Columns

Since 2002, David has been a contributing columnist for the Minneapolis Star Tribune writing preview articles on tennis' four Grand Slam tournaments - Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon, and U.S. Open. The columns run the Sunday before each tournament.

Next Column: Wimbledon Preview, June 22, 2008

Previous Columns

 

2009 Australian Open Preview

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, January 18, 2009 by David Wheaton

2009 Australian Open Preview: Scotland ’s Murray ’s Plan Down Under – Wear Sunscreen, Win Title

In a country known more for strokers of white dimpled balls than strikers of yellow fuzzy ones, Scotland’s Andy Murray has emerged in 2009 as a kind of prohibitive favorite to win the year’s first major tennis championship, the Australian Open.

“Prohibitive” in that scaling a first major title wall is always fraught with peril not to mention that world numbers one and two, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer respectively, and defending champ Novak Djokovic, will be doing everything they can to prohibit the number-four-ranked Murray from breaking their monopoly of the majors dating back to the 2005 French Open.

Yet a quick glance at the Scot’s results in the last year indicate that the top trio may become a quartet sooner rather than later. Garnering five tour titles in 2008, a final run at the U.S. Open, and a 21-for-23 match win streak since then including a sassy start to the new year in beating Federer and Roddick back-to-back to win Doha , and suddenly, “promising” is turning protagonist before our eyes.

I’ll admit, I, a junior champ at the U.S. Open the year Murray was born (gulp), wasn’t swallowing all the hype about this skinny Scot, a fellow winner of the same event in 2004, after poking my head through the courtside portal of the Grandstand Court at Flushing Meadow a few years back only to see Murray lose a rather whimpering early-round four-setter to someone-or-other.

Yeah, he struck the ball well off both sides, moved fluidly for a tall bloke, and “shortened the court” on occasion (pro-speak for taking the ball inside the baseline), but a point-ending weapon was not evident and the serve and temperament (not to mention the hair) looked out of control.

But now that I think about it, another fighting Scot named William Wallace had his bad days too.

Like him, the 21-year-old Glasgow-born Murray regards himself a commoner rather than a noble, shouting and snarling his way through matches, all spit and vinegar, with the fieriness of a clansman coursing through his veins. For those who follow British tennis, Murray may be the next Big Hope following “Gentleman Tim” Henman, but the untucked and unrefined Scot is the anti-type in every way.

Braveheart may have never made it to Barcelona but that is exactly where a 15-year-old Murray transplanted (at the behest of Rafa Nadal, the legend goes) and where his game was transformed into world-beater material. Who could blame him? The heather on the highlands and the castles on the moors may be beautiful to behold, but unlike drizzly, clammy Scotland , the rain in Spain falls mainly…not at all.

With an entourage that would make Jay-Z jealous – head coach, technical coach, two fitness coaches (in case one breaks), physiotherapist, agent, parents, girlfriend, and more that I’m probably forgetting – Murray has vastly improved his strength and endurance (he’s fond of pounding his chest and pumping his biceps after gut-checking points) and his previously under-performing serve.

Still there is the subtlety of what makes him so good: great court coverage, smart point construction, and a solidness from the baseline that does not easily break down. Not quite an attacker yet certainly not a retriever, he’s more of an all-arounder that keeps the unforced errors low and lets the game come to him.

Most importantly though, with a 5-2 career record over Federer, recent wins over Nadal and Djokovic, and some big tour titles to boot, Andy Murray has earned the belief that his first major – and a Gael-nation celebration – may only be a fortnight away in Melbourne.

Minnesota ’s David Wheaton reached the quarterfinals of singles at the 1990 Australian Open falling to Sweden ’s Stefan Edberg. David is now an author, speaker, radio talk show host, and the touring pro at Wayzata Country Club. You can find out more at DavidWheaton.com.

 

2008 U.S. Open Preview: Federer Suppress

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, August 24, 2008 by David Wheaton

It is with a tinge of sadness that I tell you, the Reign of Roger is over.

Never content with his domain as perpetual number two to the would-be Greatest Ever, Rafael Nadal spent the last three years building a siege mound to the Federer Fortress and in one historic summer it was fait accompli, trouncing Roger for the French Open title in June, wresting the Swiss man’s beloved estate from him at Wimbledon in July, and then garnering Olympic gold and glory last week in Beijing, all on three different surfaces. 

This was no snipe and hope but rather plan, work, improve, and then, invade and occupy with overwhelming force.

As for the sorrow, it stems not from the ascent of Nadal, a man who is a tribute to his sport, his family, and his country, but rather from the unlikelihood that we will ever see such sheer and utter dominance of the game over a half decade performed with such abundance of skill, artistry, and class.

But it’s also for Roger Federer himself.  Empathy towards a twenty-something with 12 major titles and $40 million in prize money may seem misdirected, but there’s something melancholy in Federer’s nature that indicates frustration ahead.     

As a matter of fact, we’ve already caught a glimpse.  Following Federer’s loss to Nadal in the Wimbledon final, I walked from Centre Court to the players’ area contemplating what I had just witnessed – surely, the greatest tennis match ever played.  Thousands of other spectators were doing the same as they made their way to the gates.  There was a palpable buzz whirling throughout the nearly-dark grounds of the All England Club that I will never forget – “Federer’s streak stopped at five!  A new champion at Wimbledon!  What a match!” 

And then, just about to open the door to the players’ area, I saw Roger, head lowered, eyes glazed, without racquet bag or runner-up trophy, walking slowly and alone down the long inner hallway to the locker room.  There was no anger, no “hurry up and get me outta here” attitude, just a despondency that would not see participation in the greatest match ever as some consolation prize.  It was apparent that he had just suffered a wound from which he may never fully recover.

Like putting a prizefighter back in the ring too soon after a devastating defeat, Federer played his first round match in Toronto barely two weeks after the Wimbledon final.  It was painful to watch him uncharacteristically spray unforced errors all over the court in the final game losing to unheralded Frenchman Gilles Simon.  The body was there, the spirit was not. 

On to Cincinnati the next week where he narrowly avoided losing first round again before going down in his second match to another non-household name, Ivo Karlovic.  You gotta hand it to the Federer team – they know how to kick their man when he’s down.  In what should have been a mandatory five-week competition moratorium until the Olympics to ply the stages of grief and to rest, recover, and rebuild, they unwisely chose the “get back on the horse” philosophy.

It came as no surprise that Beijing didn’t go much better with Roger losing for the first time to American James Blake in straight sets in the quarterfinal.  A man so utterly invincible had become so obviously vulnerable in such a short time.

Lest you think this is an obituary and are looking for a year after the hyphen, let me be clear that I do not think Roger Federer is finished.  A champion of his magnitude does not just go away.  From now on though, there will be no more mind-boggling streaks, no more three-slam years; the road has and will become more challenging physically, and especially, mentally.  Is he able to stay healthy and agile in the coming years?  Can he overcome wavering confidence and withstand opponents’ newfound belief?  Will he scrap and claw like other mortals to gut out matches and realize that he actually needs to improve his game and strategy to turn the tables on Nadal, let alone break Sampras’ major mark?

What better place than the U.S. Open, the greatest testing ground of all, to start answering some of these questions.  All things considered this summer, I certainly wouldn’t pick Roger to defend his title, let alone make the semi-finals.  Despite never having passed the quarterfinals on the hard courts in New York, new number one Rafael Nadal is the man of the moment.  He has taken his game to a higher level, one that now pushes Roger around on all surfaces, and is primed to accomplish the rarest of feats, a French Open – Wimbledon – Olympics – U.S. Open quadruple that would have seemed silly just a few months ago but now is only seven matches away.  Last year’s finalist, world number three Serbian Novak Djokovic, will be his biggest obstacle.

Life (and tennis) is nothing if not unpredictable – who would have thought at the dawn of this year that Roger Federer, on a march toward “Greatest Ever”, would arrive in Flushing with an unfamiliar and previously unthinkable role – “Spoiler”. 

 
Minnesota’s David Wheaton was a U.S. Open singles quarterfinalist and doubles finalist in 1990.  A radio talk show host, author, and speaker, David still competes in professional tennis events and serves as the touring pro at Wayzata Country Club.  You can find out more at DavidWheaton.com.

 

2008 Wimbledon Preview: Flowering Peonies in June Mean Wimbledon's About to Bloom

For the Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday June 22, 2008 by David Wheaton

To turn a phrase, let’s start locally, then move globally.  In a few days’ time, I’ll be gathering my racquets and making the tennis pilgrimage to an enchanted ground southwest of London to compete in the “Gentlemen’s Invitational Doubles Championship” at Wimbledon. 

(That’s the British way of saying, “I’m playing the seniors”, a slightly disconcerting thought at age 39, I might add.)

My partner is Texan T.J. Middleton, a former first-rate Tour doubles specialist in the 90s who played for the NCAA tennis powerhouse University of Georgia and then went on to reach the finals of the mixed doubles at Wimbledon in 1994.  T.J. and I won the previously named “Over 35 Doubles” at Wimbledon in 2004, reached the final in 2005 and 2006, and then in 2007…didn’t get invited.  Tough crowd, that Wimbledon selection committee.

One gets invited to play in the “Legends” (there, I like that better) based on one’s results in Wimbledon during one’s playing days.  Past champions are invited first, then finalists, and then on down the list until 16 players have been assembled and paired by “The Committee” for the eight-team doubles-only tournament that takes place during the second week of the Wimbledon fortnight.  One certainly doesn’t importune “The Committee” if one wants to be invited and one certainly doesn’t skip the “Children’s Tennis in the Park” event on the middle Saturday where “it would be appreciated if senior competitors encourage the young players.”  One David Wheaton will be there.

Being the curious folks that we Minnesotans are, the question has been raised in “If I had a nickel” proportions as to how I will be preparing for the lawns of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club here in the Land of Sky Blue Waters, seeing that the nearest grass courts are an airplane ride away.

