Haig Schneiderman – Columbia’s tennis captain

Even at college level, tennis is an ethereally beautiful sport. The levels of strategy employed within the small rectangle are almost infinite. The game is played as much in the players’ heads as it is on the court. Watching Haig Schneiderman, 21, and captain of Columbia University’s tennis team, play is as fascinating as it is watching one of the top players in the world. For each shot that Schneiderman makes, whether it is in practice or in game play, there is a meaning to it.

Schneiderman is hitting with teammate Nathaniel Gery on the first of the six indoor, hard courts at the Dick Savitt Tennis Center – Columbia’s home courts located on the ridiculously picturesque upper western tip of Manhattan by Inwood Hill Park. They begin with a few light hits, standing at the edge of their service lines. And then slowly they up the ante, smacking groundstrokes from the baseline with astonishing power – the kind that you wouldn’t expect to see in college tennis. The margins that distinguish the best from the rest are very thin – it can go unnoticed by a casual observer. Schneiderman wants to compete with the best; he wants to shatter those margins that separate him from the professionals. When he graduates as an economics major next May, he harbors hopes of turning pro. The challenge, however, is not merely mighty, but at many levels unnerving too.

“The realities of the men’s professional-tennis tour bear about as much resemblance to the lush finals you see on TV as a slaughterhouse does to a well-presented cut of restaurant sirloin,” wrote David Foster Wallace in a seminal essay in Esquire. The realities of college tennis are bleaker still. Even in the effort to make the grade, though, is ingrained an element of heroism, an element of perseverance.

Wearing a white t-shirt and white shorts, Schneiderman, who is right-handed, looks a tennis player. He is six feet two inches tall and one hundred and seventy pounds heavy. He has sharp features and a sinewy body. He sports a scruffy stubble; his jaw is sharp and his eyebrows meet gently above his long, pointed nose. His calf muscles are well defined – a product of hours and hours of tennis – and his forearms are muscular, if not immense. His game itself has a simple elegance to it. His light brown eyes are always focused intently on the ball – there is a detached concentration to his play – the kind that one usually sees from chess players. The ball toss on the serve is not the highest, but the motion is neat. He can hit his serve both down the line and slice it away from his opponent with equal ease and great disguise. His forehand is possibly his strong suit – he seems to think so, at any rate – but his double-handed backhand has a beauty to it – he hits through it crisply and regally with both pace and topspin.

“My backhand used to be a weakness,” Schneiderman says, while sitting on a bench in the grassy, sloped verandah outside the center that overlooks the Harlem River, after practice. “I’ve had to work very hard at it. Now I can use it offensively.” Schneiderman can be remarkably lucid when talking about his game. He says he has to think constantly about the dynamics of power and accuracy: “With some opponents, I can sense that they aren’t reading my serve. Then, I can afford to take some pace off and concentrate on placement.”

“Having a big serve helps at this level. If I want to go pro, I need to win easy points – need to win in three or four shots.” He practices long and hard on his first serves and his “first forehand,” as he puts it. “My first forehand is my most important shot. I try to dictate play with it.” Every day, Schneiderman spends about three hours on the courts with Columbia’s coaches, Bid Goswami and Howard Endelman. Endelman, who was appointed the Associate Head Coach in 2010, once competed in the ATP Tour. He said, of Schneiderman, “He’s certainly got a game that is suited for pro tennis and I think he can make it. He has a great serve and a terrific forehand and these are assets that will serve him very well. But the start that he makes is crucial.”

Schneiderman’s focus, for now, at least, in on the Ivy League championships in the spring. In his first two years at Columbia, Schneiderman played a pivotal role in leading Columbia to victory. In 2009, he was named the Ivy League Men’s Tennis Rookie of the Year, while in his sophomore year he enjoyed a 17-3 record, including a win in the crucial decider against Princeton, which clinched the championship. “It was my greatest moment,” Schneiderman, suddenly bursting with enthusiasm, says, “it was one set each and the entire thing was on the line. I was able to control the decider.” A troublesome back, however, laid him low for large parts of last year. “I wasn’t able to even get up or take my socks out after that match against Princeton. It plagued practice for many months. I saw numerous doctors and they suggested surgery, but Tommy Sheehan, the Director of Strength and Conditioning at Columbia, introduced me to some specialists who were able to solve the problem. They were able to understand the biomechanics of it better. It was killing me.”

The body feels good again now, Schneiderman says, and he is raring to help Columbia regain the Ivy League Championships. “Obviously I want to go pro after this, but for now I am just concentrating on the team. As long as I keep working on my game, it takes care of what I need to do afterwards.” He is, however, aware of the difficulties in pursuing tennis as a career. “It’s expensive. And it can leave you a bit empty. I had offers from big tennis schools, but I chose Columbia because it gives me a more rounded education.”

Schneiderman interned in the mergers and acquisitions wing of Ernst and Young in the summer. He found it enjoyable [“it didn’t have the pressure of an investment banking job,”] but it’s not something that he sees himself doing for a career. He plans to use the money he saved from the internship and whatever he can get from his parents to fund his initial foray into professional tennis. “I’ll have to start by playing the qualifiers of the ITF’s [International Tennis Federation] Futures Events. I want to play in Latin America or Europe where the level of competition will be right and where I can get to experience a new culture.”

Schneiderman is half Armenian. His father, also named Haig, was born to Armenian parents in New York. Sargis Sargsian, an Armenian who was once ranked in the top forty of the world, is a huge inspiration to Schneiderman. “I definitely feel that connection. I practiced with Sargsian twice in Vegas and he is a big influence,” Schneiderman says in his genially sincere tone.

Born in the ‘lower west side’ of New York, Schneiderman still lives there with his parents. He began playing tennis at Forest Hills in Queens where the U.S. Open once used to be played. His coach there, Chris Pucci remains a big influence. “He’s my mentor. I still practice under him in the summer in New Jersey where he now coaches.” He is also quick to credit his parents for their support. “My father introduced me to the sport and my mom has had to make so many sacrifices. She drove me around to all the tournaments, from my high school, Horace Mann, to New Jersey for practice and so on. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without her.”

Schneiderman is levelheaded enough to realize that tennis may not work out for him professionally. “It can get to a point where it’s just not worth it. I’m not looking for sponsors right now. It will depend on how well I do in my first few tournaments. It’s not a fun lifestyle. It can be quite a grind.”

Regardless of how he does in the professional circuit, though, Schneiderman wants to be involved with tennis. “Deep down, I want to do something with tennis. Maybe I’ll start a program for kids who don’t have access to the sport. I am not sure exactly what I’ll do, but I want to spread the sport and give kids who can’t afford the sport a chance to play it.”

Schneiderman sees tennis as a metaphor for life. “One of the great things about tennis is the number of people I’ve met. I’ve learnt so many life lessons from it. If nothing else, my experience will help me through the rest of my life.”

