As hard as it is to compete with Canadian bobsledders, a dancing Shaq, and the assorted Dales of Daytona, tennis hung in this weekend with an entertaining threesome of its own: Murray, Moya, and McEnroe, three guys at very different stages of their careers who all took home winner’s trophies Sunday.
The Kid
For casual fans, the story of the week was John McEnroe’s return to the men’s tour, but among diehards he had his thunder stolen by Andy Murray, the Scottish teenager who beat two former No. 1s, Andy Roddick and Lleyton Hewitt, on his way to winning his first pro title, in San Jose.
Murray was close to perfect against Roddick, bamboozling the bigger American in a match that wasn’t as close as its 7-5, 7-5 score. Wrong-footed at the baseline, passed at net, surprised by drop shots, and even outserved at times, Roddick was tied down from start to finish. He stayed in the match mainly because Murray got tight after taking the lead and donated a couple breaks of serve. But for most of the day this slump-shouldered beanpole was not only the craftier player, he was the more powerful one. Murray consistently surprised Roddick with the pace of his ground strokes.
Murray’s biggest asset, and what sets him apart from most players, young or not, is his ability to change speeds with every shot. He has three distinct first serves, which makes his flat one up the middle that much more effective when he does hit it. He shows there’s more than one way to slice a backhand. If he’s pressed, he’ll float one high and deep to start the point over. If he has time, he’ll skid a penetrating ball up the line. And he’s got the specialty shots: Against Hewitt, Murray won one point with a drop shot and then a lob; a few games later, he won one with the lob first, then the drop shot. It’s a positive development for the sport if a kid like this—someone who’s a true tennis player rather than a super-athlete—can still find success at the highest level.
The Vet
Let’s try something different. Now that he’s just seven months from his 30th birthday (can you believe it?), let’s give Carlos Moya some credit. Over the years, I’ve emphasized one amazing fact whenever I’ve written about the Spanish former No. 1: He hasn’t reached the semifinals of a major since 1998. Against the top players, Charlie, who’s been known to attend a party now and then, seems to find a way to hit the wrong shot at the wrong time. If he’s not going for one too many huge forehands, he’s putting himself out of position trying to.
But against everyone else, Moya has remained one of the game’s most consistent winners for more than a decade. Despite two major injuries, he’s won at least one title in 10 of the last 11 seasons. He was the first Spanish player to reach No. 1 and led Spain to a Davis Cup title. Now he’s closing in on 500 career victories, and this weekend he won his 19th title, in Buenos Aires.
Perhaps his Slam record will always brand him as an underachiever, but Moya should also be remembered for a couple other things. His graceful style, for one—he’s built like a soccer player and moves like the best of them, sliding, accelerating, and backpedaling with absolute smoothness. And his underrated desire, for another. I interviewed Moya a few years ago and was struck by much he wanted to finish that season in the Top 8 and qualify for the Masters Cup. He had made it his goal at the start of the year and played a ton of tennis to give himself a shot at it. A week or so later, I watched the match that got him there. As his opponent’s last shot sailed out, Moya dropped to his knees like he’d just won Wimbledon. On the flipside, I remember him walking off the court at the French Open a couple years ago after losing a tight match to Guillermo Coria in yet another Grand Slam quarterfinal. From a guy as seemingly mellow and fun-loving as Moya, the despair on his face was a shock.
The Old Man
This week may be remembered as the beginning of John McEnroe’s second ATP career. Upstaging Martina Navratilova and Martina Hingis, Mac came back at 47, after 14 years away from the tour, and promptly won his 78th doubles title, in San Jose. He had some help in the form of Jonas Bjorkman, who also happens to be one of the best doubles players of all time. The final pitted McEnroe and Bjorkman vs. two real-life journeymen, Paul Goldstein and someone named Jim Thomas. I’m not sure what it says about the state of doubles today, but it would have been a serious upset if McEnore hadn’t won this event.
As it was, Mac and Bjork snuck out their last two matches in super-tiebreakers, which the ATP is now using in place of third sets. But McEnroe more than held his own. He was only broken twice in the tournament, he took the returns on the sudden-death deuce points, and he was always the best volleyer on the court. Mac was also every bit as joyless as ever, and watching him berate a defenseless young woman line judge is even less bearable now that he’s almost 50 and a father of six. But his trademark crisp, compact strokes and infallible court sense are fully intact and wonderful to witness. Most touching was seeing his father again in the stands, jumping and hugging the person next to him as his gray-haired 47-year-old son won a doubles match.