Lyon, Basel, Linz, St. Pete = slow tennis week in the States. So slow that Topic A is the ATP’s upcoming experiment with round robins at some smaller events. The tour’s (stated) idea is that more fans will get to see the top players if they’re guaranteed to play two or three matches per tournament. By no coincidence, this is also a help to tournament directors who want to get name players to play at least two matches before they can collect an appearance fee. As a fan, what effect will round robins really have?
Let’s start with the negative. Cons: (1) Fans buy tickets in advance, meaning that even with round robins, they won’t know who they’re going to see as they’re forking over their money. (2) The marquee players, most prominently Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, rarely lose in the first round as it is. When was Fed’s last opening-round exit? Not in 2006, anyway. (3) The system is more complicated than a knockout tournament, and the stakes of each match may not be immediately apparent to any but the most diligent/obsessed fan. (4) Actually, there is one thing that will be apparent to every fan: While the big names will play more often, there will be less at stake when they do play. (5) Once guys begin to be eliminated, tanking will likely run rampant, which is not something any fan wants to see, no matter who the player is.
Pros: (1) The round-robin Masters Cup, at least when it was in Houston, had an appealing group atmosphere to it that was unlike the normal every-man-for-himself feel of a knockout tournament. Fans got to know the players and their games better as the week went on, and could see a mix of personalities and styles going up against each other. Of course, it helped that these were the game’s biggest stars. But lesser events could conceivably be promoted along these lines—“come see a three-day festival of tennis.” (2) The players can relax a bit knowing they’ll be in town for a few days, which may make them happier in their work. (3) A small tournament would no longer be hurt so direly by one fluke upset.
I’m sure there are more positives and negatives to be considered, but those are the ones that come to mind right now. All in all, I think round robins are worth an experiment, if only to find out if there’s a way to promote and package them as something different from a run-of-the-mill, every-man-for-himself tournament. But it’s just as likely that fans will miss the high stakes that single-elimination draws bring to every match. What separates tennis from say, golf, from a competitive standpoint is that you must beat someone—not just play well—to succeed. And the knockout system is the perfect showcase for that.
Topic B seems to be Rafael Nadal and his energy; either there’s too much or too little. I’ll put my two cents in by copying a post I wrote after my one off-court experience with Nadal, an interview I did with him on a ride to the Miami airport in March. I walked away thinking that he actually seemed remarkably contained on court by comparison.
*March 2006, 3:00 P.M.: Intercontinental Hotel, Miami
Two scruffy journalists and a well-dressed and -coiffed ATP rep sit in a spacious hotel lobby and wait for a 19-year-old to come down from his room. We talk a bit, the conversation dies, and the rep looks at his Blackberry. He tells us that the 19-year-old, his client Rafael Nadal, has a girlfriend in Mallorca, who “he had to fight to get, like any other kid.” The other journalist, Sebastian Fest, who's based in Madrid, is there to talk about a series of articles Nadal is going to write for his agency about the upcoming World Cup. I'm there for TENNIS Magazine.*
3:30: Intercontinental Hotel
After 45 minutes, we see a big guy in denim running out of the corner of the lobby grinning and holding a blue folder in front of him. It's Nadal, and he's got something the rep needs to see RIGHT NOW. He's full of energy, and it's a serious effort to get him to stop, give us lightning-quick handshakes, and sit down.
Fest gets his interview and Nadal is off again. This time he runs toward the glass front doors. There are four or five stairs in front of the doors. Rather than wasting time and stepping down them, Nadal jumps them all, stumbles, and almost crashes into the glass. Eventually, after many photos and autographs with random passers-by, we get him into the back seat of a courtesy car. But he can't find his passport. Nadal jumps out and runs back to another car, where his friend is sitting with his luggage. No luck. A few seconds later, out of the corner of my eye I see Nadal bolting in the other direction, back into the hotel.
Five minutes and many frantic searches later—they're running late for a flight—I hear someone say from the front seat, “Here he comes!” Nadal tears up to the car on the same side that I'm sitting, opens the door, and nearly sits on me before I can scramble away. He sits down, breathing hard, bent passport in hand, and pulls his baseball hat sideways onto his head with a smile and a deep sigh.
We try to pull away from the curb and Nadal's rep and the driver have a few choice words in Spanish for the people in the car ahead of us, which isn't moving. I turn toward my left and see Nadal looking at me and grinning. His jaw drops and his eyes are wide with surprise, as if to say, “can you believe they're saying that!”
Nadal calms down completely when we start to talk, becoming a little guarded and halting in English. But he's forceful, too. At one point he bursts out with sudden, absolute conviction, “I want to play well at Wimbledon FOR SURE!” You can't do anything but believe that he will.
Hey, if that's how he lives his life, no wonder he's tired. I’ll add only that while everyone was opening and shutting suitcases looking for Nadal’s passport, I caught a glimpse of a book of poems by Pablo Neruda. Could this be what Rafa reads on tour? Stupidly, I forgot to ask.
I’ll be back Monday, flying solo for the Paris Masters. The week after that, Kamakshi and I will begin Book Club #2, on The Rivals, by Johnette Howard.