A Wimbledon official admitted yesterday that the twilight hour impaired the ability to see and what ultimately decided the championship was Rafael Nadal’s flop.*
“This was such an incredible match... no one on Center Court except for the players ever wanted the tennis to end,” the anonymous source said. “But when flashbulbs from the stands revealed Nadal prone on the grass at the conclusion of the fifth set, we had to give him the win.”
But this new revelation in London has given cause for investigation. It has been well-documented that flopping can affect the outcome of an athletic event.
Flopping in the NBA is so prevalent that it has practically been elevated to a contest itself. And while known by alternate names, this questionable tactic is pervasive in other team sports as well.
It is referred to as “diving” in hockey, an activity more suited to water that is not frozen. Another matter of enthusiastic escalation in this already contact-heavy sport: when one cannot connect with jawbone, hit the ice.
But this form of acting perhaps finds its greatest stage on the pitch. So much so that FIFA, the governing body of soccer, has taken a stand against what it calls “simulation.” The new rules can apply to embellishment on-field, as well the unique symbiotic relationship between soccer players & porn stars.
At first glance, Nadal’s hammy back-smacker seems contrary action for a man who likes to test the authenticity of his trophies like a Deadwood prospector.
However, further inquiry shows the young Mallorcan star is influenced by both the theatrics of his countrymen and the man he had -- until that tumble to the earth late Sunday in London -- lost to in the finals at Wimbledon.
DID FELICIANO LOPEZ OF SPAIN WIN HIS FOURTH ROUND FIVE-SETTER AGAINST MARCOS BAGHDATIS WITH HIS POST-MATCH FLAILING?
HAVE CHAIR UMPIRES BEEN GLORIFYING ROGER FEDERER'S FIVE-TIME CRUMPLE?
So while the flop in the non-contact sport of tennis has yet to come under great scrutiny, it too may explain some results, as well as lack of, in recent years...
SAFIN'S MISSION: Marathon Marat's superior position on
hardcourts could be too suggestive for Roland Garros & The All-England Club.
POOR FORM: Andy Roddick dared to drop
after only winning three sets at the U.S. Open Men's Final in 2003.
The breach of unwritten netiquette may have cost him since.
*This isn’t meant to paint me a Fed apologist. When the going gets tough, the tough blog absurd.
For me, the Men’s Final in action was cause for joy; the outcome a bit of pain. I expected to wake up today feeling like I did the morning after Peyton Manning won his Super Bowl ring. However, I now suspect the latter sensation was actually a hangover.
New Wimbledon Champion? Yes. New Number One? No. For the calendar year thus far, true... it is the Spaniard.
But given so little betweenFederer and Nadal over the long course of Sunday, I think we need to see the follow-up before we label Rafa the best. I don’t think Federer could have asked for a better challenge to his career. His response -- on-court & off, both yesterday and onward -- will help define his legacy.
Now for the more obvious... Contrary to popular speculation, I did not commit jigai after Safin’s semifinal loss, or the threat of competition for his affection. As a matter of fact, I am practicing my flop in expectation to win over Marat myself!
Today, POINTS ON THE BOARD has the privilege of a moment with Nenad Zimonjic** of Serbia, who is partnering Daniel Nestor of Canada to contest Wimbledon 2008’s Men’s Doubles Final. This despite the former breaking his wrist two days ago.
MC: Nenad, great to have you here today. Serbia has become tennis’ ‘It’ country and was poised to assault, if not outright dominate the fortnight here at Wimbledon. Many expected to see the reigning ladies’ French Open and men’s Australian Open champions in the finals this weekend. Yet only you remain -- the elder statesman, the last Serb standing. How do you explain this?
NZ: I don’t know... you win a Grand Slam title, get your own stamp and suddenly you are no longer hungry.
MC: If I am not mistaken, Nenad, you have won three Grand Slam titles -- in mixed doubles, including one this year -- and were also honored with a postage stamp in your home country.
NZ: True, but from the moment the stamps were issued, everything changed. You’ll notice the award of denomination is inversely proportionate to the players' depth in the tournament here.