[Note: This profile is partly inspired by the late David Foster Wallace’s magnificent essay in Esquire titled “The String Theory.” There, Wallace focuses on Michael T. Joyce’s forays in the qualifying rounds of the Canadian Open. And in Wallace style, I chose to put this into a footnote:http://www.esquire.com/features/sports/the-string-theory-0796]

[First posted at: http://www.criticaltwenties.in/sport/haig-schneiderman-columbias-tennis-captain]

Flushing Meadows

I was at Flushing Meadows earlier this week – to watch the first day of the qualifying rounds for the U.S. Open – and I must say I was utterly underwhelmed. Not with the quality of the tennis, which by qualifying rounds standards was excellent, but with the general vibe of the arena.

The US Open moved from its Forest Hills venue to the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in 1978 at Flushing Meadows and has since then been played on hard courts. The venue has seen the tournament grow into a commercial behemoth. The place palpably lacks a sense of history; it has a plastic feel to it – you don’t get the impression that a John McEnroe or a Chris Evert once strode there with imperious grace.

There are, however, snippets of the past to consume if you are willing to walk into areas that are otherwise barren, such as the ‘Court of Champions,’ which celebrates the past winners with dedicated plaques, located near the South Gate. Even that, though, is essentially unimpressive. And barring that, all you will see is food stalls selling pretzels and pizzas, the official merchandise store selling t-shirts and caps, all at exorbitant prices.

In brief, you don’t get the feeling that you’re in a place truly historic. Yes, the arena is relatively new, but the tournament isn’t, and you would have thought greater emphasis would have been placed on its cultural significance. Sadly, however, the place brims with commercial garishness and does little justice to the repute of the event that it stages.

***

That’s enough of the rant, though. As gaudy as the arena was, the tennis was beautiful. I had the chance to recall, the late, David Foster Wallace’s brilliant essay on the physics and metaphysics of tennis, titled “The String Theory.” In the paper – which I rate as one of the best pieces of writing that I’ve ever read on the sport – Wallace writes about the experience of watching Michael T. Joyce, then a top hundred player, at the qualifying rounds of the Canadian Open in Montreal. He deconstructs the game, with gorgeous delight, to explain the thin margins that separate a very good player from a truly great one.

Consider this paragraph, for instance:

“Even more illuminating than watching pro tennis live is watching it with Sam Aparicio. Watching tennis with him is like watching a movie with somebody who knows a lot about the technical aspects of film: He helps you see things you can’t see alone. It turns out, for example, that there are whole geometric sublevels of strategy in a power-baseline game, all dictated by various PBers’ [read: power-baseliners] strength and weaknesses. A PBer depends on being able to hit winners from the baseline. But, as Sam teaches me to see, Michael Chang can hit winners only at an acute angle from either corner. An “inside-out” player like Jim Courier, though, can hit winners only at obtuse angles from the center out. Hence, wily and well-coached players tend to play Chang “down the middle” and Courier “out wide.” One of the things that make Agassi so good is that he’s capable of hitting winners from anywhere on the court -- he has no geometric restriction. Joyce, too, according to Sam, can hit a winner at any angle. He just doesn’t do it quite as well as Agassi, or as often.”

Wallace also posits that television doesn’t let you “appreciate what real top-level players can do.” I couldn’t agree more. I have seen a few of them play at the Chennai Open and the power and the accuracy of their strokes boggles the mind. This, though, was a different opportunity for me. I was going to see some very good players from really close quarters. In some cases I was going to be at a distance no longer than six feet from the tramlines.

First up, I visited court 9. Estonia’s Jurgen Zopp was playing Sergei Bubka, the son of the legendary, world-record holding, pole-vaulter, Sergey. Bubka, 24, has been on the tour for many years now, struggling to break into the top echelons. He is ranked just outside the top 200 and has never made it to a Grand Slam main draw. As one would only expect, he is athletically built and on the evidence of this match, he has a strong serve and is particularly good on his backhand wing, which he hits with a double-handed hold. He is even capable of jumping onto it, a la Marat Safin, and hitting it with serious venom.

Bubka steamrolled Zopp in the first set, winning it 6-3, in just 25 minutes. It was only the first round of qualifying, but he seemed a class apart. His first serves were quick and placed at the edge of the service box and his second were swerving and clever.

In the second set, Zopp found greater rhythm. Bubka was still the superior player, holding his service games with ease and stretching Zopp on his. But Zopp, somehow managed to hold on to his serves, and took the set to a tiebreak. In it, the Ukrainian’s class again shone through. There were difficult moments to counter, but he served with rare confidence and took the tiebreak 7-5.

Watching from the side, I was astonished at the sheer pace of Bubka’s groundstrokes. If this was how hard the World’s 210^th ranked player could hit the ball, I wondered how good the truly great players were. The margins, though, must be really thin. It cannot be merely be a case of power. While Bubka, can hit backhands on the run with amazing power and accuracy 7 times out of 10, maybe Djokovic and Nadal can make it 9 out of 10 times. Regardless, I was watching someone who is exceedingly good in his craft even if he was just short of being a great player.

***

After Bubka was through, I shifted my attention to court no. 4 where France’s Arnaud Clement, once ranked as high as no. 10, was to play Canada’s Frank Dancevic. Clement is now ranked 154 in the world, while Dancevic is 183^rd. Clement reached the finals of the Australian Open in 2001, losing in straight sets to Andre Agassi. Incidentally en route to that final he defeated a young Roger Federer. He has also reached the quarterfinals of Wimbledon and the US Open in the past.

He is short for a tennis player – only 1.72 meters tall – but his calves are muscular. He is essentially a counterpuncher – his style involves scurrying across the baseline and making the opponent play one ball more than he would like to.

Frank Dancevic, is Canada’s third best player. He was ranked 65^th in the world in 2007. But, since then troubled by back problems, his ranking has plummeted. Nonetheless, he looks a proper tennis player, athletically built, standing at 1.85 meters. He plays too, as I found out soon, beautifully.

The bleachers on Court 4 were filling up. Even though Clement was, arguably, the biggest draw of the qualifiers, the crowd was surprisingly large. Dancevic, however, was the one who shone brightest. He served hard and accurately and made Clement work very hard in his service games, pushing him around the court and dominating imperiously.

Dancevic’s backhand, I must say, is a thing of beauty. I have a particular predilection for single-handed backhands, and Dancevic’s, regardless of his ranking, was one that stood out for its sheer magnificence. Often the ball seemed to stand still, as he readied himself to stroke his backhand.

Time is often the decisive factor that separates the good from the great. Dancevic certainly had the goods on his backhand wing. He could slice it delicately, either dropping it just over the net or deep into one of the corners, with sharp spin; he could hit it flat with pace and accuracy, increasing the tempo of the point; or he could hit it with top spin, sliding the racquet head up and over the ball when striking it.

