Il bat Roger Federer – enfin – après douze défaites contre le Suisse en autant de matches et va en finale du Masters. C’est tellement beau pour le Russe, tellement fort, qu’il ne lève même pas les bras à l’issue de la balle de match.

Il faut dire qu’il revient de loin Nikolaï Davydenko. Parce qu’en terme de pari, il sait de quoi il parle. En 2007, à Sopot (en Pologne), sa réputation en avait pris un sacré coup. Il avait abandonné en arguant une blessure au pied contre l’obscur Argentin Arguello (87e mondial. Davydenko 4e) après avoir gagné la première manche. Juste après qu’une somme de cinq millions d’euros (dix fois plus que les montants habituellement engagés sur un tel match sur internet) a été misée sur le web quelques minutes auparavant… en faveur d’Arguello ! De quoi éveiller les soupçons… et notamment de la société de paris en ligne (Betfair, en français “parier régulièrement !) qui avait pour la seule fois de son existence refusé de régler ceux qui avaient misé sur le vainqueur de ce match.

Davydenko, après de nombreux rebondissements et des tonnes de commentaires* le plus souvent défavorables dans la presse et par ses collègues sur sa personne (il a souvent sinon balancé des matches, du moins mis le minimum de volonté à les jouer à fond), a été blanchi par l’ATP en 2008.

Aujourd’hui, face au numéro un mondial, il a au moins montré qu’il voulait se battre sur un court avec la dernière énergie . On parie qu’il n’abandonnera pas en finale ?

*McEnroe avait évoqué la possibilité (dans une interview au Daily Telegraph) de la présence menaçante de la mafia russe dans ces histoires de paris truqués.

POR Teresa Garrido

Los de Getxo acaban de sacar Tú nunca morirás, un nuevo álbum cargado de sensibilidad que demuestra que lo suyo, en el mundo de la música, no es un éxito transitorio.

No hubo arroz, ni tarta de merengue para dos, ¡ni vivan los novios!, ni déjame que me quede un poquito a tu lado, algo así como para siempre. Y después de ese todo: silencio, vacío y algo de existencialismo puro, del que desangra según pasan los días. No todas las historias de amor terminan bien y justo son esas, las que se quedan por el camino, a las que McEnroe ha creado un monumento en su último álbum, Tú nunca morirás.

El año pasado se ganaron el título de ser una de las bandas más prometedoras del momento por Mundo Marino (Subterfuge, 2008) y este 2009 los de Getxo siguen forjándose una merecida reputación de talento nato, crudo y sin colorantes. Tú nunca morirás ofrece una sobredosis de indie “made in” el norte con canciones melancólicas cuyo punto de unión es la profundidad de sus letras. Deteniendo la mirada en su herida, McEnroe ha apostado por un trabajo sincero y sentido, como una caricia [con un cristal] en la espalda.

Notaza en producción
La vivencia del naufragio, de la frustración que deja lo que pudo haber sido y resultó terminar en nada. Nueve canciones que hablan, que lloran, con la sinceridad emocional de quien ya ha dado todo por perdido, pero que sigue calentándose a la lumbre de unos sentimientos tan intensos que te atraviesan. Y a pesar del dolor, sigue habiendo amor.

Un disco dual, en el que el lamento se mitiga con una calidez sonora que conjuga a la perfección el susurro y el estruendo, como en Tormentas, pero también el sonido más original en Los Valientes. En ésta última se nota más que en ningún otro tema que la producción del álbum, de notable para arriba, ha corrido a cargo de todo un profesional en provocar descargas de sentimientos y sensaciones, Abel Hernández (Migala, El Hijo).

Los Veranos, cantada íntegramente por Miren Iza (Tulsa), da tregua al invierno de McEnroe y deja pasar entre sus cuerdas vocales un rayito de luz. Después, el tono crepuscular vuelve con las delicadas Tú nunca Morirás, Cuando Suene o La noche de San Juan, 7 minutos de canción que demuestran que los chicos de McEnroe se encuentran muy a gusto haciendo lo que hacen y que confían plenamente en su trabajo.

