Sunday, June 21, 2009

The Big "W": The big preview

I am pretty depressed that Rafa Nadal is sitting out this Wimbledon, especially considering last year's epic. So the preview this time will be different. How? Well, I guess you'll just have to read on to find out ...

The men
The way it'll go down:
Quarterfinals: Andy Roddick v. Juan Martin del Potro, Andy Murray v. Fernando Gonzalez, Tommy Haas v. Novak Djokovic, JoJo Tsonga v. Roger Federer
Semifinals: del Potro v. Murray, Djokovic v. Federer
Final: Murray v. Federer
Winner: Murray ...?
Yeah, I'm off the charts! OK, first of all, I believe in Andy Murray. Kind of. I've listened to all my tennis buddies trash him for the last few days, and enough is enough. Yes, the British pressure to win Wimby just about killed Tim Henman, but Andy Murray is a more complete player than Tim Henman. However, he is playing in a time when men's tennis is unbelievably deep. But without Nadal, the top half is wide open. There is Andy Roddick, who flourishes at Wimbledon, but does he have the confidence of recent success against the big boys? Like del Potro? Like Murray? Del Potro would really have to alter his game, shorten those swings, improve that movement to be a force on grass. Murray's the best player left in the top half. The big question will be the pressure for Murray. In the bottom half, Fed is easily the most established there -- certainly on grass. Djokovic would have to show me something on grass in order to have any part of the second week of the draw.
Which leaves us with Murray and Federer as the last men standing. In such a (hypothetical for now) situation, both would be playing under a great deal of pressure. This is what I've come to, folks. I'm now trying to envision a final that could even approach last year's final. (Now, that's some pressure.) Once can only hope.
Come back, Rafa!

The ladies
Quarterfinals: Amelie Mauresmo v. Caroline Wozniakcki, Venus Williams v. Jelena Jankovic, Razzano v. Dementieva, Azarenka v. Serena Williams
Semifinals: Mauresmo v. Venus, Razzano v. Serena
Final: Venus v. Serena
Winner: Venus
Let's just start by saying here that there are some floaters out there. Maria Sharapova especially. She is still knocking off some rust, but she has a favorable draw, with Nadia Petrova and Azarenka looming. So those could go either way depending on the shoulder. Obviously, I favor Azarenka.
While I'm not willing to just give the title to Venus, really ... who's going to beat her? Jankovic? Grass is Venus' thing, but I have problems with fully endorsing her candidacy. I just don't get it -- how can you play aggressively on one surface, and the rest of the Slams, you don't look like the same person? Why wouldn't aggression work for Venus on any other surface, especially considering her serve? It's frustrating to me, but not quite enough to discount Venus. She's the hesitant favorite because anything can happen in the women's draw and because Dinara Safina is not yet ready to deal with Slam nerves.