Dancevic dominated, nearly, from start to finish, winning the match 6-3, 6-3, breaking Clement’s serve four times and allowing himself to be broken only once. I had expected to watch Clement showcase his artistry, but I was nevertheless satisfied at watching, from such close quarters, a player strike his backhand with rare elegance. I suspect had Dancevic not been plagued with injuries, we may have been hearing of him more now.

***

I also watched Lithuania’s twenty-one-year-old Richard Berankis disposing off Spain’s Guillermo Alcide 6-2, 6-2 in just three-quarters of an hour. Berankis is certainly one for the future – he varies his rallies by sometimes going for power and at other times opting to change the rhythm with little slices and dabs.

France’s Caroline Garcia, who was ever so close to upsetting Maria Sharapova in the French Open, though, came up a cropper against Russia’s Regina Kulikova. Garcia won the first set, looked in fine touch, serving well and finding corners of the court with remarkable ease. But Kulikova upped her game in the second and third sets, even as Garcia’s own game began to wane. Still only eighteen, however, Garcia showed enough skill to suggest that she is likely to make a definite impact on the women’s game in the future.

***

The day, though, wasn’t only about the qualifying rounds. I saw Andrea Petkovic practice with her coaches at Louis Armstrong and she struck the ball with so much power and with so much style that I could sit there watching for hours. Robin Soderling and Mikhail Youzhny played a practice match, a little later, on the same court. Soderling, suffering in recent times with a wrist injury, certainly looked a bit off, not hitting the ball with as much as power as one is accustomed to seeing from him. Youzhny, however, made for a sublime sight, with his single-backhanded backhand glittering in the radiant sunshine. Somdev Devvarman and Janko Tipsarevic had a hit at the Grandstand stadium with the Serb pummeling the Indian from the back of the court. Somdev had his moments, but for the most part, Tipsarevic was utterly dominant.

At the end of it all, I was left a little stunned. I knew these players hit the ball with great power and found angles of geometric brilliance. But witnessing it from as close as I did, gave me a whole different perspective. Tennis, I have always thought, is the world’s most beautiful sport and any lingering doubts, have now been put firmly to rest.

Djokovic and the Art of Preserving Energy

July 20, 1937: Don Budge and Gottfried von Cramm meet in the centre court at Wimbledon in the final tie of the Davis Cup semi-final between the United States and Germany. The match, as Marshall Jon Fisher recounts in his exemplary book, A Terrible Splendor, had a significance that stretched beyond the realms of tennis and sport. Von Cramm races to a two sets to love lead, playing an exquisite, stylish brand of tennis that was nonetheless exhausting against Budge whose power game was incomparable. A closely fought third set that took a toll on both players is edged out by Budge 6-4 and with the American leading early in the fourth set, von Cramm chooses to ease up, to conserve his energy for the decider – a tactic, which ludicrous as it sounds now, was in those days considered very viable. As Fisher describes: “There is no way Cramm is going to break Budge three times in one set, he knows, and that is what he would have to do to win the fourth. He decides to conserve his energy for the fifth set. He puts up little resistance on Budge’s next two service games, wins his own without too much exertion and concedes the set six-two.”

In the final set, von Cramm speeds to a 3-1 lead, his tactics look sound, but Budge recovers superbly and ultimately succeeds 8-6. Quite conceivably, the German’s strategy of preserving energy for the deciding set was misjudged, but it was one that had worked wonderfully in the past not least for him, but for Budge too, and it was one that he had no choice but to deploy. We don’t hear of such approaches in modern-day tennis, but to believe that they are redundant would be erroneous.

It is, perhaps, safe to assume that such a method was not in Novak Djokovic’s mind at the start of the match. He would have merrily taken a straight sets victory. In the second set, he had come as close to perfection as is imaginable against Rafael Nadal. He was able to scurry across the back of the court chasing improbable balls that would have been winners against any other player, and was able to return them not so much with mere interest and purpose, but with glorious certitude.

Yet, he was broken early in the third set. His concentration levels had dropped, as is only normal after two sets of scintillating tennis, and Nadal was now beginning to exert his authority. Djokovic chose not to consume excessive energy in aiming to get back into the set. Instead he focused his efforts on beginning the fourth set in optimum physical condition. Having allowed Nadal a way back into the match early in the third set, he had two options, either to keep his efforts up and aim at breaking Nadal back – which looked unfeasible at the time considering how well Nadal was serving – or to drop his levels a bit, and ensure that he retained enough energy to launch a more sustained attack in the fourth set. Djokovic, wisely, chose the latter and broke early in the fourth to go up two games to love.

Nadal’s physical condition, by then, had understandably slumped – he had worked consistently hard throughout the first three sets – whereas Djokovic was able to find renewed vitality. Had Djokovic chased Nadal in the third set and had he failed, which was very conceivable considering the Spaniard’s improved game, both players would have begun the fourth set in almost identical physical condition. As it stood, Djokovic was the more relaxed; he was able to restore the rhythm to his game and although Nadal broke back in the set, albeit fortuitously, the Serb’s newfound confidence meant that in his superior physical state, the victory was almost inevitable. He broke Nadal’s serve again at 4-3, served and volleyed at a tricky time at thirty-all in the next game and won his first Wimbledon, a big fat cherry that now sits atop his status as the world’s new number one player.

(Also posted at: http://www.criticaltwenties.in/sport/djokovic-and-the-art-of-preserving-energy)

Murray and the lack of a champion's mind

Very often we hear of a moment – a single point, a single tackle, or a single ball – that turned a sporting contest on its head: the turning point, as it were. Invariably these are rather tenuous for a tennis match is played over three or five sets, a football match over ninety minutes and test match cricket over five days. Yet, on some occasions the turning point is palpably clear, a moment when the tide obviously turned, a moment that wrecked seemingly irrevocable damage on one of the competitors.

Yesterday, Andy Murray dazzled for a set and three games, serving with pace and precision and whipping his forehands with audacious venom and spin. One would have been forgiven for thinking that he may finally step out of the shadow of Fred Perry whose name has hung over every British player that has taken the court since his retirement. But at 2-1 in the second set of his semi-final, with Rafael Nadal serving at 15-30, Murray missed a sitter of a forehand, sending it long when it would have been easier to find a winner. With that the damage had been done. From that point, Nadal won seven games in a row, a stretch that saw him win the second set and take an early break in the third; a stretch from which Murray never recovered.