Djokovic is put on the most expensive stamp -- worth 46 dinars (that’s about 80 cents to you) -- and he thinks he’s on level with Federer. Then he loses second round to a player ranked 75th in the world.
MC: That wasn’t just any player, though... that was Marat Saf...
Here on the lawns, she almost exits in the second match like Novak, but a lucky netcord and six less dinars last one more round.
MC: Well, let’s see... Janko Tipsarevic, at 20 dinars, is on the stamp worth the least. So according to your theory of inverse proportions, he should have gone farther than you.
NZ: Yes, but he did well beating Roddick and Tursunov to reach the fourth round. He is still striving, yet is just a baby with much to learn.... he still believes nasal strips work.
MC: I’m still not sure I believe your stamp theory. For example, I can’t imagine the men pictured on American paper money grousing over their respective printings...
NZ: Exactly why you should understand denomination! The U.S. order of value is quite good. The gentleman on your largest bill signed your Declaration of Independence, plus he was a Postmaster and well-known to the ladies of France.
MC: I don’t see why...
NZ: By the way, I do not get your nickname ‘Dead Presidents.’ No wonder you are not smarter than fifth graders.
MC: Uhh... ok then, back to your theory. The fourth round was also the end for Jelena Jankovic, who shares a stamp value with you at 30 dinars.
NZ: Yes, one step more than Ana, so she fits the model. I don’t quite understand her issue with the outer courts, though. The Woodies played on Court 18 several times this tournament, so this is legendary ground... these old men don't need helicopters.
Maybe she is too lazy to walk to the court, but on-court, she fought again through injury, so this is good. Shows she’s still hungry for a higher postal rate.
NZ: Yes, I fell and broke it on the first day of the match Thursday. This is nothing. I have stared across the net at the great Martina Navratilova and won.
MC: Ah, in Australia 2004, the first of your Mixed Doubles trophies! You have a shot today at your first men’s Grand Slam championship win, as well as your first Wimbledon title.
NZ: Twice before, I have made it to the final here; this time I will win.
MC: If so, your partner Daniel Nestor will have a career Grand Slam!
NZ: I should be shown serving! I have one of the hardest serves in the doubles!!! Why is the Canadian in front?! ... I look small; we’re the same height, you know!!... I am not even shown holding a racquet...
MC: Perhaps we should conclude this interview...
NZ: That reminds me, there’s the matter of your Latin alphabet... why is the ‘Z’ last?! This is not the way in Cyrillic...
DANIEL NESTOR AND NENAD ZIMONJIC (right,shown looking larger than the Canadian)
Note also Zimonjic's broken wrist braced to allow play in the continuation of their semi-final match against Leander Paes and Lukas Dlouhy.
*The Wimbledon 2008 Men’s Doubles Final has many compelling recommendations. It is the final Wimbledon for Jonas Bjorkman -- former world number four, one of my favorite players and one of the most-decorated in doubles -- who has announced his impending retirement.
On the opposite side of the net, Daniel Nestor has a chance for his career Grand Slam in Doubles, having already won the Australian, the US Open and the French, in that order.
**All depictions of Nenad Zimonjic’s opinions are fictional. The fact of his broken bone is truth, another reason to watch or listen to the Men’s Doubles Final & support Doubles in general.
Their final is scheduled as the second match on Center Court. This match will be bookmarked by Venus and Serena Williams contesting the Ladies' Singles, and then later pairing for the Ladies' Doubles Finals.
Asked about the Williams sisters' motivation, Zimonjic had this to say: “When a player is in the zone, we often say he or she is seeing the tennis ball ‘like a football.’ The sisters are seeing the ball like Justin Gimelstob’s head.”
Even rarer than the eclipsing of the Sun is the forthcoming quarterfinal match between two bright stars of the ATP circuit: Marat Safin and Feliciano Lopez. Indeed, this stellar event has only occurred five times in the last six years.
Please heed this dire Public Servicing Announcement!
Such a collision of exquisiteness is hazardous to your health. The simultaneous impact of the imposing, rakish Russian and the suave Spaniard in the same orbit is unfortunately too much sensory stimuli for most #### sapiens to endure!!!
