American sports and me

Friend Akshay Sawai, sometimes to be seen making me run all over the tennis court, has an article in the current Open, Desis Who Love American Sports. I figure in it, with a mention of my fast-bowling exploits that once involved scotch-tape.

Akshay sent me a detailed questionnaire some months ago while gathering material for this article. You might want to read the questions and my answers too: see below.

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1. Where did you grow up in India? What sports did you follow when in India? Who were your idols?

I grew up mostly in Bombay, though I also lived in Delhi and then went to college in Pilani in Rajasthan. I followed cricket, tennis and hockey a lot, played the first two pretty regularly. In cricket I was a fan of Vishy, Chandra, Andy Roberts and Eknath Solkar (for his electrifying fielding -- I wanted to field like that). Tennis, McEnroe, Connors and Amritraj. Hockey, probably Aslam Sher Khan and Ajitpal Singh.

2. What events/games did you watch live at the stadium when in India?

I remember going to the Brabourne Stadium for a day of the Test against NZ in 1969. I was 9 years old, and it was nearly 36 years before I watched my second day of Test cricket in a stadium! (Bangalore Test against Pakistan, March 2005).

3. What age did you go to the US? Which city?

I went at 21, in 1981, to Providence, Rhode Island, to attend Brown University.

4. Could you talk about your early days in the US vis-a-vis sport? What did you miss about the Indian sports scene? Did you go to comical/dramatic lengths to get a fix of Indian sports news/telecasts?

I went in the days long before widespread internet and TV channels. There was American sport, and that's it. No mention of cricket or hockey anywhere. So while I missed it a lot initially, I simply got used to the idea of not knowing about happenings in cricket for much of the 1980s (while I lived in the US). That whole period is like a gap in my life -- I know that there were various Test series that took place, but only in hazy retrospect.

The exception was the 1983 World Cup triumph -- an Indian friend got me clippings about it all from Indian newspapers and sent them to me, so I pored over the reports of the final victory. I still have them somewhere.

Quite early, I started attending university football and ice hockey games, and later following pro and college basketball too. I never really grew to like baseball.

I should say though that in my time at Brown, several of us (Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians, a few English guys) got together and started playing cricket. We imported some equipment and played regular matches. (Yes, with real cricket balls). I was also then an impoverished student, and I had no money to repair my glasses whose arms had fallen off 2-3 days before one of our matches. So I played that whole game of cricket -- even pounding in to bowl fast -- with the glasses taped to my nose with scotch-tape.

That was how much I wanted to play cricket.

Incidentally, this club we formed has endured, and now plays as the Rhode Island Cricket Club in a weekend cricket league in New England.

5. How did you start liking the American sport of your choice? Can you describe the moment when you realised, "Hey, I think I like this"?

Basketball was probably my favourite American sport, purely because of the sheer tempo and athleticism of the game. I started watching pro basketball (NBA) in the early '80s, the heyday of Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. Truly, watching them got me started liking the game. I particularly liked the way Bird played -- no great showmanship like Magic and later Jordan had, but an uncanny awareness of the court and his teammates, a completely unselfish game founded above all on playing hard all the time. I liked that because it's the way I always wanted to approach the games I played -- tennis, and later basketball too.

I also enjoyed football, because I found it fascinating how these teams would try to run these intricately patterned plays on the field, as if they were to be done with mechanical toys. Yet these were not toys, but big hefty athletes in frenetic action, going after each other! So the pretty patterns would invariably end in huge piles of humanity. And yet out of all that, I grew to understand that there was indeed strategy and guile and subtlety in the game.

6. What attracted you to the sports of your choice? Once you liked it, did you consciously educate yourself about it? Did you start spending more time on the sports section of American publications?

As I said, it was the skill of Larry Bird that first got me hooked to basketball. Later I also began following college basketball, where passion and school spirit feed into the mixture. The March college tournament (the NCAAs, also referred to as "March Madness") is one of the great spectacles of American sport, where invariably one or two unknown teams will score upsets over some fancied team and make a run.

I did start following the sports sections closely. But I probably learned most about basketball (in particular), and liking it even more, when I started playing it seriously. That's when the manouevres on court -- the "pick-and-roll", for example -- made sense to me, and then I started identifying them in the games I saw on TV.