Naoko -que bien podría ser uno de los solitarios personajes de las novelas de Murakami- es el adagio que cierra el álbum, ¡cómo no!, con una consecución de frases que bombardean con sentimientos directos al corazón: “yo también quería ser aplastado por toneladas de cariño que merezco y que nunca me has dado”.

Los Valientes

Tormentas

Publicado en Suie101

TEXTO: J. Batahola para Mondosonoro.
Que se rompa un amplificador a mitad del concierto es motivo de (justificado) pánico para casi cualquier músico. Afortunadamente, los técnicos de El Sol resolvieron el problema con eficacia ejemplar. En la recta final de uno de los conciertos más intensos del año, el hecho quedó en anécdota. Casi cuarenta minutos antes los de Getxo empezaron con “Los Valientes”, después vendrían casi todas las demás canciones de un álbum que a veces peca del peligro de una producción “de firma” pero con el que la banda parece sentirse muy bien sobre las tablas. Los matices de Abel Hernández a los mandos –tocó junto a Mirem Iza de Tulsa “Tú nunca morirás” quedaron tamizados sobre el escenario por la fuerza de un bajo nítido y rotundo, una voz realmente firme y la seguridad que les ha dado como instrumentistas. “Los Veranos”, “Tormentas” y “La Noche de San Juan” fueron tres de los mejores momentos del primer concierto “grande” de los vizcaínos en Madrid. Con la sala El Sol a media entrada, cerraron el show con dos de los mejores temas de “Mundo Marino”; “Mi Vietnan” y “Montreal”, y un segundo e inesperado bis; “Resurrección”.

This week in Paris has been absolutely fascinating. As far as end of season tournaments go, Paris has been by far the best. Despite del Potro’s retirement, Federer’s first round loss, and Mandy’s loss to the ever annoying Stepanek, tennis fans have had plenty to enjoy. Rafael Nadal fought his way through to the semi finals, Gael Monfils gave the home crowd something to cheer for, and Novak Djokovic captured the title with his best tennis of the year. But before any of this happened, we said goodbye to one of tennis’s most loved men, Marat Safin.

Writing about a player you know hardly anything about should be difficult. Especially when you are hardly even a fan of said player. But the thing with Marat is, he inspired conversation and enthusiasm with all tennis fans, no matter how much you liked him. And even if, like me, you found it hard to support a man that dragged his feet through his last year on tour, appeared to hate the sport, spoke about having no friends on tour, and stated time and time again that he could not wait to forget about tennis, Marat Safin would somehow find a way to wiggle into your heart. Because despite his anti Federer/Nadal personality, there is a lot to love about the angry, misunderstood Russian. And I don’t just mean his good looks.

Marat Safin has something we don’t see much amongst the stern faced competitors of the ATP: a fabulous sense of humour. His pressers were always honest, interesting, and funny. Whether he was putting himself down, bemoaning the price of strawberries, or telling Andre Agassi where to go, Marat could always be counted on to say something funny and shocking. You can forget the formalities with Marat, want an alternative to Nadal’s humble post-loss speeches? Then Marat was your man.

Not the world’s best role model, this is the man who showed up to a match supported by a girl with her nipples showing. Then there was the time he arrived with a black eye, having found himself in a fight the night before. We were hardly suprised. Marat has walked off court after being called for a foot fault, and he has smashed more racquets than Fernando Gonzalez. He has never been very good at controlling his temper.

With all this anger, slutiness, and disdain for tennis, a casual tennis fan might find it hard to see what all the fuss is about. Indeed, hardly anyone could get away with the behaviour Marat has displayed over his career. Andy Roddick has acted similarly at times, but recieves as much criticism as he does love. The men I was too young to watch that threw racquets and went off their head seem to gather a lot of dislike as well. I have heard many people express their dislike of John McEnroe. Even Andre Agassi is finding the public against him after basking in their praise for many years. What is it about Marat that makes him so untouchable?

It sounds cruel, but Marat Safin simply has not had the career success to generate much hatred against him. Despite his two Grand Slams, fifteen titles, and a number one ranking, many people think that with a backhand that beautiful, Safin is an underachiever. Defenders of Marat point to a man called Roger Federer, and others say Marat is a choker through and through. The truth is probably a combination of both.