Particularly those that described Tuesday’s 25 degree Celsius (77F) temperature in London to be “boiling.” Hmmm... royalty unfamiliar with cauldron and oil? Surely, they jest!
Bah! They've yet to know HOT until Safin and FeLo grace the grass!
The athleticism of this masculine pair of celestial bodies has potential to render you sightless! Deafen your ears!! Outright SLAY you!!!
In the self-interest of philanthropy, I have agreed to take on the burden of your Court One tickets, whilst you instead fortify your vision with vitamin C & manganese-rich strawberries. Cream if you desire.
My bravery will afford you the opportunity to lay eyes on the green lawns of the All-England Club once again. Even as soon as the Arnaud Clement-Rainer Schuettler match, which is a more humanly sufferable amount of charm on one court.
Please bequeath all tickets to:
The Ever-Obsessed Ambassador MCLioness
Solo Inhabitant of the Safinfatuated Solar System
Allsaid paper tokens shall be duly recycled.
Those with Ground Admission tickets, please refrain from alms, though your intent is appreciated. I’ve no aspirations to be a jill on Henman Hill. (Lo, I cannot touch the lately christened Murray Mound... though begging for punnery, I favor the more Middle-Ages Brit to the Scot Brat!)
To further proffer my body in the names of both Science and Deity, I shall bear witness to this heavenly event at the risk of losing ALL my senses! I will do so without the projection of a camera obscura! Without shield for my orbs! No plugs for my ears or nose! I shall even deny myself garments as inspiration to the combatants!!!!
I have been training myself for ages, hardening myself with the virtual countenance of Safin more than any body has thus far or shall again.
The afterimage of his visage already engulfs my brain, an affliction I do not wish to share with my worst enemy, nor any other soul. What remains to be tested is my forbearance to withstand his entire physical, sweaty, screaming, ball-pounding presence. I even dare to measure his luminosity in foot candles!
Please, please, Peasants... You marvel at my generosity and sacrifice, but reassure yourselves that my personal gratification is well in hand.
The 187 cm (6’2”) Lopez has less of an influence on my involuntary and voluntary responses. However this lefty, whom flirts on the verge of pretty, moonlights as a model for a reason.
In my family, ripping is a year-round sport. No one is spared. Though my mom, not one given to making many mistakes, has a perennial Steel Curtain-like D.
My dad, on the other hand, consistently faltered in the warm-weather seasons. For that was the time his three divisional opponents -- my mom, my brother & myself -- could unite to prey on one particularly glaring weakness.
My dad, then Master of the Grass, would go out to tackle the yard in a uniform of white undershirt, plaid shorts...
And BLACK SOCKS!
Once upon a time (according to a yarn I read*) a college basketball coach was asked how he made a time-pressured personnel decision. He answered, "The first thing I did was cut the guys wearing black socks."
Outside of the office, black socks were a sign of frailty, knits that would fold under pressure. Mockery of my father became such a shorthand that eventually it was just a matter of stocking-laugh.
Now I'm starting to believe he was actually ahead of his time.
Because I have unraveled the mystery of why yet another Master of the Grass is so dominant!!!
IT'S HIS SOCKS!!!!
Of course, at Wimbledon, the world's best athlete is confined to wear white. But this past fortnight on the Flushing Meadows hard courts, the fashion-forward Swiss star earned the nickname "Darth Federer" for his all-black night match get-up.
Even while practicing with boys' junior champ Ricardas Berankis, Fed -- clad in a pale, unkempt tee -- could not forego the dark footwear.
Except for his quarterfinal against American Andy Roddick, Federer was not playing at the top of his form. He lost sets to John Isner and Feliciano Lopez. And the scoreline of 7-6 (4), 7-6 (2), 6-4 in his final against Novak Djokovic is only a straight-set win on paper. Djokovic had nine break point chances and seven set point chances.
Djokovic was a break and 40-0 up in the first set. And then in fifth game of the third, Fed was 0-40 down on his serve.
Where a pair of white socks would have wilted, black socks prevailed.
'Cause when you think about tough men's tennis attire, you think of... Shoes?... Shorts?... Manpris?!??