7. Who were your favourite American sport analysts?

Probably John McEnroe and Mary Carillo in tennis. Mainly because both had played the game at the highest level and bring that understanding to their commentary.

8. When was the first time you watched a game live in the US? What stood out about the experience?

I think my first live game was probably a Brown football game, sometime in October of 1981. I barely understood the game, but what I remember is the whole college atmosphere -- the cheering students and alumni, the college band. Especially because the Brown Band is traditionally scruffy and disorganized, but plays beautifully coordinated music all the same. I also remember with wonder that each time Brown scored, the male cheerleaders would flop on their fronts and do as many pushups as Brown's score was.

And of course what also stood out were the (female) cheerleaders -- pert, pretty girls in little dresses doing impossible-seeming feats to get the crowd excited about the game.

9. What did you like to eat and drink at the stadium?

Usually a Coke and a hotdog. I have never been a beer drinker.

10. Was it possible to hear snatches of Hindi or any other Indian language at a hardcore American sports venue?

Only between me and any Indian mates who were along!

11. What was your favourite team and why?

In the college games, Brown. Of course because I attended Brown, but also because it is a small university with mostly weak teams that struggle to stay afloat against most others. Yet as a result they often fight hard and make games closer than they should be.

In the pro ranks, I liked the Boston Celtics in basketball, purely because of Larry Bird. In football, I liked the Washington Redskins, perhaps because they won the first Super Bowl I really paid attention to, in 1983. And they won it with a spectacular performance by John Riggins, a character in his own right. He once got drunk and fell asleep under a table at a formal Washington party, and when he woke up, he told the Supreme Court Judge Sandra Day O'Connor: "Loosen up, Sandie baby!" Gotta love the man and the team that he played for.

12. Who were your favourite players and why? Now that you are back in India, do they still remain some kind of role models?

Again, I'd choose Larry Bird. Because of his intelligence about basketball, his fabulous court sense and his unflinching work ethic about the game. For those things, of course he remains a role model. John McEnroe is up there too, for his court sense in tennis.

13. Did you have parties at home during Super Bowl or other major events? What was the food and drink menu on such days? What was the agenda?

I don't recall a party at home, but I did go to other friends' places for parties around games, Super Bowl or otherwise. Food was usually pizza and chips, with plenty of beer and Coke available too. The agenda? Not so much the game, just hanging out with pals.

One of my favourite memories from the States is about one such party, around an inconsequential college football game. I had just moved to Austin, in Texas, and had no friends there. An Indian friend from Brown told me about an Indian friend she knew in Austin and suggested I call him. So one Saturday morning, I did. He said he and some pals were going to be at home watching the University of Texas playing Baylor University that afternoon, did I want to join in? So I went. Turned out they were all UT students, fervent supporters of UT. Since I didn't much care about either team, I decided to support Baylor. As it happened Baylor just hammered UT that day. (Which is a very rare happening). So I ended up cheering a lot. That got me many dirty and angry looks. I was never invited back; in fact I never met any of those guys again.

14. Did you reach a point where you enjoyed American sport more than cricket?

Yes, I'd say I probably enjoyed basketball and tennis more than cricket. But probably because I played those sports regularly and with some seriousness, and got fairly good at them.

For a while in Austin, I played basketball competitively. Though our team had two superb players (I'll call them X and Y), collectively we were not much good. But two incidents stand out for me from that time.

Once, a friend from out of town came to play with us. He was now out of shape, but had played basketball seriously for years. He was a tough, skillful player, and though I was taller than him, I found it very hard to play against him, score over him. That evening, we met for dinner, and got chatting about the game. He asked me, who do you think your best player is? I named X, one of the two guys I mentioned above. He shook his head and pointed to me. You're the best player, he said. Because you play hard all the time.

I was floored, but it felt good. The Larry Bird influence, I thought.

The other time, we played a pickup game against the UT women's team, then nationally ranked. Again, it was hard going -- these girls were tough as nails, quick and smooth on the court. I thought they didn't think much of our capabilities, certainly not mine.

But the next day, I was sitting in my office working and noticed that the same UT women's team had come to my company on some kind of promotional tour. Watching them through my large window, their best player suddenly saw me too -- and suddenly broke into a huge smile, waved and told her teammates, who smiled and waved too. Somehow I got the sense that she had appreciated the game the previous day, appreciated playing against me and my mates.

A good feeling, again. Larry Bird, again.