Let’s set aside Murray’s British roots for a moment – even if it perhaps has something to do with his frailties. His pure abilities as a tennis player can at times be a joy to behold, as it indeed was in the opening phases of his tie against Nadal. When playing with confidence, Murray’s coverage of the court is incomparable; he has a happy knack of finding funky angles that even the very best find difficult to counter. He can hit his double-handed backhand with depth and pace, and is equally capable of removing the left hand to play delicious slices that are often devious in their execution. His forehand is a more rugged weapon, harsher and tougher to counter when in full tilt, but vulnerable when his confidence dips. Yesterday, its vagaries were in abundant evidence. When in command, it was his chief weapon, but when his conviction waned at 2-1 in the second set, it was the forehand that let him down. In the very next game, Murray placed an easy overhead long, on break point, to hand the initiative to Nadal; a grip which the Spaniard never let slip.

Murray continued to go for broke in the games that followed – a strategy, which worked wonderfully in the first set. This, though, isn’t his natural game. He likes to dab and slice, slow the pace of the point and use his nous rather than power to outmanoeuvre opponents. For as long as it fell his way, it seemed the right way to play, but having taken the lead, the tactic ultimately proved injudicious. He needed to settle down into a rhythm, one in which he could dictate the tempo of the match, not by muscling the ball, but by forcing Nadal to create his own pace. By the time he was able to get back on board, though, the Spaniard had wrested control. Nadal had begun to unleash his groundstrokes – particularly his forehand – with outrageous portions of topspin, getting the ball to kick off the grass with biting venom. He showed the mind of a champion, one whose focus never seems to waver. Murray, on the other hand, having displayed incredible skill in the opening phases, sank deeper into a quagmire of his own doing. His tactics needed to be more exact. And even more importantly, he needed to realise that one poor forehand is hardly the end of it.

Nadal broke twice in the third set and once in the fourth, winning them 6-2, 6-4 and sealing a place in the final against Novak Djokovic. Gracious as ever he said after the match: “Andy Murray today didn't win a Grand Slam, but he's a much better player than a lot of players who have won Grand Slams in the past." Murray has two options – either to feel sorry for himself that he is playing in one of the most competitive eras of men’s tennis or to work harder, not merely on his tennis skills, but on his mind, which had it remained strong, he may well have been the first Briton since Bunny Austin in 1938 to reach a Wimbledon final.

Manic Monday at Wimbledon

It says something about the equal dose of frustration and excitement that always ensues on Manic Monday that I managed to watch only four Round of 16 matches. Of all the matches lined up – many of them mouth-watering prospects, as is the norm with the second Monday – I was looking forward most to the first match on centre court. Andy Murray versus Richard Gasquet had a sense of history about it. Three years back, at the same stage, Murray flexed his right bicep after coming back from two sets to love down to seal a marvellous victory against Gasquet – the Frenchman whose unfulfilled talent never ceases to exasperate. The gruelling triumph, however, had taken much out of Murray, both physically and mentally. He fell in the quarterfinals to Rafael Nadal in straight sets, offering not even a smidgeon of competition.

This year, Murray, had cruised into the second week, not so much serenely, but without unduly worrying hiccups. Gasquet, the inscrutable genius blessed with the most divine backhand had had a hitherto more comfortable run, losing not a single set in the first three rounds and playing with an amalgam of panache and composure that is not always typical of him. Murray, though, not only needed to win, but also had to do so with a comfort that would ensure that he has enough left in the tank for potentially bigger challenges to come. This as both history and current form suggested would be no easy task.

But starting a whole hour or so earlier, on one of the show-courts was eighteen-year-old qualifier Bernard Tomic’s tie against Belgium’s Xavier Malisse – a talented stroke maker and former semi-finalist at Wimbledon. I’d seen Tomic dismantle Feliciano Lopez at the Australian Open this year with a blend of power and intelligence that belied a player of his age; before falling to Nadal in the third round in, what must be said, respectable fashion. Tomic – much to the dismay of the Australian tennis authorities – plays very little on the professional tour, with his father insisting that he be slowly nursed into the big stage. His service action is rudimentary at best, but through what is seemingly a strange happenstance, he finds both remarkable pace and angle on it. Especially on the deuce court to right handers, where he gets the ball to curve away from the receiver’s forehand, opening up the court beautifully for him to finish.

Although oozing with easy power, Tomic has the patience to work his way into points. He often uses little slices and dabs, runs his opponent ragged before pulling the trigger on what is usually a very flat and ferocious groundstroke. In the third round against Robin Soderling – one of the heaviest hitters on the tour – Tomic outmuscled him in the first set, before bizarrely changing his game plan in the second and third set only to be proved right. He frequently took the pace off his strokes, instead choosing to find particular spots on the court that would most trouble Soderling and waited either for an unforced error or the opportunity to unleash his own brand of the power game, one of which invariably occurred.

Against Malisse, Tomic was similarly impressive. An unconventional player blessed with the rare gift of timing, Tomic regularly made Malisse scamper across the court before finishing points with insouciant ease. For all his talents, however, what was most impressive about him was his poise on the big points. He never looked hurried, always giving the air of a man taking a gentle stroll on a promenade.

Having broken Malisse to pieces in a straight sets triumph, one would have thought the celebrations would be over-the-top, in line with modern-day practice, but Tomic seemed to consider the victory almost routine. Only Boris Becker, John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg have made the quarterfinals at Wimbledon at a younger age in the Open Era. Not bad company to keep.

***

Over then to the centre-court, where Murray and Gasquet played a high-quality first set, one which Gasquet dominated for most bits only to succumb in the tiebreak. In the early phases, Gasquet produced angle after angle of geometric brilliance, seemingly slicing Murray into dices, but the Scot kept at it, ensuring that he did enough to hold his serve. In the tiebreak, Murray upped his game, finding greater ferocity on his groundstrokes and in one rally at 4-3, he outplayed Gasquet on the backhand wing – no easy feat – alternating between delicate slices and his powerful two-hander and finding greater angle and greater depth with each stroke before muscling a winner into the open court. It was tactically superb and aesthetically even better. In the second and third set, Gasquet’s game unravelled, and Murray exhibited a greater sense of authority, breaking thrice in all, to take the match, 7-6, 6-3, 6-2.

Gasquet’s backhand is a thing of rare beauty. But his game, as is sometimes made to believe, isn’t only about the backhand. Admittedly he is comparatively frail on the forehand and has a serve that often lets him down, but he has an all-court game including fine volleying skills, which should ideally be helping him to win majors. But he lacks a champion’s edge, or more pertinently a champion’s mind, which as Louisa Thomas explains in this fine piece for Grantland is like having no mind at all.

***

On Court 1, immediately after Marion Bartoli had upset the odds with a victory over Serena Williams, Novak Djokovic took on France’s Michael Llodra, who continues to play a delightfully old-fashioned serve-and-volley game. But a style, which may have worked well against most opponents on grass, failed against Djokovic who is undoubtedly the finest return-of-server in the men’s game. Throughout the match, Djokovic looked like a player who could win the Championships this year – his movement was more assured with each passing point and his groundstrokes remained decidedly dazzling.