Marat has more than just an underdog charm to win so many people over. Marat has charisma. Oodles of it. He is funny, he is emotional, he loves his little sister, and, let’s face it, Marat is incredibly good looking. Marat wins male tennis fans over with his anger and sense of humour, women flock to his charm and his rugged bad-boy looks.

Yet there is still much more to Marat than good looks, anger, and humour. These are all entertaining characteristics, but there is one more thing that makes Marat so loveable. So relatable. Marat Safin spend his last year on tour itching to retire. Especially in the first half of the year, he spoke frequently about how tennis was boring, coming across as a man who hated the sport that had made him rich and famous. He said he had no friends on tour, that he didn’t enjoy it. It was around this time I wondered if I liked Marat at all. Then his retirement grew nearer, and I think we all saw the truth. Marat Safin was a man once hailed as the next big thing. He must have been filled with hope and excitement after his grand slam success. Things just didn’t turn out that way for him. Over the years, Marat became someone known as a choker, an underachiever, and people wondered what could have been. When Marat spoke of tennis earlier this year like he did, I thought I heard hatred in his voice. But what I heard was disappointment and bitterness. Marat Safin won two slams, was number one, won fifteen titles, and finished his career inside the top one hundred. Looking back, what a marvelous career he had. At the time, though, we didn’t think so. It isn’t Marat that let himself down. Tennis let Marat down.

So heres to the most universally liked player of the last decade. The man that has made every fan smile at some point. Marat Safin is one of the most likeable players ever because he is one of the most human. There is no robotic like talent, no humbled victories, nothing we can’t relate to, or see within ourselves. He is a man noone hates. There is noone else like Marat Safin. No player can replace him. When we looks back on him in the future, it isn’t his tennis people will remember. It is the man.

Now what an achievement that is.

I have often wondered about the DNA of the sports fan. Especially in the Indian context. In a country that is starved of a serious sporting culture, being a fan of any sport or sportsman is the closest to attaining sporting nirvana. Notwithstanding the sporadic successes of Indians of late, this is, unfortunately, still the case.

The advent of satellite television has changed things, especially in urban and suburban India. The ability to identify with sporting icons, be it in team or individual sport, has outgrown the narrow confines of national boundaries. Whilst this was always the case, their prevalence and pervasiveness, thanks to the explosion in the media industry, particularly television, is wider and deeper now. In India, with its predominantly young population yearning for sporting success stories to identify and associate with, the absence of national sporting icons worthy of “loyalty allocation”, means that we are a nation of the “undiluted television sporting fan”. I would define a UTSF as anyone with access to view the best of sporting action happening anywhere in the world but who, for a variety of reasons, not the least being his unwillingness to distance himself from the comforts of his arm chair, has precious little working knowledge of the sport that his icon, be it a team or individual is engaged in. Typically, children grow to like a sport by playing it. And they play it by watching older people play in the neighbourhood. This is how I learnt to play cricket and soccer. Physical accessibility to the sport was crucial in defining my interests. My first love was playing cricket and once my eyes were opened to the joys of television, over a very short period of time, Sunil Gavaskar became my favorite cricketer. At least in my case it was not a case of the tail wagging the dog. However irreverent it may sound, and ignoring the perverseness of the underlying logic in the statement, I idolised Gavaskar because I thought he played like I would or I did. And to this day, Gavaskar remains my favorite sportsman, cutting across all sports and generations. Once cricket won my heart over, soccer became the casualty. Much as I would like to say that cricket’s gain was soccer’s loss, subsequent events would belie that statement. But this has never come in the way of my contention that with a little more encouragement (and a lot more ability, which I refuse to disclose), I would have been the Indian Paul Collingwood. However, in my case, what this translated into was an abiding love for these two sports, as opposed to the purveyors of the sport, much more ingrained and a lot less fickle than my allegiance to other sports. Inevitably, in the intervening period cricketers and footballers have come and gone. At various points I had to choose between Zico and Maradona, Socrates and Rummenigge, Rush and Rossi, Sachin and Lara, Mark and Steve Waugh, Warne and Kumble and so on. But the overarching allegiance was to the sport. However cliched it may sound to the rest of the world.