15. In your initial days, did you feel intimidated at rowdy venues?

No.

16. What technical aspects of your favourite American sport did you take time to comprehend? Did this result in some amusing faux pas/ incidents?

Even though I played basketball a fair amount, I never did get the hang of the various rules for fouls and shooting. In particular, there's a rule about how your foot must not cross the line while shooting a free throw.

There was one game I played with my team in which we were (again) getting routinely thrashed. On the dot of halftime, I got fouled going up for a basket, and had to make the free throw. Since the buzzer had sounded, both teams went to their benches to sit while I shot the FT. The ref gave me the ball, I looked up at the basket, took a breath and threw it up. Swish -- nothing but basket! I felt great -- it was a nice shot, and we had at least narrowed the gap on our opponents by one point.

Then I heard the ref's whistle, and looked over to see him waving his hands. No basket, he shouted, pointing at my feet. I had stepped clear across the line. I tried arguing, saying the ball had left my hand before I stepped across -- I felt sure about that -- but he would not listen.

Apparently the feet need to stay behind until after the throw is made, not just till it leaves the shooter's hand. Or I think so. To this day, I'm not sure of the rule.

And to this day, my teammates have not forgiven me, even though that one point would have made no difference to the outcome of the game.

Best foot forward

Whatever else happens, I believe Andy Roddick is a fine tennis player. In any other era except the Federer-Nadal one, I think he would have won more than the one Grand Slam he has won (US Open, 2003). And even in this era, he's had his chances. Example: if he had made an easy volley at set point in the 2nd set of the '09 Wimbledon final against Federer, he might just have gone on to win that title.

But never mind. Much is being made of his meltdown at the US Open, where he allowed himself to get distracted by a foot-fault call and lost to an always dangerous player, Janko Tipsarevic. In truth, that call had no real bearing on the match: he was behind already and the foot-fault did not push him any further behind.

Except that he allowed it to get to him. Not because it was wrong -- it was not -- but because the lineswoman told him it was his right foot that went over the line (wrong, it was his left foot that just touched the line, clear from that clip). For reasons known only to him, Roddick spent the next 15 minutes telling her he never has dragged his right foot over the line while serving.

But what interests me about this whole thing is that some tennis pundits have suggested that it is "physically impossible" for a righty to drag his foot over the line. (Again, that same page says exactly that).

Why? Boris Becker's serve was famous for his legs' scissor action, his right foot crossing over and landing in the court first. In fact, here's Roddick himself, imitating Becker's serve, and if you look carefully, he crosses that right foot so it goes in front first (the opposite of his own service action).

Not that Roddick did this against Tipsarevic, but clearly it is NOT physically impossible for a righty to foot-fault with his right foot. Why do some folks (not Roddick) make out that it is? I'm puzzled.

59 all

What else is there today in the world of sports except the anticipation of Mahut and Isner resuming their hostilities? A piffling triviality by the name "World Cup", you say? Tell you what, you give me a call when a World Cup game gets to 59-59, and they call a halt to it saying it will be resumed the next day.

Do give me a call, because that's a football game I want to see. 90 minutes, 59-59: if my mathematics abilities are still firing on all cylinders, that's better than a goal a minute. That, I want to see. A pox on these games that end 1-0, or even 0-0.

Mahut's career highlight was probably at the Queen's Club tournament in '07, when he made a run to the final and lost a tight match to Andy Roddick, 4-6, 7-6, 7-6. Lucky they had tiebreaks there, otherwise who knows? He and Roddick might still be on those other grass courts in London, flailing away at the ball.

This year, he had to come through the qualifying tournament at Wimbledon. In the second round there, he took four hours to beat a Briton, 24-22 in the third set. In the final, he went two sets down before coming back to beat Stefan Koubek, an Austrian now best known in tennis circles as another kind of choker.

Having done all that, he runs into John Isner in the first round at Wimbledon, and neither of them is willing to go quietly, or at all. If not quite yet the next great American hope, Isner is no slouch with the racket. At the US Open last year, he knocked out Andy Roddick in five sets.

So both players have tough matches with Roddick in their resumes. Perhaps that's some kind of prerequisite to battling to 59-59 in the fifth.

Far more eloquent words than mine have been written since they stopped play last night, so I'll leave you to find them. But I urge you only to consider the full meaning of what these two have put together in this match, captured for posterity in the caption for this picture.