The contrasting styles of the two opponents, though, occasionally made for compelling viewing. Llodra picked many balls virtually off his shoelaces and placed them over the net like he was pitching a golf ball off a sand-bunker straight into the hole. Djokovic chased down balls with vigour and vitality before showcasing masterful racquet skills – proving yet again that there is no one better than him at turning defence into attack. Ultimately, the Serb proved too strong, emerging victorious in three straight sets, 6-3, 6-3, 6-3. Tomic, awaits in the quarterfinals.

***

Finally, over on centre court, World No. 1 Rafael Nadal was pitted against Juan Martin del Potro in, arguably, the fixture of the day. For much of the first set, the players muscled ball after ball from the baseline, Nadal’s hit with greater top spin, del Potro’s with greater savagery. All of this made for a wonderful exhibition, but when at 6-5 on set point, Nadal felt a twinge on one of his ankles, one expected del Potro to exert more authority. In the tiebreak that followed after a medical timeout, though, Nadal as is so often the case, found a way to win even in the most trying of circumstances.

The second set saw the gangly Argentine exert his will more; he found more punch off an already heavy forehand and I thought we had a classic on our hands. But Nadal is the old master at converting a potential classic into a damp squib, slowing down points by mixing his groundstrokes with potent amounts of spin and dip. He took the third set on a tiebreak before breaking at 3-2 in the fourth courtesy of a brace of astounding forehand returns. The solitary break was sufficient for the Spaniard as he served out at 5-4 for love. Nadal is due for an MRI on the injured ankle to see if he can continue, but regardless, as fine a player as Mardy Fish is on grass, I doubt he’ll give Nadal a sleepless night today.

Wimbledon 2011 - days one to four

Four days have passed by at Wimbledon and there have been lots of charming little sub-plots that have captured attention. The tournament is as much about these side stories that are weaved into the larger tale as it is about the ultimate victors.

Day one, though, was sedate enough, almost as if to ensure that our adrenaline is preserved for greater drama that will doubtless ensue later. Rafael Nadal, the defending men’s champion as tradition warrants, opened proceedings on centre court – although other matches had begun a whole hour earlier in the smaller arenas – against Michael Russell of the United States. Russell goes by the nickname Iron Mike due to his penchant for lifting heavy weights, but against Nadal the weight of his groundstrokes paled in comparison and he was imperiously knocked off in three straight sets. Nadal is now a two times champion at Wimbledon, but the improvements that he has made to his movement on the grass continues to amaze. He isn’t inherently suited for grass like Federer who glides across it with an air of majesty, but having adapted to the surface’s vagaries his pace across the court and his natural shot making ability sufficiently negate any intrinsic weaknesses.

Venus Williams, over on court two – not the old cursed court two which has now become court three – saw off Akgul Amanmuradova with ease. It wasn’t so much her tennis that caught the attention, though, but her attire, which the Telegraph’s Mark Hodgkinson said was the “closest that anyone has ever come to wearing a cut-off toga to this garden party.” You can judge for yourself.

Also on day one, Andy Murray – ‘carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders’ – overcame a first set loss to oust Daniel Gimeno-Traver of Spain under the 100 million pound roof on Centre Court. Murray’s performance didn't caused the jaw to drop, but upon settling down his pleasing array of little lobs and drops were in abundant evidence.

***

Day two certainly saw an upscale in the story quotient. First on centre-court was Serena Williams, who hadn’t played a Grand Slam since winning Wimbledon last year. Bouts of depression followed and Serena says she went through a near-death experience four months back – suffering from pulmonary embolism in February with clots on both her lungs. Against France’s Aravane Rezai she was far from her best, but recovered, as she often tends to do after a first set loss, and powered her groundstrokes in characteristically domineering fashion. Her harrowing break began with an injury to the foot – the cause of which she herself is unaware of – and continued onto the surgery that was required to remove the clots on her lungs. Anyway, she’s back now and still looks the best player in the world. And with Venus in the other side of the draw, who’d say no to an all Williams clash in the final.

Roger Federer, Novak Djokovic and Maria Sharapova, in that order, followed Serena onto centre court and each enjoyed easy straight sets victories. It was the match fourth up on the new court three, though, that everyone was waiting for. John Isner and Nicholas Mahut having played a remarkable eleven-hour match last year that stretched over three days before Isner prevailed 70-68 in the fifth set had through a weird play of fate been drawn against each other. Isner came through yet again, though in far more normal circumstances, 7-6, 6-2, 7-6 – not the most engaging of contests, but its history certainly added to the fascination.

***

First up on centre court on day three was, perhaps, the story of the tournament thus far. Forty-year-old – yes you read that right – Kimiko Date Krumm was up against Venus Williams in the second round. Date Krumm retired in 1996 – a year in which she reached the semi-finals of Wimbledon and a year in which she was still Kimiko Date. Since then, she has married German racer Michael Krumm before making a remarkable return to the game twelve years after her retirement.

In her earlier stint, I must admit, I was scarcely her fan , for the same reasons expounded in this lovely piece by Louisa Thomas in Grantland. Kimiko in 1996 played Steffi Graf in the semi-final and she had the audacity to take a set off Graf! Not something that went down well, I am sure, with most fans. Nonetheless, her display against Venus Williams – although she ultimately came a cropper in the deciding set – was amongst the most charming I’ve seen in quite some time. Not merely because of her ability to compete at her age, which is no doubt inspirational, but her style of tennis which was a throwback to a bygone era. She thrillingly served and volleyed, chipped, lobbed and dropped and left Venus befuddled in a first set, which she took through a tiebreaker. Ultimately her age and fitness meant that Venus’s game based on brute force – albeit a nous-filled one – would prevail. But it showed that there is still a place for the ‘old-fashioned’ style on grass and that it is a viable tactic even against the hardest of hitters.

Also on day three, Andy Roddick, Nadal, Murray and Tomas Berdych, all potential quarterfinalists sailed into the third round with little fuss. So too did Czech Petra Kvitova, who with her beautiful ball-striking abilities could be a dangerous opponent to encounter in the second week.

***

Lleyton Hewitt is well past his best. He isn’t anywhere near the force that he was when he won Wimbledon in 2002. But he remains a great competitor – forever plucky and tenacious. Against fifth seed Robin Soderling, yesterday, on day four, he pulled off the first two sets through typical counter-punching brilliance amid several screams of ‘come-on,’ which strangely have lost their annoying twang – maybe it’s because of my own tolerance of the aged contestant. In sets three, four and five, though, all of which were closely fought, Soderling prevailed, eventually finding depth, angle and timing on his extraordinarily fierce groundstrokes. This may be the last time we see Hewitt play on the hallowed grass of SW 19 and it was a performance that even if ultimately unsuccessful, glowingly displayed many of his admirable traits.

