Last night’s match between Andy Roddick and Gael Monfils from Tokyo made me feel as if I hadn't seen any tennis in months. This wasn’t true at all, of course: I’d watched Caroline Wozniacki win in Tokyo last Sunday, and made it through a long Davis Cup weekend prior to that. Maybe it was the fact that Roddick-Monfils was being played on an outdoor hard court, which made it seem like a throwback to an earlier part of the season. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t watched any ATP singles since the U.S. Open. It’s been slim pickings for tennis telecasts lately, both on TV and the Internet.
Whatever the reason, the sport felt fresh again, which was also a surprise. By the end of the Open—actually, by the middle of the Open—I was woozy from turning my head as tennis balls went back and forth in front of me, and I took little pleasure from contemplating even the most important match-ups. That’s the way it goes when you’re at a Slam; there’s so much tennis compressed into each day, you can get your fill of it extremely quickly. At certain stray, dark moments, usually at the end of a long day, the sound of another racquet hitting another ball can even begin to hurt your ears.
But the fan’s desire doesn't take long to rekindle. A break in the viewing action can even change the way you perceive the players in front of you. At the Open, I was critical of both Monfils and Roddick, the former for his cavalier attitude, the latter for his lack of an attacking game. On Thursday night, though, I found myself unwilling to judge or criticize, even when the two of them inevitably reverted to their bad habits. Monfils blew a 5-0 lead in the first-set tiebreaker, then Roddick gave it back at 5-5 with a characteristically too-safe flicked forehand approach that Monfils hit for a passing shot winner. What I noticed about that last point was not Roddick's approach as much as the way he immediately dropped his head and looked straight down at the court as the ball went past. This also a characteristic move of Roddick’s, and it usually comes after his opponent hits a big shot on a big point. There’s something fatalistic, rather than angry or frustrated, about the way he does it, something that says part of him expected it all along. It’s a human and involuntary reaction, and it belies his cocky image.
The same went for Monfils. As always, he huffed and puffed and flexed and rapped to himself and made his eyes bulge and bellowed “Allez!” And as always, when it came down to winning the crucial points, he was more lamb than lion. Normally, this would frustrate me, because I do like Monfils’ game and have always thought that if he were to, say, become a multiple-Slam winner, he would draw fans to the sport. Today I rolled with him: The inner softness under the shell of bluster just made him seem, like Roddick, more human.
Who cares if Roddick’s approaches landed short and sat up? Who cares if Monfils wasted half of his athletic advantage by playing from as far behind the baseline as he could? Who cares if he blew a short ball so badly that the announcer, Jason Goodall, blurted, with disgust in his voice, “That’s a terrible shot”? It's the competition and drama that counts more than anything in tennis, and this one had plenty. And while no one likes to see potential wasted, there are more satisfying and realistic ways to react to a match than telling the losing player what he or she “needs to do.” No matter how hard he works, and how many improvements he makes, a player is who he is, flaws and all. How many of them, once they’ve turned pro, succeed in radically rearranging their games and solving all of their problems over the courses of their careers? The percentage is close to zero. You’ll get more enjoyment from a player if you learn to love the flaws as well. In Monfils’ case, start by remembering, and being thankful, that you’re not his coach.
I’ve said that your favorite tennis player is like your kid. A player you like, but who resides somewhere below favorite status, is like a friend. Tennis pundits are supposed to critique the pros’ games and point out to readers and fans what they’re doing wrong. And that’s legit; it (hopefully) provides insight into the sport. But fans should also know that it’s not realistic, or even a good way to be a fan. Expecting perfection from people is a recipe for having no friends at all.
I was rewarded for my outlook in the end today, from both guys. Up 3-2 in the third-set tiebreaker, Roddick, who had been chipping his backhand in the usual way for much of the match, took a two-hander from the baseline and put just enough extra juice on it to get it past Monfils for a clean winner. Roddick pumped his fist. At a crucial moment, he’d taken the rally to his opponent. It didn’t last, but that fist-pump was memorable in itself for what it revealed: Roddick had gone beyond himself.
The same went for Monfils. In predictable fashion, he played his best tennis once he was down match point. From there he hit two aces to claim his own match point. In equally predictable fashion, he began that rally by feebly and tentatively tapping his return back. Roddick came forward and hit a nice short volley. Monfils raced up to get it. He found himself with the same forehand flip that he had missed so badly earlier, the same shot that Goodall had called “terrible.” When Monfils hit it this time, it appeared to be going long. "I knew it!" I thought. Then Roddick dropped his head straight down, in that way of his. The ball had been in. Monfils put his hand in the air and smiled. It wasn’t a look of triumph or arrogance on his face. It was a look of happy surprise, which a much more natural and revealing look. For a moment, he’d put his flaws behind him.
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Have a good weekend.