Not just about tennis

The May-June 2010 issue of House Calls magazine has the first of a series of essays I hope to write for them over the next few months. This one, about tennis. (The link above still takes you to the March-April issue, so you can instead read the article below.)

I called it "33, going on 40"; in print, it appears as "It's not just about tennis!"

Comments welcome, even if you're no tennis fan. Especially if you're no tennis fan. But definitely expected if you are a tennis fan, or better yet, a player. (And if you play, how about a hit sometime?)

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The feeling comes rarely, but when it does, it's a good one. Most recently, it came during a session with Gert, a young Irish woman I had seen practicing on the wall. I asked if she'd like to hit sometime, and a few days later, we got on court. There was this one point we played, and for some unexplained reason I counted the shots that time; and that time, it just went on and on. Backhand to forehand to backhand to volley to running back to return a lob, on and on and I could feel a smile growing on my face over how well I was playing (and she was playing) this particular point, not holding anything back, fighting hard, but the shots kept going just like I wanted (and she wanted), and the years dropped away and I was moving around just as smoothly and quickly as I had ever moved on court and I could see the smile on her face too … yeah, I counted the shots, and when it finally ended and I now don't even remember who won the point, Gert and I had sent 33 strokes back and forth across the net. We stood there panting, bent over our rackets, but smiling goofily at the experience.

Then we returned to hitting. My next shot crashed into the net. Back to the grind.

Still, for me, that rally is something to savour, and I savour it still. I've played tennis for years. When I'm playing regularly and am fit, I get the feeling I can hit with anyone. My problem really is that I've never been consistent with my shots, never been able to consistently sustain a rally beyond a few strokes. So when it occasionally does happen, it's like nirvana.

What you have to understand is that for me, tennis is nearly a first love. (Nearly). Few things are as satisfying as when I smack a clean backhand winner past the guy on the other side of the net. Forehand too, but particularly the backhand. Why so, you ask? Because I always found the backhand a less "intuitive" stroke to play than others, and because when I do it well I can actually feel various body parts coming together in concert. Something about that is beautiful. Tennis, it's like that.

And when I can keep it up through 33 strokes, there's something more. It's as if the guy on the other side and I are linked by that yellow ball of fuzz, together painting a canvas of power and guile, athleticism and yes, excellence. Yes, even if I say so myself. It's why the lady and I smiled through our exertions. It's why I said that thing about a first love. It's why I feel deep in my bones that other thing that's been said before: tennis, it's like life. All the way from love to excellence.

May not be the same for everyone who plays the game, of course. Andre Agassi, for one, you'd think from a quick reading of his recent autobiography, "Open". Agassi says again and again that he hates the game. Not only that, when he first meets his wife, the great Steffi Graf, he finds that she hates the game too, and that's an immediate bond between them.

But give them their hate, it doesn't bother me. These are also two greatly driven and yet always thoughtful, introspective human beings. Agassi's pursuit of the summit of tennis tells us plenty about him, about what it takes to get there.

About, really, what's important in life.

Two examples. Early in his career, Agassi wore his hair long, then found he was losing hair, so he actually wore a wig for a while. (Astounding fact: Nobody knew. Confession: Not even this tennis junkie.) Then he tired of the charade and shaved himself bald. In many ways, this actually liberated him and the second half of his career was the brighter half by far. "Losing my hair was the best thing that ever happened to me", he writes.

At some point in this second half, his sister is diagnosed with breast cancer. She is dreading the loss of her hair to chemotherapy, but listening to her brother, she decides that she should get rid of it before the cancer takes it. "An act of defiance," says Agassi, "a seizing of control." So he brings her home and shaves her head himself. "She laughs and laughs," writes this tennis-champ-turned-barber, "and it feels good to make my sister laugh when every day does its best to make her cry."

Later, Agassi sets up a school in his hometown, Las Vegas. Not a tennis academy, which you might expect a tennis star to do, but a full-fledged and fully-equipped school for underprivileged kids. Because he thinks every kid must have an education, and the best possible one.

Near the end of the book, Agassi tells of how he has to speak to the first graduating class. He's wondering what to say, "obsessing over his speech." Eventually, he decides to speak about contradictions. "Life is a tennis match between polar opposites", he will tell them. You have to embrace the contradictions within you, or reconcile them, or at least accept them -- but you cannot ignore them. Interesting enough that a sportsman chooses such a theme to speak on. But then: "What other message could they expect," writes this tennis legend, "from a ninth-grade dropout whose proudest accomplishment is his school [i.e. the one he has set up]?"