A logical and reasonable query this, but one that Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer answered last Sunday by each winning their respective grass court tune-up events at the Queen’s Club in London and in Halle, Germany only days after Rafa’s flambé of Roger in the French Open final.  Going from red to green, from dirt to blades didn’t seem to slow them down confirming my little theory:  “The rallies on clay lead to a groove on grass.”         

This is the anomaly called The Championships.  The preeminent Grand Slam event with an allure that transcends tennis and transfixes the globe for two weeks every summer is played on a surface that is “as rare as a day in June” with a lead-up the length of the State Fair. 

But maybe that’s just it, the uniqueness of it all – the grass, the pomp, the tradition, the all whites, the brevity, the history, the royalty, the purple and green, the strawberries and cream – that charms us into believing that life can be prim and proper and darn-near-perfect if only it could be played inside the black wrought-iron gates of the All England Club.

While each detail composes the mosaic, none is more integral to the lore than the lawns.  How astonishing then that there was talk of the grass being replaced with hard courts during Pete Sampras’ serve-dominating reign in the 1990’s.  Bad idea – Wimbledon without grass is the Masters at mini-putt.  Perish the thought.

What subtly ensued was a slight change in the blend of grass growing from a firmed-up base, along with a heavier feeling Slazenger ball (no doubt due to the pressurized ball cans being opened prior to the tournament rather than before each match), which has caused a higher, more friendly bounce for the baseliners and made the serve-and-volleyer an exhibit in the on-site museum. 

Coming from an era where men rushed the net or were laughed at in the dressing room, watching the baseline battles at Wimbledon nowadays for me is a little like watching the Derby run clockwise – there’s still a track and horses and fans and all…but something just doesn’t seem right. 

No point living in the past though.  If nothing else, it’s given El Rey de Clay a chance to be King of England.  The idea, no, the fact, that Rafael Nadal is the almost-favorite to hoist the golden chalice after two straight final appearances and a first grass court title last week at Queen’s shows that 21st Century Wimbledon is definitely not your father’s Oldsmobile.  I still rather like Federer, though, with his variety of shot and agility of movement, not to mention the confidence of having won five straight crowns and being unbeaten on the surface since 2002. 

Considering the stature of the leading ladies, it’s no wonder the diminutive Justine Henin abruptly retired this spring without a Wimbledon title to her seven-major career.  The top contenders, new world number one and French Open champ, Serbian Ana Ivanovic, along with Maria Sharapova and Venus and Serena Williams, are all pushing six feet or more and playing a bruising style that should lead to some fireworks around the fourth of July.  I’ll pick the focused and flat-hitting Sharapova to win her second Rosewater Dish.

His life ending when The Championships had just begun in the late 1800’s, poet James Russell Lowell wrote:

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays.

Surely, Lowell must have seen those rare days – those perfect days – at Wimbledon, when the racquets are in tune.

 

Minnesota’s David Wheaton is an author, speaker, radio talk show host, and touring pro at Wayzata Country Club.  On July 1-6, you can watch his matches at Wimbledon live online at Wimbledon.org. 

 

2008 French Open Preview: Maximus Enters Paris Ready to Rumble

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, May 25, 2008 by David Wheaton

Telling trivia question: What is world number two Rafael Nadal’s favorite movie?  Hint:  The lead character battles men to death on a surface of dirt in front of thousands of people.

Tennis Magazine may have recently declared the Spanish Sensation as the second coming of Jimmy Connors (i.e. left-handed, fist-pumping grinders) but Nadal, or “Rafa” as he’s affectionately called, is far more Crowe than Connors. 

Well, not the actual Russell Crowe but the character he played (Maximus) in Nadal’s favorite film, Gladiator.  It all makes perfect sense.  As “El Rey de Clay” enters his own coliseum known as Stade Roland Garros to do battle over the next fortnight, he is the overwhelming favorite to be the last man standing when the red brick dust settles on the 2008 French Open. 

Incidentally, Connors never won the French Open (Nadal’s gunning for four straight), Connors never hit a lick of topspin (Nadal redefines the term), and perhaps the most stark contrast, Jimbo’s crotch-grabbing, bird-flipping, obscenity-spewing pretensions would never see the light of day in the Spaniard’s playbook.  Don’t let the swashbuckling pirate look fool you, Rafa is much too good of a sportsman and role model for any of that. 

Asked in that Tennis Magazine article about his relationship with his main rival, world number one Roger Federer, Nadal replied, “He is a very nice person and a great competitor.  I really admire what he does, how he plays, and how he behaves on and off the court.  He is a role model for many people.” 

There, a caballero in touch with his feminina. 

To be fair, Connors’ main rival was the maniacal John McEnroe…not a whole lot of complimentary material there, but I digress.  The youngsters of the tennis world are truly fortunate and enhanced by being able to look up to Roger and Rafa.  They do their sport, their families, and their countries proud.

Being a role model alone, though, doesn’t win you 108 of 110 matches on clay dating back to April 2005 when Nadal’s mega-clay-court-dominance began, including a perfect 21-0 record at Roland Garros.  No, it’s that fight-to-the-death gladiator mentality that separates Nadal from every other player in the world.

Watch him work himself sweaty before the match, see him sprint back to the baseline for the warm-up, marvel at the energy he expends on every shot every point, shake your head in disbelief at the unreachable balls he returns with interest and you’ll understand why this 21-year-old is destined to be the Greatest Ever on clay.  He’s never seen a point he’s not dying to win, a ball he’s not willing to chase.

To borrow a cycling term, Nadal makes you “suffer.”  It’s the offensive juice on his heavily topped forehand that he zings in banana-like arcs to far-reaching corners of the court forcing opponents into untenable positions coupled with his defensive skills of agility, feel, and desire that frustrates opponents into going for too much too soon.  It’s just plain hard to win a point against this taller-than-you-think (6’1”) muchacho.

Just ask the superstar Swiss, who has been made to look average by Nadal the last three years in Paris at the one major Federer is yet to claim.  The red clay – and the Spaniard’s defense – absorbs just enough of the sting of the world number one’s pinpoint serve and devastating forehand extending points that would already be over on other surfaces; meanwhile, Rafa’s crosscourt forehand jumps above Roger’s shoulder on his one-handed backhand inducing short replies…and then the domino effect tortuously takes place. 

Lest you think this young man from the sleepy Mediterranean isle of Mallorca – where he still lives in a multi-level home with his extended family and is still coached by his Uncle Toni who changed his naturally right-handed two-hands-off-both sides nephew to a left-handed one-handed forehand at twelve (are you still with me?) – is a single-surface wonder, think again.  Tenacity translates well to any surface and nowhere is that better seen than in Nadal’s two-straight final appearances on the lawns of Wimbledon, where he last year narrowly missed taking down his royal counterpart on grass, Roger Federer.

Picking up his annual hardware at pre-French clay court tune-ups in Monte Carlo, Barcelona, and Hamburg, “inevitable” seems to be the operative word as Nadal enters Paris.  It will take a Herculean effort for someone to beat him on clay in a five-set format – heck, he’s 34-0 lifetime in best-of-five matches on clay and never even been pushed to a fifth set at Roland Garros. 

But as in politics and horse racing, there really is no such thing as inevitability: Hillary had it and lost it; Big Brown has it and the Belmont will test it.  The race needs to be run. In the two-week tennis marathon in Paris, though, my money will be on Rafael Nadal, the Gladiator of Roland Garros.

Minnesota’s David Wheaton, a semi-finalist in doubles and third-rounder in singles at Roland Garros, will be spending the summer teaching Rafael Nadal’s topspin forehand as the Touring Pro on the clay courts of Wayzata Country Club.  You can find out more at DavidWheaton.com. 

 

2008 Australian Open Preview: The Tennis Genius Nears Tennis’ Greatest

For the Minneapolis Star Tribune, January 13, 2008 by David Wheaton

So here we stand, the year 2008 underway, and another season of tennis has already begun.  What with snow and ice and the Vikings on our brains (well, maybe not the Vikings), we Minnesotans can be forgiven for forgetting that the tour is in full swing right now in the Down Under summer.  Rest assured that while we were snuggling up and winding down over the holidays, tennis players from all over the world were stretching out and winding up for the year’s first Grand Slam tournament, the Australian Open.

“Das Tennis Genie.”  It doesn’t take much knowledge of the German language to translate this book’s title…or to guess about whom it’s written.  The tennis genius known as Roger Federer is definitely out of the bottle, only this year he’ll be rubbing the lamp and making a wish that 2008 results in his coronation as the undisputed greatest player in the history of the game.

Despite the Swiss Master’s complete domination of the sport – 12 major titles over the last 18 played and an eye-popping .929 match winning clip (315-14) since 2004 – American Pete Sampras, with his record of 14 majors, still keeps “arguably” in front of Federer’s name when it comes to “best ever” designations. 

There will be no more dispute if one of two things happens this year: 1.) Federer wins two majors tying Sampras’ tally with one of them being the French Open, a place where Sampras never won and Roger is yet to reign, or 2.) Federer wins three majors breaking Sampras’ mark, something that seems almost routine for Roger seeing that he’s done just that the last two years. 

Roger Federer’s gone from temperamental teen-ager (he was a chronic racquet thrower) to promising junior (Wimbledon Junior champ at 17) to underachieving professional (never exceeding a major quarterfinal in his first five years on tour) to the best of the best in the last half decade. 

So what makes this guy so good? 

The recipe is simple yet extremely rare: buckets of athletic ability coupled with gallons of mental tenacity are the core ingredients that produce a Tiger Woods, a Michael Jordan…a Roger Federer.

Physically, Federer has an unparalleled combination of gifts and skills.  His movement is cat-like – quick, balanced, and soft.  Most players feel the pounding of the court; Federer appears to glide over it. 

His strokes are polished and proficient, as likely to produce slice as speed, but always with spin.  His backhand defies opponents; his forehand devastates them.  His serve has equal parts power and placement.  His volleys are crisp; his return is clean.  No stroke needs to be hidden – each has its place and purpose. 

Mentally, Federer has transformed himself into a quiet assassin – dedicated to his craft, clear under pressure, decisive without reckless.  Gone are the days of whining and wailing, of brief glimpses of greatness followed by chronic underachievement.  Here are the years of focus, of consistency, of shouldering his and others’ expectations…and then somehow exceeding them.