Hewitt-Soderling was followed by another match where character and guts were in plentiful display. Li Na, coming off her recent triumph at Roland Garros faced Germany’s wildcard entrant Sabine Lisicki. A quarterfinalist in 2009, Lisicki was seemingly destined to rise into the top echelons of the women’s game, but an ankle injury reduced her to walking on crutches for seven weeks and sent her ranking plummeting below 200. A victory at Birmingham leading up to Wimbledon saw her secure a wildcard, a decision, which now looks richly deserved. Li picked up the first set 6-3 and looked good for a simple victory, but a combination of huge serving – one of her aces was recorded at 122 miles per hour – and magnificent striking off the forehand wing saw Lisicki come back to take sets two and three 6-4, 8-6. This would usually be a cue for me to berate the quality of some of the top ranked women players, but this was an occasion on which the tennis, particularly in the latter phases, was of superb quality.

Of Wimbledon, Edberg, Chang and Ivaniševic

Wimbledon, which begins on Monday, somewhat peculiarly isn’t my favourite Grand Slam tournament. The honour belongs to Roland Garros for reasons explained in an earlier post. It represents, though, something more. It isn’t merely about the tennis currently on display but the tennis that was once on display. It provides an opportunity to reminisce about the past. In many ways, my life as a tennis fan can be chronicled through the history of the Wimbledon Championships.

It was at Wimbledon, after all, that I fell in love with Stefan Edberg. My family wasn’t tennis-crazy, but my Grandfather in those days watched the sport, and particularly Wimbledon with rapt devotion. It was a time when the Becker-Edberg rivalry was at its zenith. I was too young to have an idea about the mechanics of the sport, but a choice had to be made between the pair. I would be giving myself undeserved credit if I were to say that it was the regal elegance of the Swede’s play that made me chose him over the German, but I doubt I was prone to such aesthetic-minded decisions at that age. For some reason or the other, though, Edberg, playing in his classic Adidas kit, captured my imagination like none before or since. To this day, when I watch re-runs of Edberg playing, I am glad, and even proud, that I made the right choice – for no player more artistically pleasing has ever graced the sport. Somehow, my earliest memories of Edberg have nothing to do with his actual on-court skills, but the jump over the net that he made to greet his opponent who would surely have been slain with sinuous, easy grace.

To me Edberg’s tennis epitomised beauty. His classical service action – which is now used as the Australian Open’s logo – I tried replicating on the courts on many occasions, only for the attempts to end in glorious failure. His single-handed backhand was again a thing of beauty – often hit with the perfect amalgam of power, timing and placement. It was at the net, though, that he was at his finest. A more competent, finessed volley-er you will not see. He struck volleys on both wings with crisp ease that they were bizarrely both imperious and languid. To me the numbers matter little. Perhaps, his six Grand Slam titles do little justice to his talents, but it was his style of play that I was in thrall with. In fact, very soon after I became an Edberg fan, he was on the decline – he won the last of his Grand Slams in 1992 at Flushing Meadows, a tournament which I remember even if not vividly with much fondness.

The era of the Americans – Pete Sampras, Jim Courier and Andre Agassi – had arrived. Outlandishly, though, it wasn’t anyone from this triumvirate that I supported, but it was the other American Michael Chang who caught my fancy. I am not as proud of this choice for Chang was but a baseline slugger. He retrieved balls from every corner of the court and counter-punched with magnificent vigour. His game was scarcely suited to the serene grass of Wimbledon and as I was not old enough to watch him win at Roland Garros in 1989 – ironically he defeated Edberg in the final – my time as his fan never saw him win anything substantial.

Sampras had, by now, begun to dominate tennis, and particularly Wimbledon, with tedious, yet impeccable excellence. Those around me were left in awe by the American’s play, but I remained dogged in my opposition – excellence isn’t necessarily a trait that one identifies with when growing up. I needed a player to counter his machine-like efficiency and again my choice was curious. The enigmatic Goran Ivanišević was a popular player, but one who was ultimately flawed. He could serve with monstrous power and remarkable accuracy, but his game was otherwise limited. The Croat lost in the final at Wimbledon in 1992 to Agassi – in a five set humdinger – and in 1994 and 1998 to Sampras who polished him off during the big-points like he was swatting a fly.

Tragedy and Ivanišević rarely seemed too far apart, but his tennis had a magnetic pull to it. One wanted to be attached to his solitude, to feel the catastrophe of his losses. There was something innately human about him, as much as there was something robotic about Sampras. And when in 2001, the Croat, as a wildcard entrant, hiccupped his way into the final against Patrick Rafter, the stage was set for the ultimate tennis story. After five sets of gruelling, heart-wrenching tennis, Ivanišević clinched his first and only Wimbledon, 9-7 in the decider. It was a titanic struggle, but the victory was amongst the sweetest I have experienced as a fan of the sport.

This, the last paragraph from Guardian’s game-by-game report of the 2001 final captures beautifully the concluding moments and the sweet joy of Ivanišević’s victory:

“Drama, drama. This game encapsulates Goran. A bad decision sees him go 0-15. Then a double-fault to take it to 15-30. Then a second service ace at 116mph. 30-30: he calls for the same ball. He aces it to give him championship point. The crowd have gone ballistic. Goran is weeping. Boom. Is it an ace? No, it’s out. And then he double-faults. On match point! Deuce. A big serve gives him the advantage. Guess what? Yup – another double-fault! Rafter pushes one down the line. But it’s out and Goran goes to his knees and lifts his eyes to heaven. He kisses the ball. But what nerve and presence of mind from Rafter to lob from there. And so perfectly. Deuce. But another chance for Goran. He asks for the same ball again. Rafter puts it into the net. GORAN’S WON.”

Five things we learned from Roland Garros

1. Roger Federer isn’t yet the greatest of all time:

It is nigh on impossible, I believe to make such an assertion in the first place, and in any event Roger Federer’s record against his chief rival, Rafael Nadal ridicules the suggestion. Of course, Federer is statistically the most successful player in Grand Slam tennis history and he wins by playing in a beautiful, easy style. But Nadal has beaten Federer in 17 of their 25 meetings and in 6 of their 8 contests in Grand Slam finals, putting in rich perspective the fallacy in the argument that Federer is the greatest to have wielded a tennis racquet. No doubt, the Swiss belongs in a pantheon that comprises Bjorn Borg, Pete Sampras, Rod Laver and a few others, but to place him indisputably on top of that list is incorrect, to put it mildly.

2. Nadal’s greatest attribute is his ability to win ugly:

I doubt anyone in the history of the sport has been better than Nadal at winning ugly when required to. This is not to suggest that he cannot win beautifully. Indeed when he is at the top of his game, he is as imperious and as handsome a sight as any other. But even when his game isn’t quite up to scratch, Nadal finds a way through irrespective of the demands of his opponent. On Sunday, Federer was at his mesmerizing best in the first set, seemingly killing Nadal with his sinuous, entrancing grace. Down 2-5, the Spaniard had no right to win the set. He was being enthralled into submission. His groundstrokes were meek, his serves were devoid of punch and he looked a shadow of his usually commanding self. Yet, he came-back to win five games in a row to seal the set and effectively kill any hopes of an upset. Not, though, by finding rhythm in his strokes, but by chasing Federer’s shots down with vigour and vitality and stunning the Swiss into compliance through sheer force of will. Before the Djokovic-Federer semifinal, Nadal commented that the match pitted the "best player at the moment against the best player in history". Where does it leave him then?

3. All-court players are on the rise:

Rarely in Grand Slams do the top four seeds of the men’s game qualify for the semi-finals. This is rarer still at the French Open, for historically many top players have been ill suited to the red clay in Paris. In recent times, though, players have become increasingly more comfortable on all surfaces. I would imagine that the causes for the phenomenon are essentially two-fold: (a) The surfaces at all four of the Grand Slams are coming closer to each other in terms of their overall play. The clay at Paris has become quicker, the grass at Wimbledon slower and the hard courts in Melbourne Park and Flushing Meadows have gravitated towards each other in terms of their constituents. (b) Concomitantly, players no longer shape their styles to suit a certain surface. Romantics crave for the return of the serve-and-volley game, but when one can win Wimbledon by playing from the baseline in a style that will also predominantly suit the clay at Roland Garros, players would be foolish to model themselves on an Edberg or a Sampras. Equally, though, the clay-court specialist, the slugger from the baseline, is also no longer in abundant evidence. The top players are capable of winning any of the four Grand Slams by merely tweaking certain aspects of their game without altering its foundations.

4. Brit when he wins; Scot when he loses:

Had he been competing in any other era, Andy Murray would, perhaps, have been a Grand Slam champion by now. That he is fourth in the list of a truly outstanding quartet is no disgrace for his talents are nonetheless deserving of a Grand Slam title. Fred Perry was the last Briton to win a Slam (the 1936 US Open) and the pressures of this void had weighed heavily, first, on Tim Henman – a player infinitely less talented than Murray – and now weigh heavily on the Scotsman who has reached three Grand Slam finals without success. In evidence, though, at Roland Garros was an attribute, which should continue to brighten the hopes of the British. In his third round match against Michael Berrer, Murray turned his ankle, injuring it critically, and yet soldiered to victory in four sets. A lesser man would have withdrawn from the match and the tournament. Murray, however, battled hard, defeated Victor Troicki in five grueling sets in the fourth round before cruising past Juan Ignacio Chela to set up a duel with Rafael Nadal. Against the Spaniard, admittedly Murray came a cropper in three straight sets, but for much of the match, Murray was the better player. It would be pure conjecture to suggest that he may well have beaten Nadal, if not for his weak ankle, but in fighting the Spaniard and running him close – which he certainly did in spite of the suggestions of the scoreboard – Murray showcased that he has the requisite skills to, one day, win a Grand Slam.

5. The Women’s game is in a bit of a shambles:

We all love an underdog success, but in women’s tennis, the world number 1 is often the underdog. Caroline Wozniacki, the twenty-year-old Dane, has held the position for 32 weeks now, and yet hasn’t a single Grand Slam title to show. In fact, she has reached only a solitary final, the 2009 US Open. This of course raises questions on the ranking system, as it rightly should. But the malaise in the women’s tour runs deeper. Serena Williams, unquestionably the finest player produced since the days of Steffi Graf and Monica Seles, hasn’t played a tournament since Wimbledon last year owing to injury and even when fit restricts her appearances to Grand Slams and a few other high-profile tournaments. The other top players in recent times, Wozniacki, Ana Ivanovic and Jelena Jankovic fell early at Roland Garros as they have tended to do in recent times. So too did Kim Clijsters, Victoria Azarenka and Vera Zvonareva, the more consistent of the higher ranked players, leaving the no. 6 seed, Li Na and the No. 8 seed, Francesca Schiavone to contest the final. This preponderance of ‘upsets’ though must not be confused with depth of talent. In the absence of Serena Williams, and since the retirement of Justine Henin, the women’s game not only lacks a predominant power-base, but is also devoid of quality at the top. ‘Quality’ though must not be interpreted as mere physical and technical abilities. The likes of Wozniacki and Azarenka, perhaps, have the requisite technical attributes for Grand Slam success, but as history has showed us, sustained success at the level takes more than just that. The fact that the draw at Roland Garros was wider than ever before wasn’t indicative of depth but the lack of a single outstanding candidate.

(Inspired by The Guardian's Five Things We Learned series)

Djokovic ousted; Federer regains a touch of the old aura

As much as people may try telling you otherwise, no one really saw this coming. Roger Federer, crushed in three straight sets by Novak Djokovic in the Australian Open earlier this year, produced four imperious sets of tennis to defeat the Serb in the semi-finals of Roland Garros and brought to an end one of the most glorious winning streaks in the history of the sport. Djokovic, a victory away from equalling John McEnroe’s record of forty-two consecutive wins at the beginning of a year was pummeled into submission by a display of tennis that was as brutal as it was artistic.

In the first two sets, in particular, Federer was at his liquid best. Every movement of his was as close to perfection as one is likely to see. He defended Djokovic’s blistering groundstrokes with the regal ease of a hungry lion chasing a poor gazelle, ripped his forehands with magical accuracy – almost always finding the most acute of angles – and more than anything else, served like a dream. When Federer is at his best, his serve rarely falters and yesterday almost every time he was in need of a big point, his serve rose to the occasion with a sense of majesty.

Perhaps, Djokovic can be criticized for a failure to launch a concerted attack on the Federer backhand – more than ever before his Achilles heal. But on the slower surface in Paris, the Swiss was able to get inside of those attempts and easily stroke the ball with his forehand. Federer did most things right yesterday. He moved with speed and purpose, mixed the pace of his groundstrokes, never allowing Djokovic to settle into any kind of hitting rhythm and constantly found acute angles on the court, which only a player possessed of supreme nous is capable of. His serves were guileful and were almost always hit with the perfect amalgam of timing and placement.

The match had everything that a spectator could ask for. In terms of pure narrative it was extraordinarily engaging. With Federer’s aura having seemingly dissipated and Djokovic on a winning steak for the ages, the tension in the air could be felt long and far. In terms of the quality of tennis, few sets have been better than the first won by Federer via a tiebreaker. In it, both players had their serves broken once, but the number of times that Djokovic found himself 0-40 on his serve was certainly telling. Nonetheless, the Serb played his part in what was an astonishing set of tennis and was only a point away from securing it. That Federer won the set in the tiebreaker exemplified his ability to play the big points with greater ease and confidence.

