It was nice to see Gael Monfils get his maiden main-draw win at Roland Garros the other day, and even nicer to read his frank thoughts
on the great event, as well as a host of other subjects. Andy Murray was a very tough first round (let's ignore an injury that wasn't serious enought to keep Murray out of the doubles shall we?) Monfils is an appealing kid, and it isn’t just because he’s so disarmingly honest.
He’s also smart without being sophisticated or affected. I’ll have to double-check at the orifice tomorrow, but I believe that in the official media guide, Monfils listed his favorite food as “McDonald’s.”
Dead Frenchies of every hue and stripe would roll over in their graves hearing that one, of course, and the confession underscores two things. It highlights the way Monfils is a member of the international set of adolescent tennis players who aren’t subject to the usual constraints of national identity; in fact, there is very little about the guy that makes him conspicuously “French” in the same way that Amelie Mauresmo or Sebastian Grosjean are unmistakably Gallic.
This, of course, is a good thing, especially when it comes to Monfils hopes and chances as force at major tournaments. For France has a history of striking frustration when it comes to producing Open-era male Grand Slam champions or, more to the point, players (and in this I include Mauresmo) who are legitimate, consistent Grand Slam winners and contenders.
Let’s face it, France produces players of staggering variety and conspicuous talent, but pocket-sized republics like the Czech Republic, Croatia and Belgium are far, far better at turning out champs. Is there a pair of players who more consistently punch above their weight than. . . Olivier and Christophe Rochus? Maybe. But they’re Belgians, too: the Backhand formerly known as the Demented Dwarf and The World’s Nicest Human Being, Champagne Kimmy Clijsters!
Belgium. Man, what did those folks do, cross-breed Lilliputians and pit bulls?
But back on topic. The second thing that strikes me as decidedly un-Frenchman-like about Monfils is his lack of sophistication. At some level, he’s just a big dumb kid who loves to whale on a tennis ball, and he doesn’t have any hang-ups about showing the world that he’s any more than that. I like that in people. That particular kind of insouciance is relatively easy to find in Americans and comparatively difficult to locate in the French , or other western European folks.
In fact, one of the few things that seems a little bogus to me these days about The Mighty Federer is that he seems too absorbed in showing the world that he is more than a tennis player – that he’s International Man incarnate. The cues to this drift of TMF’s are his increasingly meticulous grooming and exceedingly smooth, Senatorial manner (although Dirty Little Rafa has a neat way of nudging him out of that conceit).
At times, I’ve wanted to grab the guy and shake him by the shoulders: It’s okay, Roge, you don’t have to be any more than a tennis player. Really. I’m not looking to you to solve the problem of world hunger, nice as it would be to get that done. I’m trying (unsuccessfully) to find a link to this scary story – quite a long profile at that - that ran in one of the UK papers a few weeks ago. The piece opened with this very weird riff on TMF’s deep interest in – get this! – fashion. And elsewhere he has said that his favorite designer is “Prada.”
Isn’t that, like, some Russian newspaper?
But back on topic. I’ll bet Monfils favorite designer is that guy, Von Dutch. Isn’t a relief to have a young tennis player around who’s gloriously unsophisticated and okay with it? It was one of the things I always liked about Andy Roddick, too, although he eventually worked out how to be a real cool dude, somewhat to the detriment of his own appeal. Monfils will get there, too. They all do. Hey, I don’t want to halt the learning process; nobody wants to get stuck being a clueless teen or post-teenager, right? I just happen to like it when players either aren’t aware of, or (and this is less frequent and more precious) indifferent to the lure of sophistication.
So, as I was saying. . . I thought from the start, when Monfils came thisclose to joining Stefan Edberg as a junior Grand Slammer (Monfils lost at the U.S. Open, with three legs in hand), that the guy was going to be a terrific player. He struck me as exactlythe guy John McEnroe had in mind when he kept droning on about how tennis needs to attract the Michael Jordans of this world in order to grow and mature as a full-fledged spectator sport (an assessment that seems alarmingly oblivious to the basic “bigger isn’t necessarily better” motif that runs through the game, but I’ll leave that for another post).
In fact, I was looking at Monfils as the trendbreaker – a French player with long-term, natural, grit, gumption and persistence . He may, of course, become just that (so could Mauresmo, although the clock is ticking loudly). But like a lot of other people, I’ve been a little disappointed – and surprised – that it isn’t happening sooner. I confess that I’m tired of picking Monfils as my surprise semifinalist at a “breakout” Grand Slam, but who knows? Maybe this is his time.
Anyway, read the entire interview I linked to above. It just struck me that in quiet, authentic way, it cast Monfils as a smart, down-to-earth, aware but unpretentious guy. Monfils has ageless, ubiquitious Dick Norman tomorrow, in a match he really needs to, and ought to, win. Let's see how he handles the pressure.