Most can hit.  Many can run.  Some can think.  But only one does it all and does it with grace and beauty and sportsmanship.  We should be so fortunate to watch.

Tennis is a ruthless game – teammates can’t support, coaches can’t favor, the ranking system can’t prop.  Even the most successful players must prove their mettle match after match, tournament after tournament, season after season.  A day is approaching when Federer’s feet will slightly slow and his nerve will slightly swerve.  At age 26, he may have two more years of alpha status before the heady days of sheer and utter dominance begin to fade.  He’ll no doubt soldier on, but eventually a perfectionist, without an overpowering serve to rack up down-day victories, will never accept good when he knows what it is to be great.

So Roger Federer arrives in Melbourne, just eight short weeks after a season-ending victory at the Tennis Masters Cup, to defend his Australian Open title and make further progress toward incredible frontiers.  There waiting for him will be the usual cast of characters like Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic, Andy Roddick, David Nalbandian, Andy Murray, and David Ferrer, players who bite and scratch but rarely take him down. 

One might think that yet another year of defending his turf and titles and chasing tennis’ rarest designation would strain to the point of slowing.  There may have been a hint of this last year in some earlier-than-normal tour event exits, but like all great champions, he was able to finish first when it counted most.   

It’s not that history, wealth, and acclaim have no allure for Federer.  It’s just that there’s something more that drives the man, something he intimated at age fifteen after a frustrating junior match:  “One should just be able to play a perfect game.” 

Yep, that explains it.  Federer’s on, as his biography’s subtitle reads, a “Quest for Perfection.”  And if you ask me, no one’s ever come closer. 

Minnesota’s David Wheaton withstood a scorching wind and pesky flies but not net-rushing Stefan Edberg in the quarterfinals of the 1990 Australian Open.  David is an author, speaker, radio talk show host, and the touring pro at Wayzata Country Club.  You can find out more at DavidWheaton.com.

 

2007 U.S. Open Preview: The Serbs are Here with Game and Glam

Minneapolis Star Tribune, August 25, 2007 by David Wheaton

2007 U.S. Open Preview: The Serbs are Here with Game and Glam

One might think that a preview of the U.S. Open would focus on the chances of our home lads and lasses, but this year, three young Serbians – yes, Serbians – will be entering the annual New York party at the National Tennis Center like the proverbial elephants in the room.

While you’re scrambling to your nearest atlas to locate tiny Serbia on the map (in the middle of former Yugoslavia in southeastern Europe), consider that a country of 10 million with a long and circuitous history (very little of it tennis) now has the same number of players in the world’s top 10 (three) as our own country of 300 million with its rich tennis tradition. 

With several ethnic and religious groups sharing the Balkan peninsula for centuries, the region is far better known for its military rather than tennis uprisings.  Yet to explain the sudden surge of the Serbs in 2007, the uprising of fellow countrywoman Monica Seles, winner of eight major titles in the early 1990’s, should not be dismissed as unrelated.

It has occurred too often to deny that the power of inspiration in a child is more than able to overcome any weakness in infrastructure.  For today’s three young Serb tennis stars – Novak Djokovic, 20, ranked number three in the men’s game, and Jelena Jankovic, 22, and Ana Ivanovic, 19, ranked third and fifth in the women’s game – surely were enraptured by a dream in their tender years as they watched Seles will her way to world champion.

And “will” is the operative word as one seeks to understand how these three have come so far despite their rudimentary backgrounds.  Practicing in a drained swimming pool between bombing runs is part of the legend but more likely the universal equation of determined ability plus wise guidance (all three attended foreign tennis academies in their formative years) has led to success on the world’s stage today. 

Djokovic (pronounced JOKE-o-vitch) certainly shouldn’t be considered one as he is a first major away from becoming the third wheel on Roger and Rafa’s dualie.  He has done everything but this year, reaching the semis of the French and Wimbledon, and notably, beating Andy Roddick, Nadal, and Federer back to back to back to win the Canadian Open in Montreal two weeks ago.  (Imagine that phone call home: “Who did you play, son, and how did you do?”) 

To watch him play is to see nothing extraordinary aside from sound technique and excellent agility, but the intangibles under the hood – burning desire, calm and courageous under pressure – are what bode well for even bigger things ahead.  Plus the closeness of his family will help keep his meteoric success in perspective – I watched the Djokovic family take up a back court at Wimbledon a couple years ago where big brother Novak was batting it around his young siblings, burgeoning tennis players in the their own rite.  There was a lot more there than a short stint of obligation.

Jelena Jankovic (pronounced YANK-o-vitch – yes, like parodist “Weird Al”…hopefully, no relation) has shot up to number three in the world this year by playing lots and lots of tournaments (21 entering the U.S. Open) and doing well in many of them (three titles, including the Italian Open, and the semis of the French Open).  As quick to smile as she is on her feet, Jelena has the punishing groundstrokes and an improving consistency of demeanor that should take her far in New York, that is, if she doesn’t face her nemesis Justine Henin, who has beaten her in all seven meetings including five times just this year.

The final Serb of the trio, Ana Ivanovic (pronounced ee-VAHN-o-vitch) is destined to be the next glamour girl of the women’s tour (okay, so defending champ, world number two, media maven Maria Sharapova may have something to say about that).  Her website having replaced another Anna as the most visited among female athletes, Ivanovic has much more than stunning looks in her tall (6-1), dark, and athletic frame.  Her crunching forehand has been stunning opponents all year as she has won two titles and reached the final of the French Open and the semi-finals of Wimbledon (she also has a mean little habit of beating her older and higher ranked compatriot, having won four of five encounters).  Look for Ana to dazzle more than her opponents in New York.

All of this Serb-talk is not meant to distract from the more likely title winners at the U.S. Open – Federer, gunning for four straight, and Henin, past champ and world number one, are the favorites – nor to diminish our homegrown players’ chances (James Blake has had a good hard court season and when he gets the mo’ going, look out!), but the fact is that three young players from a landlocked country are making big waves on tour that very well could result in a big splash in New York. 

 

At the U.S. Open in 1990, Minnesota’s David Wheaton was a quarterfinalist in singles falling to John McEnroe and a finalist in doubles with Paul Annacone.  David is an author, speaker, radio talk show host, and the touring pro at Wayzata Country Club.  You can find out more at www.davidwheaton.com.

 

2007 Wimbledon Preview: Just-ine Time for Wimbledon

For the Minneapolis Star Tribune, June 24, 2007 by David Wheaton

What is success on the court if you have distress in your soul?   

Justine Henin, the number one tennis player in the world, has battled this question her entire career.    

One might think that winning six grand slam titles and $15 million in prize money by the age of 25 would take the edge off any personal struggles, but in the case of the French-speaking Belgian, that is certainly not the case. 

The fact is, until recently, any sweetness Justine Henin tasted on court was offset by plenty of bitterness off it.       

There was the loss of her beloved mother to intestinal cancer when Justine was a tender twelve.  Two years prior, Henin’s mother had taken her to watch the final of Roland Garros between her idol Steffi Graf and Monica Seles.  A burgeoning talent at the time, Justine is rumored to have told her mom, “One day I will play here and win.” 

Win it she has done—and four times—but without her mother to share her joy.

Earlier this year, there was the divorce from her husband, Pierre-Yves Hardenne, after four years of marriage.  And perhaps most difficult of all, there was the long-term estrangement from her father and siblings that is now in the process of reconciliation.  It wasn’t until her French Open victory two weeks ago that a family member had seen her play a major final in person.  Her father was invited but too beset by emotion to make the trip.

All of which explains why Justine Henin has appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on her diminutive shoulders during her entire tennis career—the grim expression on court, the loner in the locker room, the extreme perfectionism in practice, the relieved, almost charge-by-the-second smile after a big win.  She has been more tightly wound than a Titleist golf ball sporting that firmly fastened baseball cap as if to prove it. 

If she’s done this well in torments, look out now that she’s shedding her chains!

And what a time to break free.  Wimbledon is the only major title that Henin has yet to win.  Befittingly, her past relationship with the lawns has been more rocky than grassy—there have been some good years (two finals), but also some bad (two first round losses).

In a women’s game where six footers are now common, at first glance, Henin, who is listed as “5 feet 5 and ¾ inches”, might seem like an unlikely prospect to win on a surface where big-hitting and risk-taking are rewarded (e.g. past champions Maria Sharapova and Venus and Serena Williams).

Yet while she may be short of stature, Henin has other assets that I believe will lead to her raising the Rosewater Dish a fortnight hence.  Having a lower center of gravity (in other words, being short) has its advantages in the movement category, especially important on a surface where starting, stopping, and changing direction requires balance and patience (think soccer, without cleats).

Henin also possesses the most variety of shot and spin of any player in the game.  Slice is nice on grass where she will be able to literally bring her longer-legged opponents to their knees with her signature shot—her picturesque one-handed backhand.

While her speed and spin—and an underrated first serve—will work well for Henin at Wimbledon, look for her opponents to take advantage of two chinks in her armor that she’s able to cover on clay: a mediocre kick second serve and an extreme grip on her forehand that functions better when the ball is up and in on the dirt rather than down and out wide on the grass.

In the “Gentlemen’s Singles,” let’s hope there will be slightly more suspense than pondering four-time defending champion Roger Federer’s decision to not play and win his usual grass court tune-up in Halle, Germany due to fatigue.  Fatigue from another bridesmaid run in Paris…or from a grass court win streak that dates back to 2002?

El Rey de Clay Rafael Nadal, personal pigeon Andy Roddick, and a few others will buzz around the Swiss Master like a Minnesota mosquito, but a few slaps and serves and slices should lead Federer to tie Bjorn Borg’s record five straight Wimbledon crowns and position him three majors away from reaching Pete Sampras’ record 14 tally.

