Two Warriors in Search of a Moment

Well, I was holed up here in the dungeon most of the day, so when I finally got the Speak, Fed post up, I decided to feel a little sunshine, so I went up to the press seats in Rod Laver Arena to watch the fifth set of the  Haas-Davydenko quarterfinal. I figured, here are two guys going into uncharted territory: a fifth set in a Grand Slam between two guys who both know a thing or two about yielding the right-of-way. Somebody was going to have to win this one, which was a pretty disconcerting idea in and of itself. Probably to no one more than themselves.

The press section was almost empty and sun was crawling like a bug across the roof line, leaving just a neat, square section of seats in the light; it happened to be the block where Tommy Haas's cheering section was sitting. An omen, perhaps?  Once again, Kolya was heavily outgunned in the support department. A group of four fully dressed and dour looking spectators  - no face paint, not enough bodies even to spell out K-O-L-Y-A across five chests - distinguished from the rest of the crowd only by their Ukrainian flag. Now and then they popped to their feet and shook the flag around, chanting Kolya's name, but they were invariably drowned out by the formidable, wig-wearing, bare chested, sign-bearing Haas contingent. At this, the Ukrainian quartet sank meekly to their seats, resigned to whatever fate would bring.

I saw Chris Clarey of the International Herald Tribune and Tom Tebbutt of the Toronto Globe and Mail sitting down below so I went to join them. They were more or less screwing around, too. This was going to be one of those pleasant, relaxing interludes - sitting with a couple of buddies, feeling the last of the sun on my shoulders without feeling overly concerned about my ostensible reason for being there. Soon, Doug Robson of USA Today joined us.

"It's a good day," Chris observed, between forkfuls of the hit meal of the tournament, a buttered chicken curry with rice. "We'll never have to write the words 'Henin-Hardenne' again." This was an astute remark. I've put myself through incredible contortions to avoid writing that name (H2, Double-H, Hen-Ha have just a few of my synonyms of choice). It always was such a keyboard unfriendly name. So, yeah, I feel bad for Justine and Pierre Yves but we're free at last; from now on, we're back to the user-friendly "Henin."

Down below, Tommy and Kolya were playing perfect background tennis for our aimless conversation: smacking the ball back and forth, often artfully, exchanging winners and errors, and a healthy number of service breaks. It was like watching two pedestrians in one of those awkward moments when one steps out of the way and the other guy step in the same direction, and then they both step the other way, blocking each other's paths once again. "Oh sorry!" "Excuse me!" "After you." "No, after you."

Still, it had been a fairly eventful match to this point. Earlier, while working at my station, I had caught a bit of the scary monologue Tommy poured forth while sitting on his chair during a changeover at 2-1 in the fourth, after he had let Kolya back in the match. "You can't win like that," he said, berating himself in German. "Too many errors. Not going to the net. Why do you pay all these people for? You are a bloody idiot! But you will win. Fight. Fight."

Sitting nearby, Kolya, who wouldn't say boo to a ghost, found Tommy's self-bashing outburst a little scary. Asked about it later, his eyes would grow wide as he said: "I was surprising. I think Haas coming crazy. Speak by self in the match because nobody's talking. He say something, talk, just he talk, he can't play in Australia anymore good, and something like this. It was surprising."

So who was going to win this one? Tebbutt and I went with Tommy Haas. Doug and Chris went with Kolya. Chris professed surprise when I volunteered that Kolya, lovable though he is, is a choker. "Why," Chris asked, "When has he choked?"

"It's hard to give an example," I replied. "He's very subtle that way. But this guy finds a way to sink to any occasion."

I suppose this is unprofessional of me, but I can't even remember what the key points or games were (and to think: the match ended just an hour ago!). I seem to remember that at one point, Davydenko came within two points of the match on Haas's serve at 4-5, at which point Chris and Doug were taunting me and Tebbutt, flashing two fingers in the air at each other. Two more points. Then Kolya got to match point, but I saw no reason to panic. I had a lot of faith in Tommy, and even more in Kolya.

Tommy missed his first serve. He threw his next one over to Kolya's backhand, and the pride of Severodonezk popped into the air and, in his haste, drilled a two-hander into the mid-section of the net. Haas belted his way out of trouble, broke Kolya, and served it out - almost. At 40-15, double match point, Haas served and Kolya hit a something-or-other deep to the baseline; Tommy began to sprint to the net as the linesman called it out. But it was time for Kolya to step up and assert himself. He approached the chair and issued a challenge. Excuse me, sir, I don't mean to impose but I believe I just got hooked on match point.

This was the first time I can remember a challenge on a match point, and it was upheld. Chris and Tebbutt, dangling in the wind, had another breath of life. But the reprieve was fleeting. Tommy stepped up and served, the gladiators unleashed a flurry of groundstrokes, and Kolya hit a crosscourt forehand long. Game, set, match, Haas. Chris groaned. Doug looked pained. Tebbutt and I got all puffy chested.

Afterwards, Kolya was asked if he would ever catch up with the the Big Dogs, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. He ruefully went off topic:

Because depends how I start to play tournament and how is my - how I improve my game. Normally, what I did in - here in Australian Open I didn't something surprise myself. I didn't something do well from my side. (Aw, Kolya, don't be so hard on yourself! There are 120 guys sitting around their hotel rooms wishing they had made the quarters!)

Okay, baseline. I always play baseline control I have guys three round is no special, not like fighting, winning in three sets. And then Berdych playing in the fourth round was like fighting already. Here in Australian Open just come, I don't know, like play only baseline and nothing else. (Translation unavailable).

That's was coming to quarterfinal but I didn't improve anything. Just every match think about what I did and what needed to for the next match, how I need to play. I play every match the same, every round. Nothing special. I didn't improve anything in Australian Open for my side. (Enough already. Cowboy up, Kolya! You're bumming me out.)

Well, someone had to win and someone did. But it was touch-and-go for Haas for a while, especially when it looked as if he might go down in four. I asked him point-blank if he was going nuts out there, like Kolya had said.

No, not nuts. Really. . . I just kind of lost my head just a teeny bit. He kind of got in a groove. That's when it started happening. My eyes got watery. The shade started coming. So it was a few things that kept going in my head. There were pigeons flying around in the stadium. I was focusing on many other things as I sometimes can do. . . Once I started playing well and got a break (soon thereafter in the fourth set), I felt like I was coming back. . . Then I knew it was going to be a match."

A little later, Haas said: Another reason whey I'm really happy today is now I finally beat a Russian in  a big match here. I lost to Kafelnikov in the semis and to Marat in the semis, in '99 and '02. If I would have lost the quarterfinals here against another Russian, it would have been really like, "I'm never going back there again."

When I left Rod Laver Arena with Doug, the last thing I remember seeing was the quartet of Ukrainians, shuffling out, flag folded and heads bowed, silently. I wanted to tell them, "Cheer up guys! Kolya will live to fight another day."

I'm not sure they would have believed me. But this is tennis. And that means there's always another day.