On the other end of the spectrum, I enjoyed watching tennis on television primarily because I enjoyed watching McEnroe. For me, at an impressionable age, tennis WAS McEnroe. I, inexplicably, chose to favor McEnroe over Borg (curious isn’t it, given that Borg was more in the Gavaskar mould). To me, tennis stopped with the retirement of Mac. I did flirt occasionally with the Agassis, Ivanisevics and Brugueras, but it was just not the same. To some extent, Federer, thanks to his pervasiveness, has come to occupy a special place. But to usurp Mac’s place in my pantheon, not even close. To this days, I have not set foot inside a tennis court. Maybe that partially explains the obsession with the players as opposed to the sport itself. Similar was the fate of F1 motorpsort. Being part of a generation that grew up reading (not viewing) Senna’s exploits at the wheel and his legendary rivalry with Prost, the idol equated to the sport. Again, Hakkinen threatened momentarily, especially the way in which he stood up to Schumacher, but it was altogether much too brief to leave any lasting impression.

To put things in perspective, I have to explain the case of my father-in-law’s obsession with, of all things, Indian football. True Goan that he is, he has a genetic predisposition towards soccer. This is understandable. But what makes it weird is his obsession with Indian football. In my own case, once having tasted the elixir of world football, thanks to Brain Glanville and the Sportstar, the affair with Indian soccer was terminated abruptly and decisively. In his case, the affliction with Indian soccer is chronic. To the extent that he refuses to have a Tata Sky connection in his house because they do not offer Z Sports in their bouquet. To this day, he follows the fortunes of Salgaocar, Vasco and Dempo. Although he has never explicitly mentioned this to me, I have a feeling that he considers Churchill Bros to be some kind of upstarts, given their lack of tradition and history. He tries his best to catch live action on the ground whenever possible. No one in the family would have held a grudge against him for that, but for his insistence in analysing ad nauseum the relative performance of the team for the benefit of the few unfortunate enough to be around him on his return from the ground. The unintended consequence of this has been my mother-in-law developing an intense loathing for Indian soccer. Not for my father-in-law, the glitz and glamor of the EPL or the Serie A. The concept of sport as a spectacle does not move him. At best, he may condescend to watch the World Cup Soccer Semi-Finals and Finals.

Is it any wonder that I am left wondering about the DNA of the Sports Fan.

Fin de semana marcado por los conciertos Fin de Gira de Vetusta Morla en los locales en los que empezaron a hacerse un grupo grande, debe ser un gustazo poder presenciar su actuación minoritaria en El Café La Palma. Pero, probablemente el mejor concierto del fin de semana vaya a otra sala pequeña, la del Círculo de Bellas Artes donde actuará el cantautor de folk-rock americano Elliot Murphy junto a su banda The Normandy All Stars. Y mi favorito del fin de semana no llegará hasta el domingo, cuando los escoceses Camera Obscura presenten su fantástico My Maudlin Career en la Sala Heineken. Además de estos también destacar las actuaciones de Love of Lesbian, PAL y la de Pelle Carlberg en Alcalá de Henares.

Jueves 5
Sidonie. Joy Eslava, 21:30h. 15€
Vetusta Morla. Café La Palma. 21:00h. Gratis con Invitación (La invitación consiste en tener la edición especial del disco)
McEnroe + The Folding&The Point, El Sol. 22:30h. 12/14€

Viernes 6
Vetusta Morla, La Riviera. 20:30h. 22€
Elliot Murphy. Círculo de Bellas Artes, 21:30h. 20€
Pelle Carlberg. Teatro Salón Cervantes de Alcalá de Henares, 23:00h.

Sabado 7
Love of Lesbian. La Riviera, 20:00h. 17€
Extraperlo. Nasti, 22:00h. 12€
Vetusta Morla, Joy Eslava. 21:30h. Entradas agotadas
PAL + Alado Sincera. Moby Dick, 21:00h. 10€
Espanto + Antonna. Ochoymedio, 22:00h.

