This is it for me, I’m going back to New York City tomorrow (but, contrary to Dylan, I don't believe I've had enough). By Thursday I may wish I was back in this debilitating desert heat. Here’s a last run through the scribblings in my Reporter’s Notebook (yes, that’s what it’s called, right on the front).
The Gang I see a crowd surrounding a court where two kids are playing. I eventually discover why: Arranged at the edge of the court waiting to get on are Andy Roddick, Jimmy Connors, and John Roddick. They look like they're posing for a gang portrait: Connors is bent over, lolling menacingly on the fence railing; Roddick is standing up spinning his racquet; John looks a little dangerous behind his sunglasses. No one is saying anything. How long do you think you would keep these guys waiting for a court? The kids last about 30 seconds.
More Girls I managed to start today with a women’s match: Na Li vs. Jelena Jankovic, two more big-hitting baseliners with two-handed backhands. The novelty here was that this was the first time I had seen the WTA’s coaching experiment in action. Jankovic lost the first set and called for her coach to come onto the court, as she’s currently allowed to do by the WTA. He pointed toward the baseline—court positioning seemed to be the subject. The next game, Jankovic came out and, yes, stepped in front of the baseline on a few points and won the game. But her game soon went south again and she lost the second set, double-faulting on her last three serves in the tiebreaker. I got back to the stadium to catch the very end of Maria Sharapova’s meltdown to Vera Zvonareva. Sharapova clearly has serving issues now—is she slowing down her racquet in mid-swing? It looked like that a couple times. I wonder if getting demolished by Serena in front of the world is affecting her confidence. It would be hard to believe, based on her past. In any case, this was another example of how Sharapova, despite her mental commitment, can come unglued; when things go bad, she often has no answers, no plan b, no way to play it safe and work her way back. The match also featured some coaching of its own, with Michael Joyce coming out to “help” Sharapova (she only melted faster) and Zvonareva’s coach making his own appearance. Later, she said he hadn’t helped her with anything strategic or technical, he’d just told her to stop doubting her game and go for the shots she knew she had. Zvonareva was convinced; it worked.
What does this tell us about the potential effect of coaching in tennis, if anything? I’m in favor of trying coaching, not because of any entertainment value the coach would bring, but because I’ve thought it could help make matches more competitive (the real barometer of entertainment in any sport). Jankovic got one piece of coaching, and she improved for one game; nothing was going to help Sharapova today; and Zvonareva clearly benefitted. The latter makes me think players who run emotional roller-coasters, like Zvonareva, could be helped by an injection of a coach’s calm and confidence. Would that eventually reduce the value that tennis places on mental stability? Would Henri Leconte have won 14 Slams, not Pete Sampras? No—and Zvonareva wouldn’t have won today if Sharapova hadn’t been going south anyway. I would guess that coaching would make a match here and there more competitive, but that the sport would hardly be dented by it—one player (and coach) is only half of the equation in any match.
Superman Comes to the Side Courts The stands are packed as the four players walk on the court to a big ovation. But only one player acknowledges it with a wave. How does he know people are cheering for him? Oh, right, that’s Roger Federer. He looks shorter surrounded by three other guys. From the first point, though, it’s clear he’s not just a singles player trying to survive in doubles, à la Andy Roddick and Marat Safin. Federer knows where to go out there—how to come out of a stance when and his partner are playing Australian, how to cut off a high return, where to put an overhead. He talks more on court in dubs, and slaps hands with his partner, Yves Allegro, aggressively. In a sudden-death no-ad point on his serve, he sticks his first volley with conviction. But doubles reduces the value of every player, even Federer, by half. His best-struck passing shots are cut off and put away by the No. 4 seeds, Hanley and Ullyett, because that’s what happens with passing shots in doubles. In the end, Fed and Allegro fall in a super-tiebreaker, 13-11.
Lunch Notes —Flavia Pennetta kissing Carlos Moya on the cheek in the salad bar line
—Martina Hingis eating a sushi roll before her match (didn’t sit well?)
—Ivanovic and Djokovic talking loudly to each other; you can hear them from the other side of the cafeteria
—Acasuso eating a popsicle The players walk among the rest of us like a slightly different, shinier race—they’re bigger, they’re tanner, their bedheads are crazier, and they all sport bright athletic wear and brand new sneakers.
Nadal Notes Is he back? Well, at least for a day. His service motion looks smoother to me, and he’s hitting everything with the old reckless conviction, running away from JC Ferrero 6-1, 6-1.
Indian Wells Notes This is one of the more pleasantly relaxed big events on the tour calendar, about 90 degrees from the US Open and 180 degrees from the French Open. The prevailing atmosphere, I would say is docile. The court layout was designed for pro-tournament viewing, and you couldn’t make it much more convenient—you never feel the need to hustle, and you don’t bump into people. The mountains nearby are like a painted backdrop. The tournament might not even be worth playing without them—you’d feel like you were in the middle of absolutely nowhere (or on the moon).
On the drive in each morning, a fairly long line forms on the highway before the tournament exit. As someone who once drove regularly in New York City, I was shocked that there was no one trying to cut in at the beginning of the line, no horns blowing, no hostility. Still, I wasn’t about to wait in that line. The only traffic law in NYC is the law of metal: Get your piece of metal in front of another’s piece of metal and you have the right of way. Each day I drove up in the right lane, unopposed and unsuspected. When the signal went green, I turned in with everyone else; I expected some sort of opposition, some noise, but I didn’t get anything. It was too easy.
For readers of this blog and TennisWorld, a highlight of the trip was putting a few faces to familiar names: Amy (Steggy), Hank (Dunlop Maxply) and his irrepressible son, Liam, Amy Lucas (AmyLu), and the outstanding team of Deanna (D.Wiz) and her cousin Caroline. Tennis fans can be cool in real life, too. It’s nice to meet them.