Going into the second set, considering the significant exertions up until the point, the prevailing opinion was that Federer would blink first, that his levels were certain to drop. Instead it was Djokovic who faltered. The Serb cut a forlorn figure in the set, constantly whined to his box, and struggled to find depth on his usually dependent groundstrokes. There was a feeling of resignation as Djokovic simply failed to match the levels of Federer who was thumping his strokes with rare artistic flourish. It is quite conceivable that Federer’s forehand has never reached a more superior level than it did in the second set. He was finding angles of such geometric brilliance, playing like Pythagoras with a tennis racquet. There was, after all, magic still left in the racquet that he brandishes like a wand.

But the new Novak Djokovic does not go without a fight. He gave it all that he could in the third set and expectedly, Federer who had invested so much into the opening phases of the game found himself faltering. A single break of serve sufficed as the Serb closed the set 6-3 even as the light in Paris slowly began to fade. There was, though, time left for another set of stirring tennis.

Both players held serve until Djokovic took the first advantage, gaining the right to serve for the set at 5-4. Federer, however, found a sudden surge of brilliance. True greatness could never have been more palpable. He raised his game, as he so often tends to do in the most trying of circumstances, and leveled the set at five games each. The clock though had been turned and perhaps the last sail was knocked out of Djokovic’s wind. In the tiebreaker played in near darkness, Federer regained a regal rhythm to his groundstrokes and had three match points, the first two of which were saved by Djokovic on his serve. The third, however, had a sense of inevitability about it. Federer produced a majestic, rousing down-the-middle ace and waved his finger in delight. One of the hottest winning steaks had been broken and how!

(Also posted at: http://www.criticaltwenties.in/sport/djokovic-ousted-federer-regains-a-touch-of-the-old-aura)

Roland Garros and the Prospect of a New Champion

Of all the Grand Slam tournaments, I love the French Open – or if you prefer, as I do, its more endearing name, Roland Garros – the most. This is seemingly an odd choice. Most people are entranced by Wimbledon and its exquisite grass courts and its glorious history – it is after all the home of tennis. But Roland Garros has a matchless charm to it. The ‘terre battue’ – the handsome red clay - the sublimity of the Parisian weather, the official trilby hat adorning the head of most people in the crowd, add to the allure of the tennis, which is more varied than on any other surface.

Tennis at Roland Garros is the ultimate test of endurance. Best of five set matches filled with long, draining rallies that encompass the full repertoire of a tennis player’s armoury – baseline strokes heavy on top spin, rallies filled with cheeky drop shots and lobs hit with diverse spin means that very often the dominance over a single rally can swing like a pendulum. A player who looks crushed one moment can still recover to win a point, provided of course he possesses the wherewithal to do so. But the fact that the surface offers such an opportunity means that it very often makes for a riveting spectacle.

This year’s tournament, which commences tomorrow, has the potential to be particularly memorable. In what is sure to beggar the belief of the more casual tennis fans, Rafael Nadal will not begin as the overwhelming favourite. Not too long ago, a few days before the Australian Open began, I asked where the next Federers and Nadals were. Since then, Novak Djokovic has gone on a 37-0 winning run (39-0 if one includes his victories in December), emerging triumphant in seven tournaments, including at Melbourne, rendering my question gloriously futile. Its futility, though, is not because Djokovic is on the verge of entering the pantheon of great tennis players – which he may well do at some point in his career – but because his winning streak has convincingly shattered the existing duopoly at the top of the men’s game.

Djokovic’s run has seen him defeat Nadal in four finals, two of which were on clay, a surface on which the Spaniard is, but for Bjorn Borg, recognized as the greatest exponent. As winning streaks at the start of a year go, the Serb trails only John McEnroe, who won 42 consecutive matches in 1984, at a time when even by McEnroe’s own admission, tennis wasn’t as demanding as it is today. The numbers, though, as remarkable as they may be, tell only a part of the story.

It is Djokovic’s assurance in the big games, and his tremendous ball-striking abilities on the tennis court, which he has paraded never more dazzlingly than in recent months that have been most spectacular. He possesses an innate sense of the geometry of a tennis court, enabling him to convert defence into attack – perhaps his greatest virtue – in the matter of a single stroke, irrespective of his position on the court. But then, these are assets that he has always possessed even if they have been sharpened in recent times. What is it then that has been the chief factor behind his ascent? Some say it has to do with his new gluten-free diet, while others point towards Serbia’s victory in the Davis Cup last December from which he has gained enormous self-confidence. Perhaps, it has to do with an astonishing improvement to his game – his forehand is a far more assured stroke now and his serve, once an unreliable weapon at times of crisis has never been more secure.

If I were asked though to isolate a turning point, a seminal moment that has contributed towards his rise, I would find it difficult to look beyond his victory over Federer in the 2010 US Open semifinals. Very often, a player even of the richest talents can lack the self-confidence required to make the most of his skills. Djokovic, since his Australian Open victory in 2008 has regularly reached the latter stages of Grand Slams only to succumb to big-match pressure. Against Federer, though, at Flushing Meadows, down two match points on his serve at 4-5 in the fifth set, he produced a brace of breathtaking winners that have set him on the path towards the number one ranking. Admittedly, he lost in the final to Nadal, but the match was played a day after his grueling five setter against Federer. A loss at the season ending Masters in London to Federer in the semifinals may indicate that his victory at New York wasn’t after all so seminal. But by that time his focus had been diverted to the Davis Cup final at Belgrade, which he helped Serbia clinch with a display of tennis that was as exhilarating as it was sublime.

Since then his deeds have been well documented. He says he doesn’t believe he is unbeatable – and rightly so – but he plays his tennis with a sagacious serenity in spite of a sprinkling of madness between points. A scream in agony or a tennis racquet broken in rage have never brought the best out of anyone, in recent times, in the manner in which it seems to, from Djokovic.

From a French Open perspective, it is his form in Madrid and Rome that serve as the key talking points. In neither tournament was his progress to the final seamless. At Madrid he won tough three-setters against David Ferrer and Thomaz Belluci in the quarterfinal and semifinal respectively. At Rome he was on the verge of elimination in the semifinal against Andy Murray, but his newfound self-belief saw him through, ultimately via a tiebreaker in the deciding set. Crucially, though, against Nadal, both at Madrid and Rome, Djokovic clinched victory in two straight sets. He was able to up his game when it mattered most – a sign that he has indeed come of age. The victories were so utterly imperious. In both matches, he pulverized Nadal from the back of the court, constantly directing his backhands crosscourt to the Spaniard’s forehand – widely recognized as his strong suit. Nadal has won Roland Garros five times in the last six years and it may be imprudent to not consider him as the favourite. But his title has perhaps never been at greater risk than it is in the coming fortnight, at the end of which, we may well have a new man at the summit of men’s tennis.

(Also posted at: http://www.criticaltwenties.in/sport/roland-garros-and-the-prospect-of-a-new-champion)