Monday Net Post, 8.03

By Pete Bodo

Mornin', everyone. Ed McGreogan's just back from vacation so I'm filling in for him on MNP, albeit without his talent and organizational skills for posting tournament results, television schedules and other informational doo-dads. You'll forgive me, I hope, and we always have TW poster-of-the-year Master Ace to guide our ventures into bracketology, order-of-play and the like. I sure hope he's reading this!

In fact, about the only thing I'm good for as a stand-in for Ed is Bodo's McGrogan's Heroes, and this weeks it's a no-brainer - how can you give it to anyone but Marion Bartoli and Sam Querrey? I'm also posting some thoughts over at ESPN on those two players - both of whom fall into the "interesting" category.

Let's start with Querrey. Granted, the draws aren't exactly talent-laden in the early hard-court season (for we now have to differentiate between the July and August events, given that the two all-important Masters 1000 events happen during the back end),  and while that may be a bad thing for ticket sales or degree-of-difficulty ratings, there are some up-sides to the annual summer fragmentation (and this fragmentation of the early hard-court season into an American hard-court segment and a growing European clay segment is only going to become more pronounced).

For one thing, all those "surprise" late-stage competitors (and can anyone have been more surprising that Carsten Ball, Querrey's victim in the LA final?) get a chance to temper their games, get a few wins under their belts, build a little confidence that may be converted, in a few weeks time, to a big upset out in the shadows of the King's Island Roller Coaster, or within shouting distance of the the Willets Pt./ Shea Stadium elevated no. 7 subway train platform (note to the USTA; get Mike Bloomberg on the blower and convince him to change the name of the stop to Willets Pt./National Tennis Center).

And then there's the diversity/public exposure factor. Why not help guys like Ball, Robbie Ginepri, Bartoli or that emerging QLE (Queen of Lesser Events) Dinara Safina get a little ink, fan-love, and television exposure? It fleshes out the game, and even the most dewy-eyed fan is unlikely to mistake Stanford or Indianapolis for Wimbledon. Growing the game is not just about being perched on the edge of our seats, waiting for the next Federer-Nadal or Serena-Sharapova throwdown, as compelling as those clashes are; it's about having a competitive game that, like the ocean on a day of strong undertow, tends to refresh itself and turn it's customary layers topsy-turvey in a fascinating way. Does anyone believe that, say, Tommy Haas vs. Nikolay Davydenko is somehow "inferior" tennis?

As much as we long for epic clashes and confrontations of paramount and even historic resonances, those critical meetings would seem less significant if there weren't a flourishing, lively subculture of events that pretend to be no more than what they proclaim - which is an opportunity to watch the game at the highest level, played by those who on any given day can beat anyone on the planet. In fact, these lesser events and the inducements they offer liberate those players to find their best tennis. It's that same old mantra: would you rather watch Federer spank some poor guy oh-and-2, or lollygag in the stands, taking in the sun, as a guy who's beaten Federer goes 7-6 in-the-third with a guy who may be the next to count coup or Rafael Nadal?

All in all, complaining about the draws at this time of year is a little like grousing that a record album is inferior because all of the tracks don't live up to the handful of killer songs on it. You can look at it that way, of course, but it's better to look at the so-called "filler" in music or tennis as part of the larger canvas that creates context. And all the while, it's helping build momentum and an even broader-than-usual context for the pending, great events. A good appetizer plays a major role in a fine meal, and sometimes it even overshadows the main course. I think people who attended the Stanford final walked away feeling like they saw something unexpected and unique: an inconsistent, mercurial player (Bartoli) standing up to the gale-force game of an acknowledged icon. And that's the best thing these lesser events deliver: intriguing surprises that enrich the narrative imposed on the game by the Grand Slam events.