Dominto 8
Camera Obscura + Magic Arms + The Starlets. Sala Heineken, 20:00h. 20/24€

Pelle Carlberg – I love you, You imbecile

Novak Djokovic VS John McEnroe … Novak Djokovic VS John McEnroe เทนนิสสนุกเรื่องตลกเกมฮ่าๆอเมริกาสหรัฐอเมริกาเปิด geenstijl dumpert stijl geen POWNED กีฬาโทรทัศน์ทีวีจิ้งจอก

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHolVks7o98&hl=en

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It used to be that the stereotype of the salesman was that of the smooth, slick, fast-talking used car salesman.  The reason was that it worked.  People were drawn to someone who was outgoing, aggressive, and made a lot of promises.  In recent years, the image of the salesman has changed somewhat, or at least I thought so.  People wised up a bit, and realized that it wasn’t how loudly or authoritatively someone talked, but instead, there was a trend toward being natural and authentic.  So much so, in fact, that salespeople, as well as broadcasters, were taught to talk naturally, as if you’re talking to someone, more so than to just shout.

But sometimes, it still seems like it’s the person who uses the traditional sales approach, or more accurately, has a loud or outgoing personality, who flourishes, especially for people who aren’t quite sure what they are looking for and are therefore looking for a figure of authority.  You know the type – the person who can dazzle you with a speech and make your eyes glaze over (“Wow – this person really knows what he’s talking about.”).  Then at the end of the speech, you don’t remember what was said, just that it was said in an authoritative way.  They can do a Powerpoint presentation but aren’t always the most effective at getting the job done.  But it’s comforting to have a person tell you what you need to do.

We see the love of this personality in sports.  Look at the Brett Favre phenomenon.  He’s outgoing and emotional, so the fans and media love him.  But as good as he is, he only has one championship in a nearly 20-year career.  He also is a mistake-prone quarterback, throwing more interceptions than anyone in NFL history.

Look at tennis.  Who do you think the casual fan would say is was the best tennis player out of this group:  Ivan Lendl, John McEnroe, Mats Wilander, Stephan Edberg, or Boris Becker?  Hands down, people would say McEnroe, despite the fact that all of the players listed won between 6 and 8 Grand Slam championships.  It’s McEnroe’s personality – he made a lot of noise and people remember that.

I’m not saying that all loud people lack authenticity, or that all laid back people are genuine.  I’ll I’m saying is don’t be fooled by the person who talks with an air of authority without authenticity.  Don’t overlook the person who is down to earth, which is easy to do if your head is in the clouds.

Este fin de semana Serena Williams fue descalificada del U.S.Open por querer meterle una pelota por la garganta a una china que le cobró foot fault. Acá les dejo el video del acontecimiento y debajo un video en honor al rey del bardo, John Mcenroe. disfrutenlos.

Tá, eu sei que todo mundo se entretendo com a novela e talz, mas pra descontrair segue um vídeo do US Open, 4 Grand Slam de 2009, onde o Djokovic “bate uma bolinha” com o John McEnroe. Num esporte de tão alto nível, é bom ver que as lendas são respeitadas e o público tem seus momentos de deleite.

Ainda tem o Djokovic imitando o McEnroe no começo. Hilário

Associated Press

UPDATE BELOW

Everyone except for the humorless Roger Federer enjoyed Joker’s player impersonations, that’s why I thought it was a shame when he stopped doing them. Stopped until Monday night, that is. After his surprisingly easy win over Radek Stepanek, a mischievous Nolle tried to lure coach and NY fan favorite Todd Martin onto court to hit a few balls. When Todd demurred, Nolle challenged John McEnroe.

OF COURSE John didn’t need to be asked twice. He ripped off his tie and headset and headed for the court. Meanwhile, Nolle revealed his McEnroe impersonation, complete with short-shorts, limping walk, shirt-sleeve pulling and the McEnroe serve. The crowd roared. Once McEnroe made it to the court, the fans went bonkers, especially after Johnny Mac lined up to serve with precisely the same gestures demonstrated by Nolle. The two had a good time fooling around for a few minutes and the crowd was delighted. What a wonderful way to cap the best four days of grand slam tennis I have watched in a long time.

