Depending on the day that you have tickets, bad weather can be a very good thing at the Open. A rainout means you get a day like Wednesday in return, with tennis as far as the eye can see. Even courts normally reserved for practice had matches going. Not that I recognized any of the players on them. I kept passing by names like Melinda Czink and Kaia Kanepi and Alessio Di Mauro and thinking, “Are these people really in the U.S. Open, the same tournament as Roger Federer?” David Nalbandian could have asked the same question. The No. 4 seed was exiled to Court 11, where he struggled to ignore the jazz band playing right behind him and the thousands of chattering, slurping, chicken-wrap-munching fans in his vicinity. It must have had its effect, because Nalbandian had to go five to beat a brutish no-name (named Michael Berrer). Which made me wonder: What if the top seeds were routinely forced to play on outer courts, away from the controlled atmosphere of the stadiums? It’s pretty much a lock that there would be more upsets. They don’t call Court 2 the Graveyard of Champions at Wimbledon for nothing.
Anyway, the point is, Wednesday was a vast and varied tennis exhibition, with every style and nationality imaginable jumbled together—a world’s tennis fair in the shadow of the old world’s fair globe in Corona Park. I spent a solid eight-hour day wandering, sometimes with purpose, sometimes aimlessly, inside of it. Here’s my report, from the big stadium to the most obscure side court.
Grandstand
Ana Ivanovic, champion in Montreal, seems to be building a fan base—have you checked out her web site?—but she’s still struggling to win early rounds at Slams. Yesterday, it took a lucky stab drop volley on match point for her to get by Vera Dushevina. Ivanovic is the next model of Lindsay Davenport; she’s terrific when she has time to set up, but her lumbering footwork and elaborate strokes leave her vulnerable if her opponent can get her on the run. But for now the main problem is that, even when she is in position to win a point, she still makes too many unexplained errors.
Ashe Stadium
Two questions: Why is Mark Philippoussis so mellow? And when did we start getting music —loud pop music—played on changeovers? As for Flip, he seemed content to play just well enough to lose 4, 4, and 4 to Rafael Nadal yesterday, floating balls right into Nadal’s strengths. This match really seemed to be a difference of intensity alone. Nadal had all of it. After the match, he came out to the middle of the court, waved to the crowd, and turned around to do his patented upper-cut fist-pump. A camera man had followed him there, but Nadal didn’t see him. When he turned, he had to redirect his fist slightly to avoid putting it right into the lens.
As for the music, it sounds good, but remember Andre Agassi’s crazy tirade about it maybe 10 years ago? He absolutely would not accept it. The only problem now is the general hokiness of the selections—“Rock and the Clock”? Do tennis fans think that’s cool? I really hope not.
Grandstand
Everyone agrees that Gael Monfils could be a breakout star, even among non-tennis fans in the U.S. The hair, the height, the long arms and legs: He’s an ESPN: The Magazine cover waiting to happen. And he is unique, from his ready position—he bends straight down at the waist and puts his elbows on his knees—to his relentless sliding on hard courts, to the 5-second grunt he lets out during important points (sometimes it’s still going when his opponent is taking his swing.) But he’s also as frustrating as he is entertaining. Against an overmatched Michael Russell, Monfils let the smaller man dictate the points. The Frenchman was happy to play as far back as the court would allow and scramble from there. He likes to use spins, touch, and drop shots when pure power—which he’s got in a big way when he wants it—would do the job more efficiently. Maybe Monfils is too French: He wants to be a well-rounded player rather than a one-dimensional blaster, which is what he would have been if were an American. But with his size, range, and athleticism, one dimension would work just fine for him.
Court 11
I find an open seat and take it, not realizing that I've just found the center of the cult of Nalbandian. The Argentine is hardly a big star in the U.S., but he’s got devotees all over the world. One of which is a woman sitting with her husband and kids two seats away from me. When Nalbandian runs to track down a drop shot, she is frantic: “Come on, David, come on come on come on, aaahhhh!!!” When Nalbandian hits a routine rally ball, she approves: “Yes, yes, that’s it, David.” And when her husband tries to take a picture of Nalbandian’s opponent, she is appalled. She puts her hand in front of the lens and says, “You want to take a picture of HIM???”