Perhaps you're surprised that the two examples I chose have nothing to do with tennis? And yet I submit that they have everything to do with the game. Because for Agassi, it is the sustained chase to be the best in his sport that, oddly, drives home for him the value of all else in his life. It gives him the clarity of vision to know what matters and what matters less. We should all be that lucky. I mean, maybe this doesn't happen to everyone, not even to everyone who plays a sport at the rarefied level that Agassi inhabited. But the sacrifices Agassi must make, the immense satisfaction he gets from a hard-fought tournament win, these things serve only to underline what so many other things mean to him. For me, in the way it speaks to me, this is the lesson of this book, but of tennis itself.

Think of it: this is a man who won eight Grand Slam tournaments, including all four of them at least once -- a feat only a few other players in history have managed. And this man tells us his "proudest accomplishment is his school". This man understands how he can give his sister the strength to fight a battle for her life.

So, confession time again, let's get some things straight. Yes, I can hit some handsome tennis shots, every now and then. Yes, I have played with some pretty good players, and always felt I could keep a rally going with them, for a while at any rate. But no, I never played competitively. I am nowhere within screaming distance of the kind of tennis Agassi plays. Yet the longer I spent on the tennis court, the more something struck me, especially as I grew out of a youth when I actually believed I could settle for, even live with, the ease of mediocrity.

This is what struck me: whenever I play, I must try as hard as I can to play the best I can right then.

The search for that little spot of excellence is an exercise worthwhile in itself. One reward, as I found with Gert the Irish lady, is the occasional and intensely satisfying 33-stroke rally. And like every good summit will do, it only pushes you toward the next. Me, I've got my sights set on 40. One of these years …

But the greater reward is what it does for the other places in your life. If I can't play tennis like Andre Agassi, at least I can share with him a little clarity about what matters. So by now, I know: it's the family. It's the people around me. It's the effort to do whatever I do -- tennis, career, parenting, whatever -- as well as I can do it.

It's not that I need to proclaim this to the world, believe me. It's just a quiet principle I like to aspire to. You see, mediocrity just doesn't seem that easy any more. Trying to make it to 40 strokes, strangely enough, seems far more interesting.

Jumping bean

"He's a flying jumping bean, a bundle of hyperkinetic energy, with the tour's quickest hands. Still, he's never learned to hit a tennis ball. He hits off-speed, hacks, chips, lobs -- he's the X of Y. Then, behind all his junk, he flies to the net and covers so well that it all seems to work. After an hour you feel as if he hasn't hit one ball cleanly -- and yet he's beating you soundly."

Questions: Who wrote this? About whom?

No Google/Wiki/Bing/whatever. As they apparently say in quizzing circles, this is "workoutable". Eminently.

Extra credit: What is X, what is Y?

Tussle with history

Open magazine carries an article I wrote about the prospects for Somdev Devvarman, the new Indian tennis star: Somdev's Tussle with History, they called it.

I'm appending below the version I sent to them -- it's pretty much the same except that Open added a few lines to bring in a little more "optimism" about Somdev.

Comments welcome.

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Writing on the Wall

One had played a Wimbledon final. He lost, but his massive serve and solid volleys made him a feared opponent among the pros. The other was short and compact, speeding around the court, smooth strokes pinging off his racket. He would soon win the biggest prize in US collegiate tennis -- the NCAA singles title -- and turn pro.

Kevin Curren, the Wimbledon finalist. Steve Bryan, the NCAA winner. Practicing together on a University of Texas court in Austin, sometime in 1990. Nobody else around but me, watching from immediately above one end of the court. An enthralling enough spectacle that I went often to watch them rally, once or twice even prompting quick smiles of recognition.

Tennis is a sport in which watching it on TV has zero to do with watching it close-up. Even just practicing, these two slammed the ball with power and precision that took my breath away. Executed just below my nose, Curren's monster serve seemed like it would need to be returned from somewhere near Siberia. Yet little Bryan blasted it back with interest, often enough wrong-footing the taller man as he closed in on the net.