One would think the Four Letter would have the video up immediately, but alas, even two hours later it is nowhere to be found. When it becomes available, I’ll post it. Novak is best when he is relaxed. An easy win and adoring crowd can only help his confidence.

UPDATE

Here it is, courtesy of Australian tv. The Four Letter put about 90 seconds of the video on its website but ESPN does not allow embedded videos. The match included neither Tim Tebow and Brett Favre, so the network can’t devote any resources to it.

1. Roger’s hypothetical faux-slam. Seriously people, he hasn’t won three in a row yet, but you’re already hyping him up for Australia and four in a row, which is being called the completion of a Grand Slam? Some nerve. Martina Navratilova completed the faux-slam but didn’t get credit for it… because it isn’t a grand slam. Grand Slam = all four majors in the calendar year. How come the pundits are unanimously claiming that IF Roger wins the US Open and IF he wins Australia, his four in a row WILL BE as impressive as a real Grand Slam? It ain’t so. And he hasn’t done it, so let’s move on. Please.

2. Clijsters is a mom. And it’s incredible, only two women have won grand slam titles as mothers and her baby is adorable, looks just like her. Even as a Kim fan, I’m tired of hearing about the mom thing on every headline. She’s back, she may well win a grand slam title, as a  mother. What’s more interesting is the story we aren’t hearing about:  the death of her father Leo Clijsters, from lung cancer last year. I have a feeling that his illness was known to her when she retired. We don’t know, ’cause no one’s asking. ‘Cause she’s a mom.

3. Oudin is the future of American tennis. Might be, probably will be a big factor in years to come. But as Jon Wertheim noted over on his blog, the hype machine is roaring to life on this one, so get ready for a frenetic couple of months (and probably the next year) of relentless stories on America’s Next Top Model..er, Sweetheart. Oudin strikes me as one of those rare breeds, the kind who step up in the face of pressure rather than being beaten down. Even so, she will run into a wall at some point. Then we’ll get “what’s wrong with her” stories that talk incessantly about the media overhyping her.

4. The McEnroe Brothers. “We’re from Queens and isn’t it amazing John/Patrick, us two Queens boys, broadcasting night matches together at the US Open for ESPN! Remember when we used to ride the train in, from Queens, and we’d see that stadium. Even though it wasn’t this stadium, nor was it Forest Hills, it was Forest Meadows, but who’s counting? Two Queens boys, we are… Now here we are. At the US Open. Probably no one out there in TVLand is familiar with the story of the two McEnroe Brothers.” Sock. in. it.

5. Sharapova’s “comeback” instead of “Sharapova’s dicey shoulder.” There is only one commentator getting this one right and it is the venerable Pam Shriver, no stranger to the destructive aftermath of shoulder surgery. To paraphrase Shriver, there is no guarantee Maria gets back in the top 5 if that shoulder won’t hold up. The “comeback” has been going on since May, and as Shriver points out, we’ve seen many comebacks in women’s tennis that have taken half that time.  Kim’s is just the most recent. It isn’t Maria’s fault, shoulder surgery strikes terror into the heart of a tennis player. Unlike pitchers who have to pitch only once every four days (and they are not assured of a positive outcome either), tennis players must play for several hours every day, with hundreds of serves. The coming back part is over, now we watch as her career hangs in the balance on a sketchy shoulder.

6. Roddick’s weight loss. I’m hedging on this one because I haven’t minded it too much. It certainly has been the catalyst for his resurgence. But I’m certain that a lot of you cannot stand to hear one more word about this – just like I was ready to take the gas pipe after we spent the last five years of Andre Agassi’s career hearing about his training regimen with Gil Reyes up magic mountain. (There oughta be a way to make With Gil Reyes Up Magic Mountain into a folk song about acid, but alas, that’s not my era.)

7. What’s wrong with Safina: I have no clue. Turn the page. Big Brother Marat was a nut who wasted his considerable gifts, but he was a toad. His sister is not a toad. Like Wertheim, I’m inclined not to pile on. Watching her mentally torture herself is horrible. She may benefit from not being number 1 – but we said that about Jankovic and Ivanovic, too. How’s that working out?

