And Miami is a “new” city, with no sense of history, no dynasties to protect, with huge numbers of immigrants, newcomers, visitors, and flimflam artists. For that reason there is a feeling of unlimited possibility, that every man can be a king, or, for our purposes, play like one for a day.
Day One unfolded in typical Miami fashion, and dreams were made and dashed as quickly as the light sunshowers that visit us most afternoons this time of year. As a rule, events in Miami are poorly run, a product of bureaucratic inefficiencies and corruption at City Hall, inept planning, lousy service staff, and an indifferent and sometime even hostile audience. The Key Biscayne tournament is different, however. It's probably the best-run sporting event in South Florida. The grounds are clean and easy to navigate, the service people are friendly and well-informed, and the fans happy and eager to be there. It’s a nice place to be, whether you are there for the tennis or not.
Today was a day of upsets, at least wherever I happened to be. First I stopped and watched Max Mirnyi go down in two sets over on intimate Court 3. And I mean intimate: the outer courts are so cozy you feel like you are watching tennis in one of the many backyard courts that dot the tennis-crazy Miami neighborhoods of Coconut Grove or Miami Shores. Heck, Max’s opponent, Danielle Bracciali, looked like he had just came out of his house and decided to hit a few balls with the Beast, wearing old shoes and a shirt suited for gardening. I don’t know what happened to Max’s serve, but his ball toss was so low he had to crouch to hit the ball, almost never put in his first serve. This tournament has a decidedly international feel, with many fans wearing soccer jerseys from all around the world, and in Max’s court there was a very loud, very red Belorussian shouting words of encouragement, anger, and ultimately disappointment as Max served his chances in this tournament out wide into Biscayne Bay.
I then checked out the practice courts, where Pete’s Mr. Dead Man Walking, Richard Gasquet, was warming up with one of the Rochus brothers. They had a pretty vigorous workout, with Gasquet taking balls from the baseline as Rochus worked on his volleys, which actually are pretty darn good. Gasquet signed a lot of autographs, posed for pictures; he's clearly a popular player at this tournament and with this tennis-friendly crowd.
Over on the Grandstand court, way in the back, I watched Mario’s little sister, Sanja Ancic, get beat by a Russian I never heard of, Vasilisa Bardina. Sanja was a wildcard, looked somewhat uncomfortable out there, and the players exchanged breaks in an effort to prolong the match as much as possible. Finally, someone won (Bardina) but by that time I had left to see what all the commotion was about on Court 2.
On Court 2 there was a battle going on, and fans were buzzing and trying to get in to catch some of the action. Apparently veteran American Meghann Shaughnessy was in a death match with a pretty, young, aggressive whippersnapper from Portugal, Michelle Larcherde Brito, another wildcard.
Shaughnessy had cruised through the first set 6-3 when things got tight and Brito stepped up her game, taking the second set 6-2. Brito showed a lot of spunk (punk?) and attitude -- she’s a screamer – dominating each point with her powerful ground strokes, yelling on every hit, celebrating Shaughnessy’s errors, challenging calls and jumping around like a woman committed (or about to be committed). She clearly got under Shaughnessy’s skin, causing the usually quiet Shaughnessy to get loud and emotional on winning points herself, and at one point returning an out serve right at Brito’s body. The third set was very tight, with each player fighting intensely, until Brito evened it up at 6 all.
Shaughnessy’s play in the tiebreak was heartbreaking – she served a wild double-fault to start, then lost the next two points on errors to give Brito a 3-love lead. Brito, yelling on every point, took exuberant advantage, smashing two winners and celebrating a Shaughnessy shank to take a 6-love lead. Finally, Brito had a match-point on the face of her racquet. She got tight, and double-faulted. Shaughnessy then played two great points to take it to 6-3. In the end Brito’s relentless, powerful strokes prevailed and Shaughnessy hit a ball out to give Brito the win. Brito sank to the ground like she had just won the tournament, cheering to herself, as Shaughnessy waited restlessly at the net to shake hands.
Watching all this unfold, I couldn’t help but think this Brito kid is a real jerk, and it was only afterwards that I learned she is only 14, and this is her first major tournament win.
Welcome to Miami, Ms. Brito.
--- Todd and in Charge
