Oh, stop thinking dirty. I'm talking about the guys in her family box.

10:02: I'm no Sharapova fan, but that serve is pretty damn impressive. Too bad she sounds like she's being gored when she hits it.

10:04: First line call challenge -- I give about ten minutes before Mary Carillo goes on one of her pithy little rampages about the cosmic unfairness of electronic linecalling. While we're at it we should all go back to wooden rackets.

Time for a blackout

For all the wonders of instant access to information, there are downsides to the internet. And I'm not just talking about Perez Hilton.

No, the downside for me is the difficulty in remaining ignorant of some facts for a reasonable amount of time. The Australian Open has just begun down in gloriously sunny Melbourne, which means I'm undergoing the first of my four annual media mini-blackouts. I'm a huge fan of televised tennis, and the advent of high-definition coverage and high-capacity DVRs means that I record a lot of tennis during Grand Slam fortnights. Like, all of it. And I want to be surprised by the outcomes.

For an inveterate web-based procrastinator -- nothing quite makes you feel informed while wasting time like a good, long blog list -- this poses certain problems, mainly that I have to avoid certain sites to maintain my ignorance of outcomes. This a really big problem when dealing with time differences between the U.S. and Australia, given that I can't remember if it's yesterday right now in the land down under, or if its tomorrow. Solution? Just avoid any site that's ever remotely hinted at being a fan of tennis. Which means I can't even go dig up a hot pic of Rafael Nadal or something to liven up this post. So sad.

Naturally, I'll be able to read the Washington Post unimpeded. It's like they've never even heard of tennis over there during the 48 weeks Wimbledon isn't being played.

Thanks a lot, ESPN

For various reasons, I didn't have the time to blog as I had originally intended on the two-week-long Australian Open. Luckily, there were no tummy-ache shenanigans this year, as Justine Henin-no-longer-Hardenne was off divorcing her big gay husband. But my favorite lesbian, Amelie Mauresmo, inexplicably got bounced early.

All was saved, though,in the phenomenal run of Fernando Gonzalez. I've been a fan of Gonzalez since I saw him beat Agassi a few years back at the Legg Mason here in D.C., when Gonzo was still knocking the ever-loving shit out every ball he could get his racquet on. Highly entertaining, though I'm even more entertained now that he's winning more often.

Anyway, my big problem with the tournament really comes down to ESPN2. Specifically, ESPN2's high definition channel. At first, I thought I'd found tennis nirvana when I initially tuned in for some beautiful widescreen goodness. Then I realized that the widescreen was temporary, and all the matches would be shown in tired old 4:3 ratio, with stupid logos filling up the black bars. And as if that wasn't bad enough, ESPN2, like cable news channels, puts a bright, shining logo in the lower right corner of the screen.

Now, I play a lot of video games and watch a lot of letterboxed movies, and I've never had a problem with the dreaded screen-burn that everyone warned me about when I decided to buy a plasma. That is, until I decided to watch a few hours of ESPN2-HD, which gained me a (hopefully not permanent) burned image of a corporate logo on my frankly expensive 42-inch television. A tennis friend of mine  had the same problem with his new plasma, courtesy of a high-definition sports channel that really should know that a high percentage of those tuning in own expensive and fragile screens that can be ruined by craven corporate static images.

Nice going, ESPN. Maybe next time you can downgrade the luminescence of your logo to a couple of notches below "solar flare."