8. Who’s number 1 on the WTA Tour? Serena. Williams. Is. Number. 1. Got it? The rankings don’t reflect it, but let’s acknowledge reality – Serena is number 1, Safina number 1 on paper. Don’t get me wrong, Safina earned the ranking. There’s just no need to bandy this about incessantly. Until the system changes, or Serena decides to try to win non-G.S. tournaments, we’re stuck with this bogus argument. A year from now this may be fascinating, especially if Maria fixes her shoulder, Clijsters is in the mix and Henin is back. Until then.. Serena. Williams. Is. Number. 1.

Honorable mentions: James Blake as a title contender (how’s that working out for you, Brad?), Verdasco’s training with Gil Reyes (referenced repeatedly by yours truly), Rafa’s low expectations (part legit, part sandbagging by Rafa’s camp), The Tennis Channel’s firsts (first night match, first morning show, first time Jimmy Connors has been interesting), shots of someone’s girlfriend during the middle of a point (a losing battle, this one)

The Four-Letter has come a long way over the last three years. So far, in fact, that I was quite pleased to see the network take the US Open away from USA Network, which had grown complacent.

The multiplicity of voices on ESPN works for me. The jury is still out on host Hannah Storm, but she is reliably smooth and professional. Mary Jo Fernandez is always willing to call a spade a spade.  Mary Carillo is still the best analyst – better even than McEnroe in my view. Seeing her and Cliff Drysdale brings back memories. (Fred Stolle where are you?)

Tracy Austin and Ted Robinson were exhausting and excessively chatty and we never got a break from them. My dislike for Robinson is well known. I was pleasantly surprised that he did not make the move to ESPN. McEnroe and Robinson have been having the same conversation for the last ten years. McEnroe still makes for good tv, but having him react to new voices will push him. It’s also nice to see actual debates and disagreements about what players should do.

Darren Cahill is the best tactical expert the network has on tennis.I’m impressed that ESPN thinks so too. When Brad Gilbert became available to the network, most people expected to see Cahill shunted aside. But Darren is a voice of reason who easily brings the focus back to the match. It’s easy to see why he was an extremely effective coach.

The Brothers McEnroe called the Roddick match together and it was enjoyable. I’ll be watching though, to see if Patrick can keep John from conducting a nostalgia parade.  John offered his own review of ESPN’s effort, bemoaning the fact that David Robinson and Doug Flutie didn’t join him in the booth. Wise decision, ESPN. I don’t need to hear Flutie’s opinion on tennis (and Flutie is a terrible football analyst, too. Which means I don’t need to hear his views on ANYTHING)

ESPN ditched the stupid Michael Barkaan/Extra! style of sideline reporting. I get that we’re in New York and we  can expect some celeb interview drivel from time to time, but last night it was minimal and I loved it. This is the biggest difference between USA and ESPN. Rather than turning the courtside reporter into a celebrity gosspip correspondent, Cahill and Pam Shriver give insight into what’s happening courtside. After Roddick cut his ear and it bled all ovr the court, he got into it with the chair umpire. Cahill found out it was because the ball kids were not allowed to touch Roddick’s bloody towels. (HIV rules) A stack of fresh white towels were delivered so the kids could keep them coming.

Interviews with family and coaches are a mixed bag because often they chose to say nothing, but kudos to Shriver for getting both Richard Williams and Venus’ hitting parnter, David Witt, to spill the beans about Venus’ tendinitis and acknowledge her crappy play.

Guest commentary from Agassi was fascinating. He really has insight into how the game is played. Twenty years ago I never thought I would write that. Visits to the booth ought to be limited to former players and coaches, because they have the inside track.

Now that I’ve written a glowing review of ESPN, they’ll probably screw up tonight.

“What a polite game tennis is.  The chief word in it seems to be “sorry” and admiration of each other’s play crosses the net as frequently as the ball.”

-J.M. Barrie

            I know I that I have a tendency to complain about modern conveniences and behavior, but with the U.S Open coming up, I’d like to take a second to express my admiration for one of my favorite traditions in sports.  Obviously, tennis has come a long way in the past hundred years, moving out of stodgy country club settings with all white clothing and expressions of joy or anger largely frowned upon.  It’s made its way into becoming an exciting mainstream sport: colorful and full of emotion.  These changes took some time.  Johnny Mac’s behavior was so out of line for his era that when he first won Wimbledon in 1981, his membership to the All England Club was delayed a year, making him the first player to not immediately receive a membership tie upon winning the tournament.  I can’t verify this, but I once heard a story that when he won the tournament for a second time in 1983, the tournament director came into the locker room where Mac was taking a bath and threw the “membership tie” into the bath, quipping, “Welcome to the club,” as he walked away.
            Today, such volatile behavior is commonplace.  Hawk-Eye technology has done a great deal to curb major on-court outbursts, but so many of the players are such prima donnas and are constantly finding something or other to complain about.  It’s all too common for players to blame a loss on their own poor performance rather than simply being outplayed and giving credit to their opponent (especially the women…it’s not sexist, it just seems to be the way it is: watch any press conference after Venus or Serena or Maria loses).  Two weeks ago at the Legg Mason Tennis Classic in D.C, Andy Roddick pitched a fit because Ivo Karlovic was taking too long to make his Hawk-Eye challenges, as if he was simply groping for anything to complain about.
             But that’s sports for you.  High paid athletes complaining and acting with irreverence is nothing new.  But in spite of all of this, tennis has held on to one tradition, which albeit minute, in my opinion speaks volumes.  It’s this simple:  When a player wins a point because his/her shot bounces off of the net and still goes over on to the other side, the player who hit the shot almost always quickly raises his/her arm up, palm facing the opponent.  Winning a point this way is maybe the equivalent of an own-goal in soccer, or perhaps an error in baseball, but for either of those blunders, celebration is allowed, even expected.  In tennis, instead of a pumped fists and cries of victory, it’s a brief gesture, seemingly automatic at this point: the ball takes a strange bounces off the net and skids away, and then the arm shoots up.  If you watch this closely, the player’s head generally moves in tandem with the arm, looking down at the ground rather than at his/her opponent.
            It’s all at once a gesture of apology and shame.  Apology, in the acknowledgment that it’s not a fair way to win a point.   Shame, in the inevitable relief of winning the point, but not wanting to display any of that happiness for the sake of sportsmanship.  It’s something done without thought; a rote reaction embedded deeply in the game and in the mind of every player.  But it still carries that same weight and sentiment.  Regardless of how tennis and professional sports in general have changed, that little raise of the arm is a carryover from days when sportsmanship and grace were far more important.
            This action is especially telling at the U.S Open, which begins tomorrow in Flushing Meadows.  The U.S Open is probably the least traditional of all four majors in tennis.  The crowds are raucous and the better known players take on a heightened celebrity status for two weeks.  And if all this wasn’t enough, this week’s sign of the technological apocalypse:  players have been sternly warned about using Twitter during the tournament.  This isn’t necessarily detrimental: all this pressure and the media circus that follows makes for two weeks of intense, exciting tennis.  It easily stands up with the World Series and the Tour de France for one of my favorite events in sports.  Yet, I like to think that there’s some inherent beauty in the fact that with all of this glitter and glam, this subtle gesture of condolence stands untouched, combining modern excitement with classic social graces, preserving a bit of the game’s traditional etiquette and honored integrity for all time.

Arriving just in time for this year’s U.S. Open; the loud and often ill tempered John McEnroe get his own signature T-Shirt.

via

In case you didn’t know… Roger Ferderer, won his 15th major tennis championship this week, so in honor of him Nike released this badass commercial with some pretty big stars in it… ENJOY!

I don’t like Frederer. Some of my friends say it’s because I’m a hater. I say, there is just something about his personality that is not likable. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It might be a combination of both, but that doesn’t explain my love for Tiger Woods and Kobe Bryant. Anyway, he won his 15th Grand Slam the other day and to commemorate his win Nike created a commercial with all the greats congratulating him.