Now I play tennis, and in those days I played a lot on that very court. It is one of my lifelong regrets that I never asked either Bryan or Curren to hit with me. Perhaps I was intimidated by their skill. Yet I had played many times with friends who had been on American college teams. I didn't embarrass myself. OK, they were not in Bryan's league. Still, I should have asked. If watching them did things for my game, what would practicing with them have done?

If you follow tennis, you probably remember Curren. He had a barnstorming run to the Wimbledon '85 final, blowing away John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors before turning into one of the game's many footnotes: whom did Boris Becker beat for his first Wimbledon title?

In 1979, Curren had himself won the NCAA title that Bryan would win in 1990. Yet even a tennis fan would probably ask, "Bryan who?" He did turn pro after that NCAA triumph, but did very little at the senior level.

Maybe there's a lesson there for Indian fans, looking at Somdev Devvarman as the next great hope for Indian tennis. For Devvarman is a NCAA titlist too, and twice in a row (2007/8). In fact, Devvarman might even have made it three in a row -- he was the beaten finalist in 2006. American collegiate tennis is intensely competitive, so this record speaks of a seriously talented player. And if that's not enough, there's his recent stirring Davis Cup wins over the best South Africa has to offer; the second match, a victory over Rik de Voest from two sets and a service break down.

Yet the million dollar question: How far will he go in the pros?

If history is any indication, not very far. That's the lesson, a sobering one. The great majority of NCAA champions don't do much in the pros. The last to even reach a Grand Slam final was Mikael Pernfors, who was also the last before Devvarman to win back-to-back NCAA titles (1984/5). In 1986, Pernfors rode his heavy topspin strokes and bounding court coverage all the way to the French Open final, where a certain Ivan Lendl hammered him. John McEnroe, top of the NCAA heap in 1978, remains the last collegiate champion to win a Slam.

Since then, NCAA winners have been less tennis forces than footnotes like Curren. Yet before McEnroe, the NCAA winners' list has illustrious names like Connors, Ashe, Smith and Trabert, all Slam champs. What happened after the late 1970s, and what does that mean for Devvarman?

My feeling is, the game of professional tennis has moved on and up, to another level completely. The premium on fitness and power means that the really talented players turn pro as soon as their bodies mature. If they want a successful pro career, they're better off skipping college altogether, instead of wasting their most athletic years chasing a degree. So if American collegiate tennis remains fiercely competitive, it really isn't a springboard for success in the pros.

Thus none of the recent generation of Slam-winning American superstars -- Chang, Courier, Agassi, Sampras and Roddick -- even enrolled in college. McEnroe? After winning the NCAA tournament as a Stanford freshman, he dropped out to turn pro. Becker was 17 when he defeated Curren for that Wimbledon title: not only did he not attend college, he did not even complete high school.

All these champions made marks in the pro ranks by their late teens.

In contrast, Devvarman's four years at the University of Virginia means he is already 24, a year into his pro career. These days, that is positively middle-aged in tennis terms. McEnroe won the last of his 7 Slams at 25. Roger Federer had won 6 Slams by the time he was 24. Rafael Nadal, winner of 6 Slams, is a year-and-a-half younger -- younger! -- than Devvarman.

The writing is clear: the pro ranks are filled with powerful teenagers and early twenty-somethings who will steamroll even NCAA champions.

So what can an Indian tennis fan expect from Devvarman? From what I know of him, he has a solid all-court game and a refreshingly positive attitude: "I belong with the big boys", he said from this year's US Open. That will make him one of the dangerous floaters who lurks in the early rounds of the Slams -- the men who will pull off a stunning upset or two, whom the stars remain wary of, but who don't have the game to go several rounds. His ATP ranking will probably peak at about 75. He may find more success playing doubles, where teamwork rather than individual brilliance wins you matches. He will also do well in the Davis Cup, where the charge of playing for team and country often lifts players to spectacular feats.

In short, we can expect what previous Indian tennis stars have given us -- Paes, Bhupathi, Amritraj, Krishnan junior. When Devvarman enters a Slam, we'll rejoice in his first-round victory, like the straight-sets pasting he administered to Federico Gil in New York. Then we'll mourn the second-round loss with its moments of flair, like his four-set battle with Philip Kohlschreiber in which Devvarman raced through one set 6-0, but lost the other three. After that, he'll play Davis Cup and dazzle us with hard-fought, inspiring triumphs.

