* !Picby Pete Bodo*
I know that many fans cultivate love-hate relationships with commentators, just like they do with the players. And I understand that "celebrity" talking heads—John and Patrick McEnroe, Tracy Austin, Lindsay Davenport, Cliff Drysdale, et al—are often held to a higher standard than run-of-the mill broadcasters. But for my money, it was welcome to hear John McEnroe's voice again after a steady, five-week diet of Tennis Channel broadcasts from Europe.
The Tennis Channel's and other world-feed commentators (that's a distinct if heretofore unidentified segment of the media, the "world-feed guys") are astute, excellent observers of the game (I'm not singling anyone out for either praise or blame), but watching and listening to them, I too often feel like I'm stuck in a locker room with a couple of guys who are sitting around, picking at their toenails and callouses while they heap praise on a Federer or Nadal, or painstakingly analyze a service toss. They're just so. . . into it. . .that it leaves me feeling a little claustrophobic.
That's what many viewers want, I guess, but I prefer for my commentators to be higher than ground level, and I like the various blends of frivolity, expertise, familiarity, and uber-knowledge—the kind you can really only get from playing experience—that the celeb broadcasters have. The celeb commentators bring a pleasant kind of authority to broadcasts, but have you noticed that they almost never show of their knowledge of technique or strategy? Heck, I'm not even sure Chris Evert knows what "technique" means, but I guarantee you she gets to the higher truth of what's really happening out on that court more swiftly and clearly than many X-and-O junkies.
I even enjoy the amiable meanderings of those confident, comfortable titans of the game between points, like when John McEnroe marveled today at the way Rafael Nadal easily sloughed-off an umpire's refusal to uphold his objection to a call that went against him (the umpire did check the mark).
"Why wasn't I more mature back then, Ted," Mac asked his sidekick, Ted Robinson, in a reference to his own playing days.
"You were saving it for your twenty years in broadcasting," Robinson replied.
"Alright, alright Ted."
McEnroe and Robinson have their Lone Ranger and Tonto shtick down pat, and I don't even mind the self-serving elements. In a sneaky way, they—like the other celeb commentators—have become a substantial part of the pleasure I take from watching the game.
I was interested when Ted asked John, "Which of the Big Three would you choose to play at Roland Garros if you made to make that decision?"
McEnroe hemmed and hawed a bit before he replied, "On this surface, I would say Roger Federer. Just because he's the least . . ." McEnroe paused, searching for the right word, before he added, "damaging."
Out of context it may not sound like an earth-shattering perception. But these guys know it isn't really rocket science, and the exchange certainly made me perk up my ears.
One of Mac's great strengths is that his view is from a helicopter, not a bunker; he doesn't need to establish any street cred. But he is by no means out of touch with the game and where it's going. A typical example was a remark he made about Nadal: "He's so strong. Look at that upper body—you don't often see that in a tennis player. And those legs. It's hard to tell with these guys now because now they all wear their shorts so long, but his power is amazing. That's what gives him such a phenomenal push-off."
If you remember McEnroe in shorts during his salad years, you might agree that this shift to long shorts (courtesy of Pete Sampras—now there's a trivia question for you) isn't entirely a bad thing. His pudgy thighs looked like a pair of bratwurst poking out of those Fila tighty-whiteys.
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One great thing about the television broadcasts, and Tennis Channel has come a long, long way on what might be called the diversity-of-coverage front, is how far and wide they cast their nets. This is especially important during Grand Slam events, where the threat of putting viewers to sleep during wall-to-wall coverage in the first week is a real one. So they've learned to spice things up for the sofa rangers who can't partake of the sights, sounds, and 45-minute waits in line for the bathroom, or to buy a drink that is part of the charm of attending.
My favorite one today:** Wimbledon's Twitter feed tweeted that the practice courts at Aorangi Park are already busy; in addition to Paul Hutchins and others, former No. 1 and Wimbledon champ Lleyton Hewitt was practicing on the grass. It's noteworthy, because the quintessential "Aussie battler" Hewitt, now 31 and heading the wrong way on the rankings highway (he's hanging in at No. 176), lost at Roland Garros just yesterday.
Another reason to love Lleyton Hewitt.
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The in-booth visits that have become de rigeur during Grand Slam coverage are another pleasant add-on. Today, Tommy Haas dropped by to chat with the ESPN2 crew, led by Chris Fowler and Brad Gilbert. Haas was once ranked as high as No. 2, and he's on the short list for "best player never to win a major."
Haas is 34 now, and ranked No. 112. And he wasn't too proud to play in the Roland Garros qualifying event, although I'm hard put to figure out why this guy didn't get a wild card, based on what you might call, "distinguished service to the game," or, if you prefer the Hollywood version, "Lifetime Achievement."
That service was interrupted by terrible injuries to hip and elbow, both of which required surgery. After which Haas bit the bullet and put himself through the crucible of rehab and a painful return to world-class fitness. He successfully endured both those trials well after the age of 30, which puts him right up there with the aforementioned Hewitt when it comes to determination and, well, resilience. Who thought tennis's quintessential pretty boy (B.L., or Before Lopez) was so tough?
Haas not only qualified for the French Open, he took out Fillipo Volandri today in four sets. He entered the broadcast booth with his hair still wet from his shower, wearing a black t-shirt and a neon smile. He told how different it was to show up for the qualifying event. "You get here early, nobody much is around. You take a taxi to the courts, instead of a courtesy transport with a driver. You realize how good you have (had) it."
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McEnroe and Robinson were back in action, tracking the last few games of Andy Murray's straight-sets win over 24-year-old Tatsuma Ito of Japan, ranked No. 68. Robinson took pains to point out that Ito had offered some fairly stiff resistance in the second set. It seemed like so much commentary fluff until McEnroe pointed out that Ito had good reason to appear like he embarked on the French Open with something less than a full tank.
Ito played Houston in early April, then he traveled to Kaohsiung, Taiwan, where he lost the final of a Challenger event to Go Soeda; after which he visited Busan, South Korea, where he won a Challenger; and then he flew to Dusseldorf, where he was 1-2 in the ATP World Team Cup event. By the time he was done, his ranking had shot from No. 98 to No. 65—and his frequent flyer miles were through the roof. Clearly, the guy had done his heavy lifting for the month; an upset of Murray at Roland Garros just wasn't in the cards.
Murray was leading, 6-1, 7-5, 5-0, when the men had a brief rally followed by one of those cat-and-mouse, four- or five-drop shot exchanges up at the net. Surprisingly, Ito won it.
The crowd then began chanting Ito's name, and pure delight was amply reflected on his face. The late sun caught him in that amber glow, and you could see the the rivulets of sweat—and the red particles of clay—on his face. McEnroe, being a great champion, seemed more interested in Murray's reaction to the support. "You know he's just standing there wondering, 'Who the hell is this guy?'"
I'm pretty sure Murray was thinking nothing of the kind, although I'm sure that in his shoes, that's what Mac would have been pondering.