The other day, I wrote that Bartoli is the WTA's version of Fabrice Santoro. The more I think about this comparison, the more sense it makes to me. You can start with the physical resemblances; both players are stocky, unlike what you might envision as the Platonic version of the tennis player (that would be, in my estimation, Federer, and the much-missed Justine Henin). For let's be frank about this: the Platonic version is mainly cosmetic (unless you insist it incorporate all those intangibles that often subvert the idealizations of technique, movement, poise and sheer physical rightness). Bartoli and Santoro can both be called "eccentric" stylists; their games are deeply tainted by the spirit of the recreational game, in which it's largely just about getting it done, even if it isn't in an especially pretty way. And both of them make up for any shortfall of classic technique with a good dose of mathematical imagination.

That old cliche about tennis played like chess is both useful and mortifyingly wrong-headed. Federer, Nadal, and even Sharapova are no less "chess-like" in their approaches to the game than the outliers like Santoro and Bartoli - if they were, they wouldn't win nearly as much, and I have yet to hear one or another chess player described as brilliant when he or she gets check-mated, early and often.

Tennis, like chess, calls upon ruthless efficiency spurred on by a relentless pursuit of victory; it's just that in tennis, you have far fewer tools, options, and nothing that can really be called dazzling long-term strategy. On a good day, a neanderthal clubbing aces can take the most saavy "tactician" in tennis  and shoot him into rag dolls: Take that rook and sneaky brace of pawns and get the hail out of Dodge before I get really ornery.

What's surprising, and thus far in her career definitive of Bartoli, is that her clever qualities and strategic expertise are often wasted because she isn't consistent enough to make the best use of them. Generally, players who survive by their wits tend to be consistent; it's the foundation of their games, because you need to keep the ball in the court (let's remember, it's not chess) in order to start working what magic you can with your strategy, or sleight of hand. Bartoli is that odd combination of innately "smart" but highly erratic; her style is limiting, if not exactly inferior, but it's her mind, or spirit if you will, that lets her down. Too often something gets lost in translation from the brain to the feet and/or racquet handle.

Sam Querrey is free from such problems, but he's had some of his own - mostly, his inability to play his imposing, powerful game with a sufficient degree of purpose and determination. He's Centaur-like, in that he has a big weapon in his serve, but doesn't use it to maximum advantage. Once that serve (or his return) is delivered, he's had a tendency to play as if that 6-6 height advantage, as well as the set-up potential of that serve, were suddenly eliminated. Lean and lanky, he's the kind of guy who could play in a more leisurely, commanding manner. But he surrenders that potential edge, and the general air of being in charge of things that comes with it, by playing small-guy tennis - baseline, rally tennis. At least that was my impression over the past 18 months or so.

But there's only so much you can ask in that regard; he is, after all, not Pancho Gonalez. The latter was often compared to a "big cat" (as in leopard, or lion), and I imagine the closest Sam's come to that is being described as a "big galoot." Lacking the grace of a Gonzalez, armed with power that is more forceful than explosive, he's apparently busy trying to figure out how to best integrate his strengths with his most natural inclinations, which include feeling more comfortable playing east-west baseline than the north-south attacking kind.

Perhaps he's figuring out how to fit all those pieces together. At 21, he's still got a good two, three years to find his game - an accomplishment that's not as simple or easy a process as the phrase might suggest. Writers, for example, need to develop the equivalent of "their game", and it's called voice. Writers - and we're talking about creative writers, not ink-stained wretches like myself - usually find a voice by their mid-to-late twenties. Those that don't have a much tougher row to hoe, much like tennis players who never quite meld their talents in a way that produces the most efficient, attractive, naturally whole game - a game that makes total sense, given the player's attributes.

Querrey may yet find a way to be imposing in the manner of a Sampras, or Gonzalez, while resisting the urge to put all of his eggs in the same basket as the hard-charging, attacking players who have a comparable assortment of weapons and a degree of raw power that most of his peers might envy.

In a few weeks of time, we'll see what lessons have been gleaned and what confidences have been developed during this midsummer lull, but it's nice to be able to think about these things in a leisurely way. That's one of the real luxuries of the season.