Sunday, June 07, 2009

LEAGUE WATCH: Three reasons to hate tennis

Last Saturday, I found myself in a strange place during my team's league match.
As per the predetermined schedule, I was sitting for the match, and to be honest, I didn't really mind at first. I couldn't remember the last time I'd started a league season with two straight losses. OK, I can. But one good year has spoiled me, and I expect nothing but the best from myself.
Plus, my second loss was a 6-2, 6-2 beatdown by an old lady who "sliced and diced me to death" -- her words. My words for that match probably involve some language not suitable for a family blog. I spent about an hour in that match running after balls and wondering why I wasn't the one standing in the middle of the court dictating play.
So I needed a week off. In that time, I had been playing more singles, doubles and improving my serve. I was feeling good going into yesterday's match.
What really sweetened the pot for this match was the opposing team -- most of my friends from my home court over at Highland Park. I had also been asked to join this team when it was established this year, but had already committed to my team. So there was a little friendly rivalry.
In warming up with my opponent, I was grateful for two things. First, I didn't know her. I can never play well against my friends. Second, she was hitting the ball. My first two matches were against lobbers (who, I feel, have a special cubbyhole in hell) and while her pace was a bit tough, I still felt it was a matchup I could handle. I felt as though my mind was engaged -- a major departure from my first match.
I jumped out to a 5-2 lead, and found myself getting really tight. My opponent, meanwhile, had taken to hitting lobs. High, arcing, baseline-kissing lobs. And, I, in my supreme idiocy, began lobbing back, pushing the ball around, hoping she'd start missing balls again. I dropped the next two games, but tried to talk myself down. "All you have to do is win this game," I told myself. "No pressure."
In response to myself, I double faulted a couple times in my next service game and took the set to 5-all. Oh, and then I had to serve to get INTO A TIEBREAK FOR A SET IN WHICH I WAS UP 5-2. Oh, yes. That was also awesome.
OK, tiebreak. I build a 4-2 lead, and then make two unbelievably stupid mistakes, including an attempted drop-shot return at 4-3. Guess where that went. If you guessed the net, then you'd be right. And things got really tight after that. We switched sides at 6-6, and one point later, I was serving down 6-7. My second serve plopped right into the net.
To say I was a little, er, miffed, would be understating it. But as the second set began, a couple of my teammates were there to encourage me, telling me I was looking good and that it was all mine. It helped, as corny as it might sound. It also allowed me to relax enough to think about the debacle that had been the first set. I realized that the points toward the end had been far too short -- because I was ending them in errors. I felt I needed to keep the ball in play, go for winners inside the service line and use my burgeoning slice, which my opponent seemed to dump into the net. Speaking of the net, all my misses were landing there, and I encouraged myself to hit out, and if they were long, it was better than the net.
I made a special effort to move my feet (which always stop when I get nervous) and began to hit my shots. I waited for the ball to get to me and attacked the backhand side of my opponent, and put more on my serve. When the ball was short in the court, I moved in carefully and ran around my backhand to hit a better shot. The points were longer, but I was winning most of them, and the second set ended in my favor at 6-1.
The third set was more of the same. Until, that is, I went up 5-2. Now, at this point, there were two matches left -- my match and the other singles. All the doubles had ended, and our team had split 2-1. All we needed was one more match, and we would win. And we needed this win. We were 2-1 in overall standings, and although we have a playoff system, the goal is to keep the "L" column low. So, we needed this.
It's probably not the best thing that I was thinking all this while I was standing at the service line. I peeked over at the score in the other match, and we were up, but it was still close. My goal was to get all my serves in and to be careful. My opponent, meanwhile, hadn't hit a groundstroke since late in the second set, and was now opening her racquet face (the way you would to balance three balls on your racquet head) and pushing everything. Everything. She was remarkably good at this, keeping most balls deep and in corners. She wasn't missing much, except when she stumbled coming in or when she pushed one long. Anyway, I got anxious and went away from the plan. I went back to pushing with her, watching balls land short, but not pursing them because I was afraid I'd miss. And again, I found myself with a dwindling lead. 5-3. 5-4. 6-5. I lost every game. Meanwhile, the other singles match had ended, and I could tell my the cheers of the opposing them that it was all on me.
And I blinked.
One double-fault, a wayward forehand and a two-handed backhand volley that landed wide, and I was down 3-0. I got it to 4-2 with a running passing shot, but it was the last good contact I had with the ball. I tried to calm myself, convince myself to get back to the plan, when I stood to serve, down 3-6. I eased in a second serve and then hit a forehand while stumbling backwards. I knew it would be long.
Nearly three hours later, I had lost a match that I had multiple opportunities to win. And even now, it makes my stomach turn. This one's going to stay with me for some time, I think. I know why -- I've never thrown a match away before. Obviously, I've come out with my back to the wall and lost that. I've also been in real tussles with equal players, but never been unable to convert match points or match games when I had them. I felt I wasn't being outplayed -- my opponent played as scared as I did. If you have that many chances to win and come away with a loss, it's because of you. It's disappointing, because I had a great year last year, and thought I was past the yips. More painful is that I can visualize the points in hindsight where if I had done something else -- no drop shot return in the first set, not quitting on a point because I thought my shot was going out -- that would have made a huge difference. I choked, and that's hard to swallow.
So. It really sucked to have to write this. And as bad as I feel right now, I know the only thing that will make it go away is to play again, to win again. I have to get back on the horse. And there's no better way than to start at the beginning, with my goals for the season:
1. To make it back to Princeton -- and to win maybe two matches this time. (With this team loss, this one's almost completely out of our hands at this point -- everyone would need to lose twice for us to get back in the race. But ... you play to win the game, right, Herminator?)
2. To get moved up to the 4.0 level. (ri-ight)
3. To win (the rest of) my matches and utterly dominate all my opponents. (Stop laughing.)