No, SOCKS!!! If a player's preference is "Boxers" or "Commando," well those have a certain zing (especially when I think about Marat Safin). But Socks, which doubles as a verb, packs the most punch!!!
And evidence supports that the color of the hosiery matters.
As the song says:
White socks, they always get dirty The longer you wear them; the weaker they get Sometimes, I think I shouldn't wash them But something inside me says "Do it right now!"
Black socks, they never get dirty, The longer you wear them the stronger they get! Sometimes I think I should wash them But something keeps telling me No, no, not yet!
Yes, once upon a time, black socks were the marker of mockery, the sign of shaky footing, the stamp of a heel! But perception has been turned inside out:
They're not just for girl scout campfire songs anymore! Members of Lamb of God -- a band hardcore enough to kick each other's #### -- are so convinced of the power of black socks that they double-duty them, cutting them off to fashion arm bands.**
Darth Federer.
My dad now has someone else cut the lawn while he slices blades of grass with a seven-iron instead. He & his black socks just won his golf league and he has already spent his earnings on a new club. Master of the Grass...
And fashion, apparently... Hmmm, I might just have to dig up some new material for ripping. But before I jump back into the fray, I'm going to throw on a pair of black socks.
BALCO, Barry & Bud. Vino, Astana & blood. A day dominated by men named Stern and Goodell.
Yesterday was my first day in a couple of weeks back to tv. The drought time included twelve days straight at work and x-rays for my own overuse injury. I was looking forward to a day off, a little ESPN & a return to workouts.
Now me, I don't think the nickname Joey Blue Skies is such a bad thing... But a day full of terse press conferences can even get a girl who reads Ode magazine feeling a little wrung.
Sure, three hours of yoga can set anybody back to perky... But the man who really set things back to right is Craig Biggio.
Tie game, bottom of the sixth, two outs and bases loaded. Biggio -- who had tearfully announced his impending retirement just hours prior -- stepped up to the plate. That was enough for my brother and I to shut up & stand up.
One pitch. One sweet crack of the bat.
One only had to watch Bigg's reaction to know that it was GONE. Ripped to left. The flip of his bat said it all, and even the dog was out of his La-Z-Boy and cheering.
Number seven's dramatic moments this year have been seemingly overshadowed. The night he hit 3000, he shared press time with Frank Thomas' 500th home run. But life isn't just the drama of the day. It is day after day. And in this, the 41-year-old excels.
In his afternoon announcement, Biggio said, "I have no regrets, I played the game the right way, the way it's supposed to be played." He said he played the way men before him played.
Then he added, " And the way the game will continue to be played."
The Astros promotional theme is The Return of the Good Guys. Craig is clearly one of the good guys. He won't return next year, but he will leave his love of the game and legacy of GOOD to be carried on. Something that can already be seen in the enthusiatic rookie Hunter Pence.
Even amongst the scandals, there are things that are right. And they will continue to be.
Yes, this is a medical evaluation of sorts. But no, the five-time Wimbledon champ does not have calculi in his kidneys. I'm talking about the pair between his thighs. It shall never again be questioned whether Mirka keeps them at home or in her purse.
It was a wild and wobbly Wimbly, with the rain delays and some outstanding matchups... Henman v. Moya, Vaidisova v Ivanovic, and Djokovic v Baghdatis were most thrilling. But the gentlemen's final topped them all.
One would think Tommy Haas' fourth-round withdrawal and the cramped second-week schedule of his Spanish opponent gave Federer an advantage. Quite the opposite.
Take as an example the way both Williams sisters worked their way into form for their Grand Slam titles this year. The first couple of rounds are always tricky, and a player likes to build on challenges as he or she goes along.
The blustery forces of nature that gave Federer a week off in the middle of the tournament!!! left the champ with rust. (Hey, how about that Juan Carlos Ferrero?!!) And this after the Swiss -- once again flying solo as his own coach -- skipped Halle, the grass-court lead-in he had won four years running. Preparation and superstition, be damned.
The man was not what you call match-rich. And he had a lot of time to think about the immense significance of what he was attempting. Even he said he did not feel as confident and prepared as he did in 2006.
Meanwhile, an improved game and heavy dose of luck produced an opponent that was match-saturated and rising in confidence as the tournament moved on. The same opponent from the year prior, the indefatigable Rafael Nadal. Not completely surprising, but the reigning French Open champion was also fortunate that Mikhail Youzhny and Novak Djokovic played impaired.
Where Fed would have likely been challenged by healthy Tommy Haas, Nadal would have likely been toppled by a healthy Youzhny. And Djokovic had scrapped his way to results that live up to his brashness before he had to retire from the semifinal. So the two finalists spent roughly the same time on court Saturday.
Fortunately, I'm used to the roller coaster of anxiety of a Marat Safin match. This experience gave me the stamina to survive this final. The opening three games had me feeling secure with Fed at 3-0.
That sense of security did not return until late in the fifth set.
In between, Federer battled a grass court that was slower than ever, some dubious calls from -- oddly enough -- the electronic line judge and obviously, the one opponent who is most in his head.
This has been a challenging year for the world number one. He parted ways with Tony Roche shortly before the French, Guillermo Canas took him out of two tournaments early, and in the French Open final, his best game -- especially his serve -- abandoned him.
Federer's serve was premiere Sunday, but his best game was not all there. Five sets in a Slam is unusual territory for Fed. And he was irritated enough by the seemingly erroneous Hawk-Eye that he asked for it to be turned off. (Which didn't happen.)
It was a rough day on center court for the defending champion. But he needed this.
Despite a timeout for treatment to his knee, Nadal had the momentum going into the final set. Twice in the fifth, Federer was down 15-40. Since last year, I had Fed as the man who should and would win this tournament. (Provding he got past Safin, of course!) But on that long series of break points, even I doubted the historic Bjorn-like moment would happen.
And then in the sixth game, Federer scorched a forehand winner down the line and I knew.
This was the Roger I recognized.
No... this was the Roger I hadn't seen in a long time. He was pushed to an extreme the entire match and came through. He didn't always play brilliant -- which is his trademark, but he played brave.
He needed this checkup. Head, heart, guts and nuts... intact!
Some have doubted Federer's ####... but probably not the folks that erected this sign.
She's promised to throw a big party for her fans in September.
And believe me, she knows how to host big! In September of 2005, she paid for some 30,000 beers in pubs near her hometown in Belgium. After her Grand Slam victory in Flushing Meadows, Kim Clijsters led the singing of party anthems like YMCA and We Are the Champions and let the revelers in Bree continue to drink on her tab even after she left.*
Clijster's immediate retirement from professional tennis yesterday came as a surprise, even though she declared 2007 as her last year. She began the season in excellent form, winning the Sydney title and making it to the semi-finals in Melbourne. She is still ranked fifth in the world. Shortening her schedule to stay healthy, as well as accomodate her July 14 wedding, Wimbledon was supposed to be her last big event.
With this in mind, fans and tournament organizers have honored her along the way. Especially in Antwerp this February, where she played the final against Amelie Mauresmo. But many fans and pundits also believed she wouldn't really leave the sport, that like many other athletes who have talked of retiring young, she'd decide to stay.
Kim's emotional good-bye in Antwerp
Many also used to believe that she was "too nice" to win a singles major.
She proved that wrong at the US Open nearly two years ago. And in retirement at age 23, Clijsters shows once again that she does things her way. With injury keeping her below her level of best play, she made her decision cleanly.
The Belgian had already set herself apart throughout her career by her demeanor, grace and spirit. She was even adopted by the Australians.
The six-time Karen Krantzcke Sportsmanship Award winner -- who said, "You don't have to hate an opponent to beat her. " -- is also adored by the WTA players:
The Sony Ericsson WTA Tour and all the players are going to miss her a lot, not only because of the player she was, but the joy she brought everywhere. -- Amelie Mauresmo
She was a great player, a great competitor and an even better person. We had some great matches but I'll miss her more in the locker room than anything else. -- Serena Williams
Kim has long been my favorite female athlete. The first blog posts that I truly dedicated myself to were about and inspired by her. She has contributed great things to women's athletics and tennis. As long as she could stay healthy, I'd trade all the beer in Belgium to have her play for another decade.
But I respect her decision. It's obvious that what she values the most out of her tennis career and her life are the people around her. She considers some of her greatest moments "the fun with the fans in Belgium and abroad, the joy and warmth of the disabled, the many happy faces of the elderly at "tea with Kim" or tears of joy of the women with the new dog."
She won't be retiring from any of that. She's looking forward to spending more time with family and friends, cooking and playing with her dogs.
Even without her famed tennis life, she would still be someone who spreads happiness. Even if she wasn't buying the beer, she comes across as simply a person you'd always like to be around.
So the best way to thank and honor Clijsters may be to say something I've always thought: Not only would I love to have a friend like her, I hope I can be a friend like her.
Clijsters (pictured with her future husband, Brian ####):
I hope people won't be too sad now that I've decided to stop playing tennis. A new chapter in my life is about to begin and I hope I'll see everyone somewhere down the line. Remember, whatever you do, do it with a smile on your face.
While talk spirals from the pro-am pairing of Tiger Woods & Michael Jordan today at the Wachovia Championship, there's unfortunately less coverage on a more intriguing pairing. Two other dominant athletes meet today on a court divided.
Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal are playing an exhibition match designed around each one's most notable specialty. The four-time defending Wimbledon champ and the two-time defending French Open champ face off on a half-grass, half-clay court in Mallorca, Spain.
On the surface (pun intended), this is ingenuous marketing of the sport. The world's top two, the only Grand Slam winners of 2006, styling shots in front of a sell-out crowd in Nadal's birthplace.
Along with this home court advantage, Nadal has the winning edge over Federer. A 7-3 head-to-head record, including a perfect 5-0 on clay. Fed has a 1-0 advantage on the lawn. The hybrid court requires each to switch their best surface with the one each would love to claim a first rivalry victory.
And this is where I think this exercise in fun will best serve the Swiss.
Nadal is not the first player to own Federer. (Nor the last. In 2007, Guillermo Canas has been that man.) David Nalbandian used to have a hold on Fed for years, starting in the juniors. The world number one eventually switched that momentum.
Fed has been chipping away at the dirt. This could be his tipping point. The fresh challenge of the on-court shuffle -- which will even have the players changing their shoes whenever they change ends -- is ripe opportunity for Fed to design a new game plan.
Strategy is one of the Swiss star's most potent weapons. Without discounting the presence of Tony Roche, Federer's dominance and longevity owe much to his ability to coach himself, both throughout a season and specifically during a match. Having to shift and alternate tactics for today's match favors Fed's long-range goals, including winning the French Open.
According to the Associated Press, Federer said, "It'll be fun to find out what it's like to play on a court with mixed surfaces... And it ought to be interesting to see who chooses the better tactic."
Throw-away comments about a throw-away match? I think not.
Remember the buzz on Andy Roddick when he beat Federer in the Kooyong exhibition right before the Australian Open? Federer was willing to sacrifice that win in order to experiment with his game and later demolished the American in their AO semi. Not to mention, Fed won that tournament without dropping a set.
We may look back on today's showy playtime as the catalyst for Federer's quantum leap. His integration on clay -- and separation from Nadal. The timing couldn't be better. There's 25 days, 15 hours and 39 minutes until Roland Garros...
The time between the click of a mouse and the download gives my imagination plenty of time to conjure up a likely story behind a headline. Given an open-ended teaser, this can be an exercise in humor or absurdity. But Monday evening -- especially since my first check of the news that day delivered word of Boris Yeltsin's passing -- all my mind was doing was scrolling through Pulitzer Prize winners.
David Halberstam was not on my list.
Had I even been aware that Halberstam won a Pulitzer? Maybe at some level of consciousness. But for me, Halberstam is not the lauded scribe of Vietnam, or even of the big three sports.
My introduction to Halberstam coincided with my introduction to a new sport. Much like Halberstam opened his book The Amateurs: "It was not a celebrated event."
With the decision-making aplomb of my 18-year-old self, I chose my now alma mater because it was cheap, nestled in a woodsy area alongside a river and because I had been intrigued by the idea that it fielded a rowing team.
Despite having ultimately grown disillusioned by my high school athletic experience, I was still looking to continue in sports. Big transition is a natural time to try something new. At orientation, representatives from Crew were friendly and encouraging.
Had I been more observant, I may have realized that they were literally sizing me up. And to them, my size said, "coxswain."*
And on the first day of practice, the head coach literally said, "coxswain."
I was flat-out not interested; I was there to row. I made that stubbornly clear. A great first impression, I am sure. Forgive the pun, but I was not the recruit making the big splash.
It wasn't the first time that I had to challenge assumptions about my small stature. By the end of the week (imagine this week something like the NFL combine), I had proven that I was -- to horribly, horribly cobble Dennis Green -- who I thought I was! A lousy coxswain and a good rower.
When the boat assignments were finally posted for competition, not only did I win one of the strongest seats in the best eight... I was also named captain. Which isn't to say I was the best athlete on the team. It would be more accurate to say the most enthusiastic.
When an activity grabs me like that, I want to feed that interest in any way I can. Being a bibliophile, that always involves a search for books. I found very little on rowing. An unremarkable book of technique and Halberstam's The Amateurs: The Story of Four Young Men and Their Quest for Olympic Gold.
David Halberstam was upset when he watched the 1984 Winter Olympics... at the hype,and the commercial exploitation of the Olympics and its competitors. Thus the idea behind ''The Amateurs'' was born. Before the Summer Olympics began in June he would seek out athletes, if he could find any, who went about their sport without an expectation of fame or material reward. He seized upon sculling, supposing that if there were any true amateurs left, they might be found alone in a small boat with two oars their only company.
While our Crew rowed sweeps -- in which each rower uses a single blade -- there was resonance in this story. Crew had once been a Varsity sport at my university, but had been demoted to a club sport. Fundraising was a struggle.
And like myself, many of the young women and men had never rowed until that second week at the boathouse in the fall. The growth and skill of the team depended on a handful of men -- who were themselves students and rowers -- acting as coaches. The cohesion of the team depended on everybody's participation.
On the second page, Halberstam continued to set the scene of the Olympic trials:
No chartered planes or busses ferried the athletes into Princeton. No team managers hustled their baggage from the bus to the hotel desk and made arrangements so that their mealtime they need only show up and sign the tab. This was a world of hitched rides ad borrowed beds, and meals, if not scrounged, were desperately budgeted...
For us too, there weren't hotels. There were patches of ground where we put our sleeping bags. Quite often with the entire lot of us shared a cold gymnasium floor.
And as soon as I burned through the rest of The Amateurs, the team shared the book. It's happened a few times for me that a book is so engaging or relevant that it stays in motion as opposed to in my possession. People with no great love of reading were reading Halberstam.
His words were inspiration to a scrappy Division II club team who pulled together to #### gold from Big Ten schools. Those medals count for something, but the biggest value came in what was the best team experience I've ever had.
So after Monday, after the deaths of Boris Yeltsin and David Halberstam came in quick succession, recent nebulous ideas of "team" coalesced for me. And this is why I am grateful that, for me at least, these two men were united by their last day.
Musing on Yelstin's passion for Davis Cup... how the team atmosphere brings out Marat Safin's confidence... the utility of Halberstam's.great book... memories of a close-knit group of athletes... my own roles in different teams, whether sports-related or otherwise... what the team atmosphere brings out in me... all of this steeped together to make sense.
As of last December, I relocated three times in seven months. As a result, I've let go of many things that I don't really need. And I've put some things I do need on hold. Big transition is a natural time to try something new, but it's also a time to look for something familiar... like a team.
*Weight is important in rowing, not just because there are weight divisions. Coxswains -- who eye the course, steer and coach the team while sitting in the boat -- are preferably small and light. Rowers, on the other hand, "hang their weight" on the blade to provide power. It is often a strategy that lightweight boats consist of rowers who cut weight, much like wrestlers do.
Though it pales in the shadow of the Virginia Tech tragedy, Monday totaled to quite a loss with the deaths of both Boris Yeltsin and David Halberstam. These two larger-than-life men were never before linked in my head. Now they will be so forever. Despite the sad circumstances, I am grateful for this juxtaposition.
Yeltsin's political legacy had been debated before yesterday's obituaries and rememberances. And will no doubt continue to be a matter of opinion afterwards. However, his impact on tennis -- especially in Russia, is clear. And still riding its powerful momentum.
In a November profile of Shamil Tarpischev (at one time Yeltsin's personal tennis coach and current captain of the Davis Cup and Fed Cup teams), Christopher Clarey of the International Herald Tribune wrote on the rise of the sport's popularity in the post-Cold War era:
The key moments were tennis re-entering the Olympics in 1988 and Yeltsin's discovering a passion for the game during his tenure as Russia's first president from 1991 to 1999. "At that stage, the middle level of tennis was not bad, but when Yeltsin came out in a tennis outfit on court, at that moment the whole thing took a leap," Tarpishchev said.
Today, as Clarey notes: You can make a strong argument that Russia, with its combined strength in the men's and women's game, is now the world's leading tennis nation.*
If Tarpischev is the lone link between Russia’s 21st century tennis explosion and its dark, structured Soviet past, then (Gene) Scott, along with the Anna Kournikova phenomenon, Marat Safin and Maria Sharapova must share much of the credit with Boris Yeltsin for enabling tennis to look soccer and ice hockey in the eye as this vast nation’s most popular sport.
Kournikova, Safin and Sharapova. Three names that will endure. Three athletes among many of their compatriots that acknowledge the importance of Russia's first freely elected president to their opportunities and careers.
Evans continues:
...None of it would have happened quite so soon without the flamboyant support of President Yeltsin, who wielded his tennis racquet with almost as much enthusiasm as the political whip he used to shepherd his bemused nation to a new, entrepreneurial dawn.
If President Eisenhower made golf a necessity for anyone wanting to get close to America’s leader in the fifties, then Yeltsin’s deep love of tennis required Kremlin insiders to start working on their backhands in the last decade of the century.
It's no coincidence that these two articles were published at the end of last November, for it was the eve of the Davis Cup final in Moscow, with Russia facing a strong team from Argentina. Most fans tabbed the South Americans to win.
Of course, Boris Yeltsin was there. Just as he had been in Paris to witness Russia's first-ever Davis Cup title in 2002.
Yeltsin's passion for tennis was unmistakable & infectious. Pictured with Safin & Dmitry Tursunov, winners of the doubles rubber on Day 2 of the Davis Cup Final 2006.
Those three dramatic days in December left everything to the fifth rubber. Safin cliched the series by defeating Jose Acasuso in four sets. Russia won their second Davis Cup!
In February, the defending champs survived a first round against Chile -- on clayinChile!! -- that virtually noone expected them to win. Three of the four best Russian Federation players were not in attendance, yet they prevailed 3-2 with Igor Andreev playing a pivotal role.
Two weeks ago at the quarterfinal against France, the Russian team looked stronger though Safin was hobbled by a foot injury. Yet when the decision again came down to a live final rubber, Tarpischev called on Safin -- who had not played the first two days... who had not even practiced those days!! -- to win the pressure match, and he did.
perhaps... just perhaps bordering on irrational at times...
But when it comes to his athletic ability, not unfounded! In the IHT article, Clarey refers to Safin as "the most gifted men's player not named Federer." In my opinion, the difference between the two men is in the mental game. Federer maintains a level of consistency and self-belief that is probably not found in most people, let alone athletes.
When Safin believes, he can beat the best on their best days. Including Federer. See the epic four-and-a-half hour semi between the two in the 2005 Australian Open. Yes, Safin's 2005 Australian Open.
Though Safin has not won a singles title since then, his Davis Cup play has been clutch. Of his latest heroics, he says, “I felt I was going to win, and with such confidence I felt there was no chance it would go five sets.” Marat won in straight sets.
It seems there's something about the team play that brings out the best in the mercurial shotmaker. And I can understand why, since Davis Cup is my Super Bowl... one