Court 10
France’s Sebastian Grosjean and Sweden’s Thomas Johannson are players’ players: Guys with shots so perfect and stylish you don’t even notice them. During the early points of their fifth set, they seem to be in a competition to see who can hit the better-looking ball. “How about this slice into the corner?” “Oh yeah? Try to beat this dipping passing shot.” and on and on. Each is a sort of anti-Monfils, a little guy playing a big man’s game. But they still do all the little things well: Johannson hits an absolutely dead-on two-handed backhand with no frills, every single friggin’ time; Grosjean has a natural-looking slice backhand for a guy with a two-hander, and he can do anything—anything—with his forehand. If you have a chance, check these guys out from up close. They’re both in the second half of their careers, and you won’t find two more exemplary versions of what it is to be a professional tennis player.
Court 6
Dmitry Tursunov of Russia has yet to become a player’s player. In fact, he’s still more of an athlete in tennis whites. From a few feet away, you really get a sense of how explosive this guy is. While he ambles, slum-shouldered, between points, during them he moves in tremendous bursts—you can hear his sneakers working all the time. He still sprays balls and shows zero positive energy—like his fellow Russian Marat Safin, Tursunov seems almost embarrassed to be so good—but his physical skills have been strong enough to make up for it and get him into the Top 20. Moving higher, though, will require more thoughtful point construction, and, dare I say it, maybe a fist-pump or two.
Court 11
The best set of the day was the first one in the Battle of Britain, between Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski. This was way old-school, all-court tennis. For 12 games and a tiebreaker, it went something like this: hard serve on the line, skidding slice return deep, flat inside-out forehand, buzzing slice down-the-line approach into the corner, low backhand crosscourt pass, solid volley stuck into the open court. Then, at 4-4 in the tiebreaker, Rusedski’s inside-out forehand caught the tape. That was it. Henman served it out and went on to the win the match. Spotted: Gavin Rossdale and Mirka Vavrinec trying to get a glimpse. The question is, Where were Roger and Gwen?
Court 10
American Alex Kuznetsov reached the final of the French Open juniors a couple years ago and hasn’t been heard from since. He reappeared yesterday to lose badly to Tommy Haas. Kuznetsov, like another U.S. junior of his era, Brian Baker, has a slight build, particularly when you compare him to many of the soccer-raised Europeans. He looks like what he normally would be, a college player. But that’s the system these days: skip college, disappear and do your training for three years, then see what happens. So far, not much has happened in Kuznetsov's case.
Court 11
By this time, the sun has gone down, the huge stadium lights are towering overhead, and Maria Sharapova is strutting in the distance on the Junbotron. This is just the atmosphere Andy Murray says he likes at the Open, but he’s not too happy right now, as Robert Kendrick is threatening to go up two sets to one on him. Murray doesn’t seem like much in person, a pale, sour, heavy-footed teen. If you wandered by to get a glimpse of the Man Who Beat Roger Federer, you would almost certainly leave asking, with a quizzical look, “Him?” But he’s smart. Against Kendrick, Murray stops trying to dictate the action and takes more and more pace off the ball, forcing Kendrick to create. The American can’t do it consistently enough, and before you know it Murray has rather quietly and unimpressively come back to win the set and the match. Spotted: Brad Gilbert in the stands talking the ear off the guy sitting next to him, whom I assume BG has never met in his life.
Armstrong
The fair ends for me back in a big, empty arena, where Sam Querrey, an 18-year-old Californian and sudden next U.S. hope, is notching a solid, self-assured, straight-set win. Querrey, who’s 6-foot-6, has what you want from a prospect: explosiveness, the one thing you can’t teach a tennis player. His serve and forehand are huge and compact, so little can go wrong with them. His forehand in particular is hit with virtually no backswing; the power he gets with such a brief strike is shocking when you see it up close. Querrey has come a long way in a short time. I saw him a year and a half ago at the Orange Bowl, where he still seemed to be strictly second-tier in the junior hierarchy—not one of the cool kids, that’s for sure. But now he’s in the second round of the U.S. Open and the cool kids are, well, not. More important, as this huge world’s fair day comes to an end, U.S. tennis still seems to have a part to play in it.