Justine Henin may not be so favored, but just feel her newfound joy from this post-French Open blog: 

“You can understand my happiness to once again have my family at my side.  I wanted so much to offer them this victory, and it’s this feeling which gave me the force to go until the end.  You seen the expression on my face; this victory was special.  To be able and look towards my family after match point constituted one of the most beautiful moments of my career, and my life!  I know from now nothing will ever be the same, and I finally feel at peace.”

And just in time for Wimbledon, where success on the court would finally be sweet to her soul. 

For Minnesota’s David Wheaton, the public courts in Deephaven led to the Centre Court of Wimbledon.  He was a semi-finalist in singles in 1991 and a champion in the Over 35 Doubles with T.J. Middleton in 2004.  In addition to being an author, speaker, and radio talk show host, he serves as touring pro at Wayzata Country Club.

 

2007 French Open Preview: Rafael on a Canvas of Clay

For the Minneapolis Star Tribune, May 27, 2007 by David Wheaton

Just when it looked like the Foregone Conclusion of Clay Courts would march into Paris to claim his third straight French Open title, a little hiccup happened in Hamburg.

Yep, the biceps pumping, “Vamos!” screaming, topspin whipping terre battue terminator named Rafael Nadal finally lost a match on clay last week after 81 straight victories and 13 tournament titles. 

To put this record-breaking single-surface win streak in perspective, fathom that the world’s second ranked player had not lost a match on clay since going down in April 2005 to someone named Igor Andreev (a name that would scare anyone into a loss).

Earlier this month, a tennis writer friend of mine titled his column, “Three Simple Ways to Beat Nadal on Clay.”  Oh sure, never mind the world’s best can’t touch the guy for three years, but just one, two, three and Rafa will be crying uncle.  (This, by the way, from a man whose tennis ability would go unnoticed at the Hibbing Open.)  Sensing supernatural sagacity, I did follow up with a call to see if he also had “three simple ways” to patch things up in the Middle East. 

This is precisely the problem with playing the King of Clay—he simply makes life complicated for his opponents. 

First, there is the game.  Anyone can see Nadal’s strength, size, speed, and stamina, but it’s the movement of his ball on the dirt where just seeing is not understanding.     

I vividly remember feeling the serious “jump” that the best topspinners would impart with their forehands—players such as French Open champions Sergi Bruguera and Thomas Muster.  Good as they were, their deliveries could only be classified as prototypes to the amount of nastiness Nadal is slinging across court today. 

If you want to experience it, try making solid contact with one of those mini Superballs that a friend lobs at you from across the net.  That’s what Nadal’s forehand feels like—bouncy, spinny, jumpy, tricky—accelerating off the court and getting all over you like cobwebs in your attic.  Deal with that for five sets and have a nice day.

But even more important than the game, there is the attitude.  Part national, part familial, Nadal always enters the ring with the spirit of his country’s revered beast—the bull.  He works himself into a lather before game time and sprints to the baseline after the coin toss as if energy is something to burn; he grunts and grimaces and grinds point after point like there’s no tomorrow until his opponent’s hopes fade away like crushed red brick dust on a dry, hot day. 

Yet the ruthlessness and single-mindedness of his approach belies the sportsman within.  Aged just 20, this young man is mature and grounded beyond his years no doubt due to the influence of an extended family that lives together in a four-story apartment building on Mallorca, an island off the eastern coast of Spain.  How many superstars with 21 titles and $10 million dollars in prize money would still live at home and be coached by Uncle Toni? 

One man in search of a coach is Nadal’s nemesis, Roger Federer.  Recently split from Aussie player/coach great Tony Roche, poor Roger had been slumping of late not winning a tournament in four tries (oh, the panic!) causing Mark Twain-like reports of his imminent demise.  Never mind the 10 major titles, the 271-19 win/loss record since 2004, or the fact that he’ll own a non-calendar year Grand Slam if he wins Roland Garros.  Nope, Federer can’t win a tournament, can’t find a coach, and certainly can’t beat Nadal on clay.

Now would be a good time to mention that PR (poor Roger) revived and was responsible for Rafa’s little hiccup in Hamburg last week.  Federer not only beat Nadal for the first time in six tries on clay, but he basically thumped him.  After losing the first set 6-2, Fed returned the favor in the second—and are you ready for this?—bageled Nadal in the third.  Stopping the Foregone Conclusion’s streak on clay with a 6-0 finishing set is, well, rather remarkable. 

Said result suddenly makes this year’s French Open all the more interesting.  Federer now believes, no, knows, he can beat Nadal on clay.  My prediction is…let’s talk about the Americans for a moment.

Just because the French recently elected a pro-American president in Niklas Sarkozy, don’t expect our tennis lads and lasses to fare better in Paris.  Our top two men, Andy Roddick and James Blake, will need plenty of bon chance to make the second week while our top woman, Serena Williams, could go further in light of her resurgence this year winning the Australian Open.  Standing in her way will be defending champ Justine Henin (now back to non-hyphenated status after being divorced earlier this year).  On clay, I’ll take petite over surfeit, if you know what I mean.

As for Rog versus Raf, flip your coin and it will land four times out of five in the Spaniard’s favor on clay.  If they both get to the final—and Nadal most certainly will considering he’s never lost in 27 career three of five set matches on the dirt—Federer will have the more difficult task of efficiently executing his newfound strategy of dictate, dictate, dictate over the longer format. 

That being said, Roger has at least now entered Rafa’s clay court kitchen—a hiccup in Hamburg might just lead to a Heimlich in Paris.    

Minnesota’s David Wheaton, a semi-finalist in doubles and third-rounder in singles at Roland Garros, will be spending the summer as Touring Pro on the clay courts of Wayzata Country Club.

 

2007 Australian Open: James Blake--The Man, The Movie

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, January 14, 2007 by David Wheaton

2007 Australian Open Preview:  James Blake—The Man, The Movie

Aside from glass slippers versus leather sneakers, and a crowned prince instead of a Prince racquet, really all that separates Cinderella from America’s top-ranked tennis pro, James Blake, is that the former has a movie named after her while the latter will be getting one soon when he wins his first Grand Slam title. 

Make no mistake, “The James Blake Story” is still in the process of being written, but if the first half is any indication, expect a box-office (overhead) smash hit coming to a theater near you. 

Raised as the youngest son of a black American father and white English mother in Connecticut, inspired to pursue the game by legend Arthur Ashe in the Harlem Junior Tennis Program, compelled to wear a back-brace 18-hours a day for scoliosis as a teen-ager, James Blake certainly had an interesting story in the making as he contemplated leaving Harvard early to pursue his professional tennis dream.

Thinking back, I gave him an unwelcome reception. 

We met in the final round of qualifying at the 1998 U.S. Open in New York at a time when my career sun was setting and the local upstart’s was rising.  He had good speed, some explosive shots…and me down 3-1 in the first set of our match.  Twelve games later, I shook hands with a main draw berth secured after a 6-3, 6-1 win.  “Nice college player,” I thought.

Over the next several years, newcomer became journeyman, decent was too-often followed by disappointing, and the blockbuster seemed destined for YouTube. 

Then a net-post changed the script. 

“When it rains, it pours” wouldn’t be a sober enough description of what happened to James Blake starting in May of 2004.  Running for a dropshot in practice on the red clay courts of Rome, Blake did what most Americans do on the surface—fall and get dirty.  Only this time, the net-post got in the way of his head and he broke his neck.     

Sadly, he soon discovered that a broken bone was nothing compared to a broken heart.  Over the next two months of recuperating at home, James watched his 57-year-old father lose his battle with stomach cancer.  Distressed to the limit, Blake developed a debilitating case of shingles, leaving his vision blurred, his balance wobbly, and his face half-paralyzed.    

Game, set, and life for most people…but not for James Blake. 

Fast forward to a “60 Minutes” interview in November, 2005.  Fully recovered from his injury and illness and back on tour, James commented that his broken neck was “definitely the best thing that happened to me. It ended up being the last six weeks of my father’s life, so I got to be here to spend a lot of time with him…My plan was to be over in Europe that whole time, and so I might not have made it home at all.  And I’m lucky I came home and I learned a lot more about life and just about my dad, and about everything.” 

With experience and perspective like that, it’s no wonder hitting a small, yellow object didn’t seem quite as difficult upon returning to the game.  Always a big-time sportsman, he now became a big-time player.  In his first full year back in 2005, there was the 7-6 in the fifth set match-for-the-ages against Andre Agassi in the quarterfinals of the U.S. Open.  This past year, there were the five tour titles including a runner-up finish in the year-ending Master’s Cup propelling him to a career-high number-four world ranking. 

If the trend continues, he truly is one golden trophy away from the silver screen. 

This could be the year and the Australian Open could be the 27-year-old’s moment—especially so after just defending his title at the pre-Melbourne tune-up in Sydney.  Right now, the only player on tour I’d tip the odds to in a head-to-head match-up with James is the Swiss Master, Roger Federer.  Fed had another decent year in 2006 winning three Slams, finaling the other, and capping things off with a Master’s Cup win over Blake in November.  Yet, I’ve witnessed James push Roger—and hard—on several occasions; it’s not beyond my imagination to see Roger falter in a future affair. 

Besides, the year’s first major has a way of producing some surprises—why not from a man whose perspective has gone from microscopic to telescopic?  With “90% of the game being half mental”, stepping back and seeing the broader vista only makes for a better person, player…and (moving) picture.

Minnesota’s David Wheaton reached the quarterfinals in singles of the 1990 Australian Open falling to Sweden’s Stefan Edberg.  The following year, he reached the final of doubles with Patrick McEnroe.  Find out more at www.davidwheaton.com.

 

2006 U.S. Open Preview: The Andre Agassi Show, Final Act

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, August 27, 2006 by David Wheaton

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! Book your seats for encore performance of wildly popular New York City show! Final showing after two-decade run! Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

For the next fortnight, theatres on Broadway will have nothing on a stadium in Queens , for after twenty dramatic seasons, The Andre Agassi Show is finally coming to a close, and with it, some of the best theatre the tennis world has ever seen.

I have had a particularly good seat to The Show—from junior days together at the Bollettieri Tennis Academy in Florida to teaming up for doubles on Tour (he defaulted our final in Hong Kong!) to knock-down-drag-out battles at Wimbledon to a fourth-round match on his favorite stage of all…the U.S. Open.

Above all, it is New York where The Show has made especially good theatre, complete with kisses and bows…

There were the farcical acts with a bleached-blond, mulletted Andre sporting neon pink spandex under blue jean shorts.

There were the comedic acts with gal pal Barbra Streisand gushing courtside about Andre being “very evolved…a Zen master.”

There were the romantic acts with Brooke Shields cheerleading from the front row, and then later, Steffi Graf, clapping discreetly from a mid-level suite.

There were the tragic acts with four first-round exits, and perhaps even more painful, four final-round losses (three to Sampras, one to Federer).

There were the dramatic acts, most notably the 7-6 in the fifth set win-for-the-aged against James Blake in last year’s quarterfinal.

And finally, there were the triumphal acts with two U.S. Open titles, over Michael Stich in 1994 and Todd Martin in 1999.

Now, with this being Andre’s 21 st straight and final U.S. Open, there’s only one act left…the tear-jerking one.

The slogan for this year’s tournament may be “It’s Showtime!” but Andre Agassi has become far more than a showman. You see, the tennis stage is a place not conducive to acting. Perhaps more than any other sport, tennis has a way of exacting one’s substance and exposing one’s faults. It’s one-on-one battle—no teammates to rely on, no coaches to help, no clock to run out. You are ultimately responsible for any deficiency of craft or character.

A stroke may be simple to mend, but self, quite another. So we witnessed with the young man Agassi—the impetuosity, the inconsistency, the intractability. Yet, instead of these foibles becoming habitual, Agassi managed to do what all men should desire—to change for the better.

The reality is that too many sportsmen either change for the worse (e.g. drug cheats) or never change at all (e.g. Terrell Owens). There are those who change for the better, but never has one come so far from repudiation to reputability. The sporting ethic, the charitable foundation, the husband and father…the respect he’s cultivated for the game, for others, for himself is now reciprocal.

This is why Agassi is beloved and will be missed—he went from very soft to very strong—physically and mentally—and he did it in front of our eyes. We can all so aspire.

As an encore is usually shorter than an act, expect this year at the U.S. Open to be more of the former for Agassi with his ailing back, limited match play, and a difficult section of the draw. Duplicating his thrilling run to last year’s final—and near victory over Roger Federer—would be asking too much. Nevertheless, as with any great show, the audience demands a curtain call. For Pete Sampras, it was important to go out on top; for Agassi, it’s important to answer that call—another measure of the man.

While no one will upstage Andre at this year’s Open—not 49-year-old Martina Navratilova with her own swan song or even Billie Jean King, for whom the National Tennis Center is being renamed (thereby creating the mother of all acronyms—U.S.T.A.B.J.K.N.T.C.)—we still must have a pair of champions.

Two-time defending champ and world number-one Roger Federer is the obvious choice coming off his third straight Wimbledon win along with a summer hard court title in Toronto . French Open champ and improbable Wimbledon finalist Rafael Nadal will bring his special brand of bravado to New York , but a disappointing hard court season doesn’t bode well for him.

After ineptitude of historic proportions at Wimbledon , I’m looking for our American lads (but not our languishing ladies) to rebound big-time in the Big Apple. Hometown favorite and top American James Blake has continued to make great strides since his Instant Classic with Agassi last year, including a title over Roddick in Indianapolis earlier this summer, but he’s waned of late causing some doubt as to whether he’s ready to garner a first grand slam.

It has been an overcast year for Roddick, but he may finally be seeing some breaks of sun. Winning the U.S. Open series with a charged victory in Cincinnati last weekend, new coach Jimmy Connors just may be imparting the one thing Roddick has been lacking—an imposing style and mentality. As one who draws from, rather than is drained by, the mega-watt U.S. Open energy, I’ll pick the surging Roddick to match his 2003 title.

Whoever the winners, U.S. Open Showtime will be losing its irreplaceable leading man, one who has and always will leave us wanting more.

Minnesota ’s David Wheaton served and volleyed his way to three victories over Andre Agassi on Tour. On six other occasions, the Agassi return of serve won out. You can find out more at www.davidwheaton.com.

2006 Wimbledon Preview: A Grass Court Mystery...Solved!

Minneapolis Star Tribune, June 25, 2006 by David Wheaton

It’s a British mystery worthy of Hercule Poirot’s investigative skills:  How on grassy earth has Wimbledon turned into a battle from the baseline? 

Back in the days of my first forays on grass, I was given this simple instruction:  “Never let the ball bounce.”  There were good reasons for this:  on grass, the ball bounces low and skids—sometimes unpredictably—making cleanly struck groundstrokes a difficult undertaking.  And then there’s moving on the green stuff—changing directions at the baseline is a delicate maneuver at best, a bump on the rump at worst. 

So take the ball out of the air I did:  First serve…run to net.  Second serve…run to net.  Return game…run to net at first possible opportunity.  I used to lick my chops when opponents would try to muck around from the back of the court.

And why wouldn’t I?  Everyone knew baseline play was not the way you won at the All England Lawn Tennis Club.  Excepting seven-time champ Steffi Graf, who ruled with her slippery slice backhand and ferocious forehand, the dominant champions—King, McEnroe, Navratilova, Becker, and Sampras—all crashed the net with relentless aplomb.  Even baseline wizards like Borg and Connors morphed into net rushers upon taking to the living lawns of London. 

All that changed in 1992 when a flashy young American, who had previously shirked tennis’ grandest stage, shocked everyone (maybe even himself) by winning The Championships in a five-setter over the giant-serving Croat, Goran Ivanisevic.  The remarkable part was not that Andre Agassi had won his first major title, but that it had been done on the lawns of Wimbledon with sizzling returns of serve and thundering groundstrokes, rather than serves and volleys.

For the first time, players began to believe there was more than one way to raise the golden chalice.  Not letting any grass grow under his feet, Jim Courier, the very next year, followed suit playing his regular baseline bludgeoning game in a run to the final whooping with surprise after his semi-final win, “I’m not even supposed to be here!”

The fact was a new “let the ball bounce” strategy was now here to stay, although one wouldn’t have known it with flame-throwing servers like Sampras, Krajicek, and Ivanisevic capturing all Wimbledon crowns from 1993 to 2001.  With monotonous three-shot rallies the norm (i.e. serve, return, volley…end of point) in final after final during those years, many blasphemed that the lawns should be converted to pavement for the sake of the game. 

Fortunately, this heresy never took root, but the desire to slow the game did…despite the fact that the wear pattern of the lawns over the fortnight was already noticeably changing from forecourt to backcourt. 

First, the Slazenger balls were tweaked to not fly so freely.  Then, the lawns were made harder causing the ball to bounce higher.  The new grass court era debuted in 2002 when two baseliners, Lleyton Hewitt and David Nalbandian contested the final playing from the back of the court.  Since then, King Roger has won three times—playing up, playing back…playing whatever way works on the day. 

The fact is:  Wimbledon is now an almost-hard court tournament where “serve and back” works as well as “serve and volley”.

Don’t take my word for it, though; read what old sage Andre said recently in a BBC interview about the changing conditions at Wimbledon:  “I don't know if you can pinpoint it year by year so much as how it has evolved over the last 10 years.  Certainly 15 to 20 years ago the courts used to get chewed up a lot more.  Now they're such good grass courts that the bounce is almost like a hard court.”

This makes choosing a champ all the more challenging.  On the men’s side, the Swiss Master is the heavy favorite not only because he’s the most complete player on grass—from shot-making to sure-movement—but because he’s won a record 41 straight matches on the surface dating back to 2003.  Good luck, field. 

Past champ, Hewitt, two-time finalist, Andy Roddick, perennial major second-weeker, Nalbandian, or others like the big-hitting Croats, Ivan Ljubicic and Mario Ancic, and American James Blake are all contenders if Roger falls off the top bunk.  And what about French Open Federer-Slayer, Rafael Nadal?  He’ll try hard, but will be fortunate to make it to the second week with his frying-pan forehand grip and weak serve.

My two favorites for the ladies are the holder, Venus Williams, and 2004 champ, Maria Sharapova.  Both are knock-out ball strikers, and when executing well, give the more creative contenders—Justine Henin-Hardienne, Amelie Mauresmo, Martina Hingis—plenty to worry about.  Frankly, I’d like to see U.S. Open champ, Kim Clijsters, win on a surface that suits her aggression and athleticism, yet at a place where she’s never surpassed the semi-finals.

Agatha Christie would be proud—a solved mystery as to why the game has changed at Wimbledon.  Courts and balls are one thing…just so they don’t fool with the strawberries and cream.

The writer, Minnesota’s David Wheaton, will be returning to Wimbledon this year to compete in the Over 35 Doubles Championship with partner, T.J. Middleton.  They won the title in 2004 and were finalists last year.  You can find out more at www.davidwheaton.com.

2006 French Open Preview: His Story in the Making?

Minneapolis Star Tribune, Sunday, May 28, 2006

His Story in the Making? 2006 French Open Preview

"Messieurs les contrôleurs, en place, s'il vous plait.”

As if there wasn’t enough tension in the locker room minutes before the first matches of the day at Roland Garros, an authoritative male voice would ring out this directive over the loudspeakers throughout the grounds.

And then again, "Messieurs les contrôleurs, en place, s'il vous plait.”

Heck if I knew what it meant during all my years of playing there, but I certainly knew what it did—it made the pit in my stomach fall a bit deeper and the hair on my neck stand a little taller. Shortly after, another announcement was made to call the players, one by one, to their respective courts for three-out-of-five set red clay marathons.

Of course it makes perfect sense now: “Security personnel, to your places, please” (as in, the gates to the grounds were about to be opened to fans). But back then, the declaration was almost Pavlovian; only I didn’t start to drool, but rather my mouth dried as I knew what came next...my “place” on court.

Energy. That’s what everyone feels at Roland Garros, whether player or fan. As you take your place in front of the television to watch this year’s second major event, you’re likely to feel it too, especially if “his story” comes true.

I’d be willing to bet a few Euros that most American sports fans—even tennis fans—aren’t aware of the above-the-fold headline this spring in Paris: With the previous three major trophies already on his mantle, Roger Federer is seven Roland Garros match wins away from tennis’ Holy Grail—the Grand Slam. The last man to hold all four at one time was Australian Rod Laver in 1969 (he did it in the same calendar year back when three of the four majors were played on grass).

For whatever reason—the under-the-radar attention Roland Garros garners in the U.S., Federer being a European, the lack of an American rival—Roger’s quest has received scant media attention compared with the buildup to other notable sporting achievements like the “Tiger Slam” in 2001, Lance Armstrong’s “Straight Seven” at the Tour de France last year, or Big-Bulkin’ Barry’s current home run trek.

And just in case you think the answer lies in Federer not belonging in their superstar strata, think again—Roger just won Sportsman of the Year (for the second consecutive time) at the prestigious Laureus World Sports awards in Barcelona last week beating out—guess who?—Tiger and Lance.

Believe me when I say this: Roger Federer is the most dominating athlete in any sport right now—man or woman. Seven major titles in the past eleven seems sound enough proof to me.

This being said, the world number one faces a significant problem in Paris in the form of a 19-year-old, muscle-bound, left-handed Spaniard named Rafael Nadal. You see, this sleeveless, peddle-pusher-panted Tasmanian devil of a player has whirled his way to an eye-popping record of his own: 53 straight match wins on clay, tying the great Argentine lefty, Guillermo Vilas.

Perhaps more significant, the defending champion and number-two ranked “El Nino” has handed the Swiss all three of his losses this year (one on hard court, two on clay) and holds a surprising 5-1 career win record against him. Before you Federer fans give up all hope, though, Roger was one point from victory against Rafa in an epic five-hour, five-set final on the clay courts of Rome just two weeks ago.

With the form these two have been showing, we very well could witness a titanic and historic match in Paris two Sundays hence, but let’s not make the mistake of penciling in the final before the tournament even starts. Barring a Barbaro, Nadal will get there—too much momentum, confidence, intimidation, and punishing clay court prowess to keep him away. He snacks on his fellow clay court spin-meisters.

Roger, on the other hand, with a shot-making style better suited to grass and hard courts (e.g. three straight Wimbledon and two straight U.S. Open titles), will have to be sharp and savvy round by round or risk getting mired in the clay by one of the many topspin-hitting, clay-stained-sock-wearing dirtballers.

Now, if it does come down to Roger versus Rafa for all the marbles, the Swiss will no doubt attempt to keep the Spaniard out of his comfort zone by serving and volleying on occasion, using a knifing backhand slice, upping his forehand aggression to levels previously unknown, and even bringing Nadal into net. Remember, the longer the rally—especially those pitting Nadal’s potent forehand crosscourt to Federer’s less powerful backhand—the lesser the chance that Roger will gain his first clay court victory over Rafa, win the only major he’s lacking, and attain Grand Slam immortality.

Will Roger achieve this trifecta in Paris? Tennis fans, to your places, please!

Minnesota’s David Wheaton reached the 3rd round of singles at the 1995 French Open falling in four sets to Russia’s Yevgeny Kafelnikov, who would become champion in 1996.

2006 Australian Open Preview: All Not Fair Dinkum in Oz

Minneapolis Star Tribune, January 15, 2005 by David Wheaton

Despite being in the land of “No worries,” the tennis world has plenty to be concerned about as the year’s first Grand Slam tournament kicks off tomorrow in Melbourne .

As if the rash of top player withdrawals (three-time winner Andre Agassi, defending champ Marat Safin, and world number two Rafael Nadal) and potential withdrawals (defending champ Serena Williams and US Open queen Kim Clijsters) isn’t enough of a buzz-killer, the dirty little secret of sports—performance enhancing drugs—is now rearing its ugly head on the tennis tour.

After a handful of suspensions over the past five years (and bucketfuls of rumors, denials, and disputed tests), two major suspensions have come down recently: an eight-year ban for 2005 French Open finalist, Argentine Mariano Puerta, and two years for 16-year-old French Open quarterfinalist, Bulgarian Sesil Karatantcheva (the tongue-twisting name alone would drive one to drug use).

The genie is out of the bottle, if you will, and putting him back will take more than a wish for the same reason that your anti-virus software needs to be regularly updated: hackers always seem to be one step ahead of the blockers.

The tennis cheaters are no doubt rationalizing that taking performance enhancing drugs is the only way to keep up in a tennis season that never ends. Case in point: Swiss Roger Federer, coming off another prodigious year with an 81-4 match record, 11 titles including two Grand Slams, and the number one ranking, only had slightly more than a month off from his last match of 2005 to his first of 2006. No doubt much of that time was spent training. No doubt this is not the way to treat a racehorse.

Whoever deemed tennis a “sissy sport” obviously never played on tour: players travel continent to continent week after week, practicing and competing daily while adjusting to different surfaces, balls, food, and time zones. Sprinkle in four-hour, five-set matches at the majors and it’s not hard to imagine why steroids are used, not to bulk up to hit balls over the fence (see Major League Baseball), but rather to boost energy for today and recovery for tomorrow inside the fence (see Tour de France).

Before you dust off your violin for fatigued multi-millionaire athletes living the jet-setter’s dream, keep in mind the tour takes place amongst consenting adults (except, of course, for those mid-teen female phenoms whose domineering fathers would face child-labor chastisement in any other workplace). Players, tournament directors, and the sport’s governing bodies are all complicit in a type of endangerment that every Minnesota deer hunter knows to avoid: for the good of the game, there’s a time to stop chasing the bucks.

As we all know, when there’s money at stake, waiting for Lake Minnetonka to freeze over in June would be a better bet than waiting for a shorter and saner tennis season. So in the meantime, the sport and its spectators will continue to suffer decimated playing fields and diminished levels of play. As John Cleese would say with a stiff British upper lip, “Right, we’ll have to make the best of it.”

On a brighter note, one of the keep-your-eye-on stories Down Under is the return of the “Swiss Miss,” former world number one and three-time champion Martina Hingis, who retired three years ago at age 22 due to—surprise, surprise—a foot injury.

This stylish and strategic player, who, fittingly enough, I once observed playing a game of chess before her match, is a welcome throwback to a time when the game rewarded the cerebral over the physical. Outgunned and disheartened back in the days when the Williams’ sisters’ artillery fired true, Martina will now be facing more of the same by even more gals in her comeback. Fare well, my fair lady.

Hingis won’t go all the way, but picking a woman who will is proving challenging with all the injuries and lack of lead-up results. If you like to play the numbers, picking a Russian isn’t a bad bet with a full nine of them being seeded. Let’s face it though, only the prettiest and richest among them has a good shot of winning: that would be Yahoo’s most hit-on athlete—Maria Sharapova. (Maybe that needs some re-phrasing.)

Moving right along, the two Frenchies, Amelie Mauresmo and Mary Pierce, world’s numbers three and five respectively, have showed real promise of late with a one-two finish in the year-ending WTA Tour Championships. Belgian Justine Henin-Hardenne, the 2003 champ and last week’s winner in Sydney , seems ready for resurgence after a down year. Or maybe American Lindsay Davenport will finally legitimize her number one ranking with her first major since the 2000 Aussie Open. This may seem like dereliction of prediction, but this tournament is wide open for the one who’s healed and prepared after the Britney-Spears-marriage-length off-season.

Aside from Federer being the obvious choice to double his 2004 pleasure, there are a few men who could rise to the occasion if the Swiss wizard falters in Oz: Aussie Lleyton Hewitt will be the home-country favorite, but can’t seem to extricate himself from being merely a step on several recent Grand Slam champions’ road to the title; Argentine David Nalbandian took down the “The Boss” in the year-ending Master’s Cup in Shanghai ending Federer’s 24-match final win streak, and with his increased fitness, will be a serious contender in Melbourne; German Tommy Haas, after some good early season form, is most definitely a dark horse to go deep into the second week.

And while two American boys flashed at last year’s US Open (Robbie Ginepri—semi-finals, James Blake—quarterfinals), I would look for the other one that flopped, Andy Roddick, to enter this year as a man on a mission. After what many called a “bad year”—five titles, number three ranking, Wimbledon final (I wish I had bad years like that)—I’m guessing the gamely Roddick might just blow a path to the final on the high-bouncing Rebound Ace courts of Melbourne Park . But if he does get there, Andy, with the last five of his six straight losses to Roger coming in a tournament final, had better hope the Swiss has already been dismissed.

For Seasonal Affective Disordered (SAD) Minnesotans, the Australian Open couldn’t come at a better time: as we muddle through record gloom and the deepest part of winter, one needs only to tune in to the 91 hours of broadcast coverage for a vicarious summer thrill of sun and fun. So even if you have a chronic case, pull the shades, push the button, and transport yourself to the Land of Oz—at least it will get you through January.

Minnesotan David Wheaton once cured his SAD by reaching the quarterfinals of the Australian Open in 1990 falling to Stefan Edberg. You can find out more about David’s tennis career—and his current work as an author, speaker, and radio talk show host—at www.davidwheaton.com.

2005 US Open Preview: Agassi Marks the Spot

Minneapolis Star Tribune, August 28, 2005 by David Wheaton

Whoever coined the proverb, “a leopard never changes its spots,” was clearly unaware of a tennis player named Andre Agassi. As someone who’s known this cat since pre-pubescent days on the junior tennis circuit, let me attest that he hasn’t just changed his spots, he’s made them better.

Consider how…

I could go on – McDonald’s munching to ab crunching, final set tanking to a number one ranking – but you get the point.

Yet it may be Agassi’s off-court transformation that is most telling and perhaps the key to his on-court success.

If “beside every great man there is a great woman” (Revised Version), it’s not difficult to imagine how wife Steffi Graf has had a slight bit more positive influence on Andre’s career (and life) than, say, former bride Brooke Shields. With 22 Grand Slam titles of her own, Steffi, in all likelihood, understands what it takes to succeed.

If “pursuing a cause greater than oneself” yields richer meaning in life, than you can see how spearheading a state-of-the-art charter school in Las Vegas puts hitting little yellow fuzzy things in perspective. This from a 10th grade dropout (who’s never been short on street smarts): “Every match I win now, it’s for the kids.” * Even more, Andre has two of his own, no doubt spawning normalcy in the midst of an occupation where there’s little.

Unfortunately for the 35-year-old Agassi as he takes the new blue courts for his 20th US Open, his opponents will not be thinking about the future Hall of Famer’s metamorphose as a player and a person, but rather how to transition him back to Las Vegas. Unfortunately for them, he’s not going to go easily. As a matter of fact, I’m picking him to be the last man standing.

“What?! You’re crazy!” you say. How can I bet against Mr. Otherworldly, the defending champ and world number one Roger Federer, who has nine titles and a 64-3 record this year? After all, the Swiss Master blows holes in tournament fields on a regular basis leaving them resembling his national cheese. He recently sauntered over Stateside to play his first and only US Open tune-up since strolling to his, yawn, third Wimbledon title in a row. The result? But of course, he won his 22nd straight final in Cincinnati over his personal whipping boy, Andy Roddick. There’s a lot of truth to one fan’s placard: “Federer is betterer.”

But never, and I mean never, discount the inspiration factor. The world always has its seemingly unbeatable sporting Goliaths, but then comes along someone ready and believing that it’s their turn, their time. Our hockey lads did just that when they defeated the Big Red Machine in Lake Placid. With this year likely being his curtain call on his favorite stage, no doubt Andre is believing in miracles against the Big Fed Machine.

Even with his 38-1 record on hard courts this year, I still think Federer’s artistry is better displayed on the softer canvases of clay and grass. Agassi on the other hand, with a win in Los Angeles and a final in Montreal this summer, loves the predictability of the bounce on (art) Deco-Turf, where he can stand up on the baseline and yo-yo his opponents into submission.

Then again, maybe, just maybe, someone else will do Andre’s bidding. Rafael Nadal, the young Spaniard who does a good Hulk Hogan python-flex impression, has garnered nine titles of his own this year and has come within a whisker of beating Federer on a couple hard court occasions. Or maybe up-and-down Russian Marat Safin can double his pleasure – and Federer’s loss total on hard court – by duplicating his Australian Open semi-final victory over Roger.

Past champ Aussie Lleyton Hewitt, who has lost to the champion in the last six Slams, is always a tough out for opponents…except for Roger that is, who double-bageled him in the US Open final last year. Maybe Andy Roddick, 1-10 overall and 0-5 in finals against Roger, will finally summit Mount Federer and end his almost-two-year major title drought. My advice for ARod is to start thinking about complimenting his own game rather than Roger’s all the time.

Bottom line: Agassi can win the Open if Federer has an off day in a head-to-head encounter, or if Federer loses to someone else, or if Andre doesn’t have to defeat more than two of the aforementioned. There you have it – enough “ifs” to make Rudyard Kipling proud.

On the women’s side, the storyline should read something to the effect, “The Duel of the Disabled Divas!” World number one Maria Sharapova, American matriarch Lindsay Davenport, sideshow Serena Williams, past champ Justine Henin-Hardenne, resuscitated Wimbledon champ Venus Williams, and defending US Open champ (remember?) Svetlana Kusnetsova, have all missed large chunks of the summer hard court season with injuries.

My pick? Ask the tour physiotherapist…but not in earshot of Belgian Kim Clijsters, who went on a tear this summer winning three tournaments and establishing herself as the heavy favorite for the Open. After some past Grand Slam final disappointments, here’s hoping Kim lofts her first major trophy notching one for the nice gals.

After winning Wimbledon last month, Roger Federer was asked by a reporter, “A lot of players have talent, but they go out and blow up, and have a bad day. Why do you feel you can play at the level you do so regularly?” Roger’s response: “I can't answer how consistent I'm playing. I amaze myself how incredible actually I use my talent to win.”

Yes, we’re all amazed too, but this modern-day tennis giant better watch out the next fortnight for a climactical pounce by a Las Vegas leopard. For with two previous US Open crowns to Andre’s name, the stage is perfectly set for a Miracle on Thrice.

* Tennis Magazine, September 2005

David Wheaton recently authored his first book, University of Destruction. Before taking up typing, David was a US Open singles semi-finalist and doubles finalist in 1990. He will be competing in the US Open Over 35 Doubles Championship next week. You can find out more at www.davidwheaton.com.

2005 Wimbledon Preview: How Do You Solve a (Grass Court) Problem Like Maria?

Minneapolis Star Tribune, June 19, 2005 by David Wheaton

Contemplating the life and times of defending Wimbledon Ladies' Champion, Maria Sharapova, would surely compel any sociologist to ask:  Is it nature or is it nurture? 

Consider how…

So, is it nature or is it nurture?  Try plenty of both. 

World number two, Maria Sharapova, is six feet tall (nature), slugs thunderous drives from the baseline (nurture), draws looks as long as her blond hair (nature), competes with eye-of-the-tiger intensity (nurture), and possesses a winning blend of Russian stoicism and American opportunism (nature/nurture).

She also grunts on court like a stuck pig, but I won’t go there.

She truly is the anti-Kournikova.  Whereas one always felt Anna was playing for the off-court benefits (fame and fortune), one senses that Maria is playing for on-court substance knowing the off-court style will follow (and boy, has it ever!). 

This year she enters Wimbledon with a 36-6 match record, three titles (including Birmingham on grass last week), and a 17-match win steak on grass.  Whereas her flat strokes and rangy movement (long legs have their drawbacks, you know) prove less troublesome to her opponents in Paris , cross the English Channel and her peers are instantly quoting Austrian nuns:  “How do you solve a problem like Maria.” 

Yes, Maria poses a big problem on the low-bouncing, ball-skidding lawns of the game’s greatest stage with her first-strike philosophy, big-point boldness, and nerve-free net-rushing.  Make no mistake: last year’s title was not a fluke as her results and ranking have continued to incline. 

So who can silence the Russo-American siren?  Number one ranked Lindsay Davenport?  Perhaps on a good day, but her late-round Grand Slam performances of late have been underwhelming.  One of the seven other seeded Russian women?  Not unless a patriotic mental block occludes Maria’s frontal lobe.  Former number one, two-time champ, but now number 14 seed, Venus Williams?  Uh, no—the stars, er, planets haven’t been aligning for the older sister the last couple years.  Her sister, number four seed, Serena?  You’re getting warmer—depends if she’s healthy…and hungry. 

Resorting again to the French derivative theme, the versatile Belgian, Justine Henin-Hardenne, stands alone as Maria’s main challenger to her Wimbledon throne.  Coming off a victory at Roland Garros, seventh seeded Henin-Hardenne has the type of game that can give Maria fits—change of pace, good defense, slice backhand, cagey play, and steely resolve.  Plus, Justine has some extra motivation with the Rosewater Dish being the only major trophy she hasn’t raised.  I’ll pick her to complete a career Grand Slam. 

In the men’s draw, excuse me, the Gentlemen’s Championship, tipping Roger Federer to three-peat would be like saying “I’d like some cream with those strawberries.”  Well, duh.  I’ll forego most of his eye-popping statistics and leave you with one:  Roger hasn’t lost a grass court match since the year 2002.  That’s five titles and 29 straight matches in case you’re counting. 

The only way Roger loses is, first, he’s having an off day, and second, either Marat Safin ( Halle finalist last week), Andy Roddick (Queen’s three-peat last week), or some other big server is playing outside his planetary revolution such as 2004 semi-finalist, Croatian Mario Ancic—the last person to beat Federer on grass. 

Making matters worse, Roger’s challengers don’t even know what kind of game they’ll be facing:  he won serve/volleying in 2003 and staying back in 2004.  With his grass court ability, standing on his head might be the plan for 2005.    

But as everyone knows, even the biggest buck sometimes doesn’t make it through a Minnesota November with his antlers.  As dominant as Federer has been the last year (91-5 match record with 14 tournament wins), he’s been bagged and tagged in the semi-finals of both the Australian and French Opens this year. 

Don’t let your mind wander too far though—if you think newly minted Roland Garros champ, fourth seeded Rafael Nadal might make it two wins in two Slams over Roger at Wimbledon , I’d suggest adding a little more water to that Kool-Aid.  I’ll be surprised if El Nino sniffs the second week. 

As for American intervention abroad, don’t expect a Yank—other than 2004 finalist Roddick—to pull the trigger on Roger.  With past-champ Andre Agassi and slumping Mardy Fish both out with injuries, that leaves big serve and volleying Taylor Dent to pull off an upset or two.  I wouldn’t alter your plans—he could just as easily go out in the first round.  And what about nearest of kin, past champ, Aussie Lleyton Hewitt, or perennial English heart-breaker, Tim Henman?  Fogettaboutit—Federer’s still my fave. 

In a couple days, I’ll be arriving in that little village just southwest of London called Wimbledon .  I’m looking forward to settling into our flat, walking the grounds of the All England Club, catching up with old friends, having a scone with a cup of tea, feeling the grass under my feet, and of course, trying to defend the Over 35 Doubles Championship with my partner, T.J. Middleton. 

But even more than enjoying the land and its lore, I’m looking forward to reliving a dream…a dream that began as a boy, was fueled as a teen, played out as a pro, and is now treasured as a man.

Minnesota native David Wheaton reached the semi-finals of singles at Wimbledon in 1991.  He is the author of a new book, University of Destruction —Your Game Plan for Spiritual Victory on Campus.  You can find out more and contact David at www.davidwheaton.com. 

2005 French Open Preview: A Parisian Minuet—1st Movement

Minneapolis Star Tribune, May 22, 2005 by David Wheaton

Simon and Garfunkel nearly pegged clay court tennis when they penned their famous song, “Slip Sliding Away.” Pardon the parse, but lumping a slip and a slide is definitely a non-non when it comes to tennis on terre battue. Controlled slides—rather than unintentional slips—always determine the difference between contender and pretender at the French Open.

No doubt, (some) winter drivers in Minnesota understand this. Too quick off the mark or around the corner and you’ll slip out of control. When coming to a stop, leave plenty of room to slide. The same applies to motoring around a red clay court in Paris.

But as we all know, knowledge is one thing, experience another (ever seen a Floridian drive on snow?). Those players who grow up sliding around the clay courts of Europe and South America are like Minnesota boys and girls on skates—it’s second nature.

To borrow a French derivative, agility is everything on clay. Notice how I didn’t say velocity. While a bit o’ dash never hurts, balance and anticipation on the dirt are just as important. As a matter of fact, clay is the great neutralizing surface when it comes to movement—the quick are slowed on their starts, stops, and turns, while the slow have more time to track down the high bouncing ball. Vive le socialist!

While the traction coefficient has not and will not change at Roland Garros, a more explosive style of play over the last decade has been a welcome addition. Previously, clay court tennis was a war of attrition leading to bouts of viewer narcolepsy (think Borg and Evert). Now, the ability to finish a point is as vital as getting one more ball in play.

Call it a rite of spring, but as long as I can remember, there is always one player who comes to the fore every European clay court season leading up to the French Open. This year, it’s a left-handed, 18-year-old Spaniard with a clay court game as destructive as his weather pattern nickname—Rafael “El Nino” Nadal.

Better take cover. Staking his claim on the world tennis stage after almost single-handedly drubbing our American lads in the Davis Cup final in Seville last December, Nadal has gone an eye-popping 31-2 on clay this year with five tournament wins and is currently milking a 17-match win streak. To top it off, he is breaking all laws of fashion with his muscle shirt and pedal pusher on-court get up.

He has just one slight problem—he’s never played the French Open.

Injured at the time of Roland Garros the last two years, Nadal will either grow up in a hurry over the next fortnight or his inexperience—and semi-weak serve—will be exposed. My prediction? His nickname has a second meaning—look for “The Kid” to become the first first-time winner since Mats Wilander in 1982.

If not Nadal, then give a glance toward the 2004 finalists, Argentines Guillermo “I’m named after Vilas” Coria and Gaston Gaudio. Surely, these gauchos have red clay coursing through their veins, but after last year’s epic collapse by Coria in the final (two sets up and match points) he may never recover from being mentally-damaged goods. As for Gaudio, he has the bona fides to repeat, but I’m still not sure I could pick him out of a two-man lineup.

Let’s see…who else? Oh yes, there’s that guy from Switzerland…Roger something or other. Pretty good player, I hear. Just won his 19th (yes, 19th) final in a row in Hamburg last week without losing a set on the slowest clay courts since mud was invented. Again picking my French derivatives carefully, he has the panache, finesse, ability, and of course, the agility to win the only major he lacks.

Just so you don’t think I’m Eurocentric, the two American hopes, Andre Agassi and Andy Roddick, are about as long of shots as Giacomo was at the Derby two weeks ago. Agassi has the consistency, but no longer the explosiveness to win in Paris, while Roddick is just the opposite (plus, he plays too close to the back fence instead of the baseline).

And then there’s the soap opera called Lleyton Hewitt. After fiancé, Belgian Kim Clijsters, called things off last fall, Hewitt proceeded to reach the final of his country’s Grand Slam in January, propose to his new Aussie gal the same night, and just recently, suffer broken ribs in an unknown “freak accident” at his home causing him to withdraw from the French. Who can blame him?—finding out your fiancé-du-jour is pregnant would cause any man to fall down the stairs.

Speaking of Clijsters, things have been looking up for her since her engagement went, well, slip sliding away. Ditto for countrywoman, Justine Henin-Hardenne. Both returning from injuries, both have won multiple titles this year heading into Paris. My tip is to Henin-Hardenne, who has plenty of that key clay court ingredient—agility—to garner another French title.

If you think my sensibility has been lost on agility, you’re right: consider that I’m not giving world’s number one and two, American Lindsay Davenport and Russian Maria Sharapova, much of a chance in Paris. Flat strokes and flat feet do not a French champion make. The only sliding they’ll be doing is across the English Channel to prepare for Wimbledon…with French Open withdrawal, Serena Williams, in tow.

Over the next two weeks in Paris, Roger Federer has the opportunity to achieve what only five men have ever accomplished—a career Grand Slam. If you’ll recall, many of the game’s greats—Sampras, Connors, Edberg, Becker, Ashe—met their own career Grand Slam Waterloos at Roland Garros. Better than all of them on clay, Roger, still 23 years old, should have many more chances ahead of him, but it’s only going to get more difficult—physically and mentally—to ascend Mount Roland Garros with each passing year.

Let’s hope he’s not listening to Simon and Garfunkel: “You know the nearer your destination, the more you slip sliding away.”

A French Open doubles semi-finalist in 1997 with Switzerland's Jakob Hlasek, David Wheaton recently authored, University of Destruction—Your Game Plan For Spiritual Victory on Campus. You can find out more and contact David at www.davidwheaton.com.

2005 Australian Open Preview: Down Under Dreamin’

Minneapolis Star Tribune, January 16, 2005 by David Wheaton

Pull the shades, close your eyes, and visualize sweaty and suntanned athletes scampering around tennis courts under the summer sun.

While it might be hard for us tundra-bound Minnesotans to imagine this scene, be assured that two seasons away on the under side of the globe, the best tennis players in the world are primed to perspire and persevere their way through a scorching fortnight of tennis at the year’s first Grand Slam event—the 2005 Australian Open.

Indeed, the tennis season has arrived Down Under, and in the words of a local radio talker, it’s time for American tennis stars to “make a move.”

For our top racqueteers, 2004 is final-ly over, as in: a Wimbledon final for Andy Roddick and Serena Williams, an Olympic final for Mardy Fish, and a Davis Cup final for the U.S. team.

American tennis fan, brace your self for this: Last year was the first since 1988 that America has gone a calendar year without at least one male or female Grand Slam titlist.

Blame it on the Russians…at least for our ladies. To say the Russians are coming would be both tardy and misleading. They arrived last year, winning the French Open (Anastasia Myskina), Wimbledon (Maria Sharapova), and U.S. Open (Svetlana Kuznetsova). Anyone with visions of Grand Slam grandeur will have to negotiate through one or some of them (including ’04 French and U.S. Open bridesmaid, Elena Dementieva—yes, the one with the sidearm, cupcake serve).

Strangely enough, Californian Lindsay Davenport garnered the year-end number one ranking in 2004 without surpassing the semis of a major. With a waning ability to carpe diem in the latter rounds of a Slam, more than just the ranking system needs to be retooled for her to win in Melbourne.

Which leaves us with the Williams sisters. Remember them? The ones who virtually traded off winning majors for a couple years? “You take this one, Serena. Oh, no, Venus, wouldn’t think of it—you take it.” Now, what appeared to be an impending decade of dominance is becoming an increasing duration of disappearance.

Slam-less since 2001, Venus’ confidence has been badly shaken, her ranking now residing just within the top ten. Perhaps even worse, her peers have what she has lost: confidence that Venus is conquerable.

Serena, not much higher in the rankings at number seven, seems more to suffer from a case of tennis-attention deficit disorder, the remedy for which reads backwards: Re-order surplus attention to tennis. In other words, “stick to your day job and leave Hollywood for later.” My breath is not held.

As for our men, America’s best hopes on the rubbery, bouncy, sticky Rebound Ace courts of Melbourne Park are Andy Roddick, with his high-kicking serve and heavy forehand, and Andre Agassi, with his know-how of four Aus Open crowns. Amazingly proficient, if not a slight bit unpredictable, my money would be on the 34-year-old to dazzle rather than fizzle in his southern hemispheric home.

The younger gun, Roddick, perhaps in an attempt to solve the Roger Riddle (i.e. one win, eight losses versus Federer), recently evicted one coach, Brad Gilbert, and invited another into his camp, Dean Goldfine (who is the former coach of Todd Martin, who, by the way, is now working with Minnesota-born, Mardy Fish, who should be helped by the aforementioned professionalism and on-court intelligence). Got all that?

This year will be telling for Roddick. Capturing a second Slam will top his “to do” list, but after a long and major-less 2004 campaign that ended with December Davis Cup disappointment in Spain, the quick turnaround to the Aussie Open may not have afforded enough rest for the weary. Don’t count him out, though—he has plenty of game, and even more importantly, he’s a gamer.

The Americans may be glad that 2005 has arrived, but there is one man who certainly wishes last year never ended. As a matter of fact, reports out of China have 2004 being appropriately re-named, “The Year of Roger Federer.” Fitting, for sure, as the displaced “Wood Monkey” didn’t garner three Grand Slams, eight other titles, including the year-ending Master’s Cup, amass a 74-6 record, and finish the year number one by the length of the Great Wall. That’s a Hall of Fame career, for goodness sake, not one year.

All of it done with the appearance-of-ease, it was also done coach-less. That will change this year, as Roger has now teamed with Roche—as in Tony, as in the Aussie tennis legend. (My advice to Tony: Bring him water, bring him towel, shut up.) Then again, Roger couldn’t possibly duplicate, or, dare I say, improve on last year, could he? Let me put it this way: Samson proceeded to struggle after his hair was cut; Federer is 10-0 since being shorn in November.

Yet picking Federer to win the first Slam of the year would be like saying Randy Moss will create controversy any given Sunday. The odds are not long. I’m going with Aussie Lleyton Hewitt, a former number one (and now, a former fiancé of Kim Clijsters) who resurged last year reaching the final of the U.S. Open (where you-know-who spanked him) and the Master’s Cup (where you-know-who spanked him again). If the Swiss clock somehow goes out of rhythm, look for “Nasty,” as his compatriots call him, to gain his first title in his homeland. (When in doubt, go with spurned love, I always say.) And just for the record, I’ll take fit Frenchwoman Amelie Mauresmo to win her first Slam.

A new year, a new beginning. A turn of calendar, a turn of fortune. These are the dreams dancing in the heads of players Down Under. Dreams that annually come true in a land called Oz.