That is, the roller-coaster of the last few weeks might just be a microcosm of Devvarman's professional career. Believe me, I hope I am wrong, that someone will find me and rub my face in this article when Devvarman pulls off a Wimbledon championship.

But I don't think so.

After Bryan won his NCAA title in 1990, he was interviewed by Sports Illustrated. SI described him as a "mentally tough and terribly earnest" young man who had won the final "with a blazing demonstration of cunning and consistency." Now of course I had only seen him practicing. Yet those words fit the man I knew from that Austin court. Even just trading blows with Curren, he was muscular, clever and precise in his shot-making. And on the verge of turning pro, Bryan told the magazine: "I can see myself in the Top 30."

Realistic, you might think. The guy knows he won't make it to #1, but a top-30 player can still have a solid and lucrative career. Nothing to sneer at.

Reality bites. In 1994, Steve Bryan reached his highest ranking as a pro: 80. Three years later, still only 27, he read the writing and retired.

Me, I still nurse the hope that I'll run into him one day, remind him of those sessions with Curren, and get out on the court to hit with him. Hey, I want to measure myself against a cunning and consistent NCAA champion.

Elevated the game

Roddick didn't deserve to lose this one. For msot of five sets, he looked the more solid, determined player. In the fifth especially, Federer seemed to be staying in front largely by virtue of a virtuoso ace-serving display. That, and the missed chance of the second set tiebreaker (what Roddick wouldn't give to have that backhand volley putaway back) and the couple of mistakes in the last game -- this much put Federer on top tonight. Like he himself said, it's a tragedy that someonehas to lose a game of tennis that's this magnificently played.

Roddick made many new fans, many new believers, with this match. When he gets over his devastation at losing this one, he will know that he can compete and beat the best, and this match, strangely enough, just underlines that. He and Fed elevated the game today.

Just an enthralling match.

#14

Federer won the French. It confirms his place as the finest player in history of a wonderful game that is nearly a first love for me.

Yet did anyone else think it was a strangely sloppy and not particularly gripping match that he and Soderling played out?

Of course, it was a straight-set Federer victory -- but there have been enthralling straight-set matches before. (Edberg vs McEnroe, Wimbledon semis 1989). This match had too many errors by both players. While it was closely contested in parts -- witness one 23-stroke rally -- Soderling never persuaded me that he had the fundamental self-belief to win. And while he has an outstanding forehand with which he finds some unbelievable angles, he doesn't move all that well on court. I couldn't help thinking that Nadal or Verdasco or Gonzalez would have retrieved some Federer shots that got no answer from Soderling.

Besides, Federer himself went through a few mistake-strewn patches. What was that easy forehand volley-smash that he contrived to put way beyond the baseline? Hey, I could have put that away. I did, against this 6 year-old kid I was hitting with last Friday.

But these are really just quibbles. Federer has nothing left to prove to anyone. He has the talent, but even more so, the mental fortitude to achieve what he has -- and what's talent without that mental edge? And that's why the one thing I'd like to see Federer do now, when he has nothing left to prove, is figure out a way to beat Nadal in the Slams again.

Deigns boulders

"But then, the results of today are not always the best judge for the big bang of tomorrow. Instead, it is the way that Devvarman prowls the court. On the big stage, our players quail more than prevail. Devvarman revels. He is the first player from India who hits the heavy topspun ball that deigns boulders for quadriceps.

"The legs that propel the 5'11" 23-year-old are like hewn oak -- weathered, solid and with the ripple of muscle weaved through the spindle of speed. He does not blast away the opposition; he grinds it down. The ball whirls off his racquet, loops in deep and then snorts up rampant. That makes his groundstrokes tough to tame and in turn allows us the hope that finally we have a player with the game to deliver in the punishing world of hardcourt tennis. Devvarman may not be beautiful to watch, but then we have had enough artists. It's time to embrace the slugger."

Sukhwant Basra, writing about Somdev Devvarman, the Indian tennis player who won the US NCAA tournament in 2006 and 2007, and who has just reached the semifinals of the Chennai Open. (Being played, as you might imagine, in Chennai). Hindustan Times, January 7 2009.

Did you imagine tennis writing could not be poetic? Do you still imagine that? Do you want to run into those quadriceps, on the court or elsewhere?

The cupper

A day ago, I got a hint of an answer to the questions I aired in Up against it. