Monday Morning Quarterback: Davis Cup
As Davis Cup weekends go, it was a corker; the ever-vigilant Kamakshi over at Court Coverage has once again done the heavy lifting for anyone who wants to cherry-pick the press briefs. First, we had the stage all set for Paul-Henri Mathieu to create a Hollywood-grade tale of loss and redemption in France’s final against Russia. What we got, instead, was the biggest disaster flick since Titanic, as the portion of the world that cared was treated to the horrible spectacle of another Mathieu Davis Cup meltdown—in circumstances almost identical to his first tragedy against Mikhail Youzhny in the decisive match of the 2002 final.
OK, I’ve made more than my share of cracks about “cheese-eating surrender monkeys” etc., but you’ve got to feel for poor Mathieu; check out how even the commentators over at Tennis-X reported the news. Ouch!
Mathieu's Day One loss to Nikolay Davydenko was understandable; Davydenko is not just a far better player than most people realize, he’s also a far more dangerous and explosive one, with that smack-down forehand and willingness to hit for the lines. But Igor Andreev? Mathieu stretched the first set to an hour, but still couldn't get a game. And he got just three games the rest of the way—in the decisive rubber of a Davis Cup tie.
Sorry, but that’s unacceptable. Mathieu is probably out of the French Davis Cup picture based on that age-old premise: Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
But at least the guy played. Down Under, where Aussies from Bondi Beach to Perth are in an uproar over their own train-wreck of a tie against Argentina, one of the major stories this weekend was how Mark Philippoussis begged off taking part in the tie because of an ankle injury, only to turn up happily booming serves and taking big cuts with that scary forehand for Hartford’s Fox Force of World Team Tennis (they were victorious over the Houston Wranglers this weekend (read here, if you care). Well, if the Aussies haven’t figured out yet that counting on Philippoussis for anything is a little like expecting your 3-year-old to balance your checkbook, they deserve everything they get. Read Richard Hinds' outstanding (as usual) post-mortem on the Aussie collapse here.
Money quote: “In the aftermath of this tie, one thing was certain: if Hewitt and Cartwright’s first child is a boy, there is very little chance he will be called Guillermo.”
That reference, of course, is to Guillermo Coria, who went after Lleyton Hewitt big-time during their ugly first-day match in Sydney (ugly details here, or you can read Hinds' more interpretive piece here). I have three observations on the debacle in Sydney:
The grass court the Aussies put down was partly responsible for the remarkably bad blood generated at this tie; home court/surface advantage is one thing, but when they have to delay the actual start of play because the court isn’t playable, that’s a disgrace. It’s especially bad when you factor in the components below.
Hewitt’s “c’mawwwn!” antics are way out of hand. Sure, he claims he doesn’t do that to throw others off their games, but there is a real, simple, bottom line here. When your fellow players line up to testify that the way you pump yourself up during a match is distracting and offensive to them, then it’s bad sportsmanship. Period. Punto finale. End of story.
I don’t care what Hewitt’s intentions are any more than what John McEnroe’s were when he pitched one of his trademark fits. When your peers say that you’re a jerk whose emotional outbursts wreck their concentration, they have just described you as a cheater. If I’m sitting in my seat at the opera, rattling the loose change in my pocket at a hushed, dramatic moment, I’m being a jerk—my intentions and motivations have nothing to do with it.
- The Fanatics, Australia’s rabidly nationalistic supporters, are the most annoying human beings on earth (they nose out, but just barely, actors and actresses who play at political activism). Really, these knuckle-draggers have to go. Their endless organized chants, songs and exhortations are like white noise, ruining the day for those people who would just like to see a good tennis match, enjoy the ebb and flow (including spontaneous crowd participation), and not feel like they are a captive audience for some weird tribe’s bonding ritual. Like their poster boy, Hewitt (see Item 2, above), these guys simply go over the line. It’s time for someone to tell them to stop. They’re not funny anymore.
The most curious facet of the upset of the Aussies, though, was the way David Nalbandian crushed the combative Hewitt to clinch the tie for the Argies. OK, Nalbandian is probably ten times the player most casual fans think he is, but there was something else at work in this scenario—Hewitt’s reaction to the bitter, personal denunciations made by the Argentineans simply had to be a factor. I think Hewitt was shaken by this new, unprecedented level of contempt directed at him, and it may have kept him from performing at his best. Who cares? I’m tired—no, bored—with the snotty little guy, but maybe marriage and fatherhood will have a mellowing effect. If you’re deeply interested in emotional business other than your own, this may be up your alley.
The controversial tie in Australia overshadowed some other interesting news coming out of Davis Cup weekend. If you’re a Paradorn Srichaphan fan, you’re bound to be dismayed by his
lackluster performance and, half a world away, Gustavo Kuerten helped Brazil to a win, although nobody would say that he really lit it up, either.
Don’t you love Davis Cup, and the way it takes the whole world for a stage a few times a year?