Mornin', Tribe. One of the tough things about a Grand Slam is that you can't call attention to all the interesting or significant things that happen during a tournament, especially when they don't occur in the singles draws, or don't figure as "must tell" stories. Over the next few days, I'm going to provide a few additional details about some of those events. Let's start with the men's doubles, in which Arnaud Clement and Michael Llodra secured the championship. They survived match point in their second-rounder, and bounced back to subdue Bob and Mike Bryan for the title, 6-7,6-3, 6-4,6-4.
My sources in the French press told me that Clement and Llodra's training and preparation for the match were, well, unconventional by today's professional standards. After every win, in true French style, the pair went to the best wine cellar in Wimbledon Village and bought a fine vintage wine - one magnum they purchased cost about $1200 - and polished the sucker off after dinner. My understanding is that there was no shortage of more pedestrian wines, or beer, chez Clement-Llodra, either. Nor did the two lads sequester themselves and focus on the task at hand. It was Animal House all over, but in French with English subtitles (try to get over your horror and disappointment, Francophiles!) These two guys literally laughed their way to the title, almost falling out of their chairs amid gales of laughter during one changeover during the final.
Of course, this kind of showboating and screwing around can be deeply annoying to opponents who take a slightly more solemn approach to such occasions, but what the hail - you can't exactly call it gamesmanship, although the effect may be the same. I'm going to write Wayne Bryan an email and invite him to weight in on this issue.
Of course, we know that things are apt to get a little screwy when Llodra is in the mix. He's the tour's leading practical joker, and this was his latest stunt: After one of Llodra's doubles matches, the doping control officer approached him with the requisite courtesy. He told Llodra that he didn't mean to be intrusive, but he was under the usual orders to remain by Llodra's side until he could collect a urine sample (this, to ensure that Llodra couldn't perform a sample swap). Llodra, noticing that the fellow as overweight and out of shape, said, "Okay, no problem, just stay with me."
Whereupon Llodra sprinted away, Mr. Doping Control in hot pursuit. Eventually Llodra stopped. His shadow caught up, huffing and puffing. Llodra put a hand on the man's shoulder and apologized. He said it was a silly stunt. He felt contrite. He didn't know what had come over him . . . and just as the DC officer relaxed and began to catch his breath, Llodra took off again and led the poor guy on another merry chase.
The Clement-Llodra post-final presser should give you a pretty good idea of the kind of antics that went on whenever the two French frat boys took the court:
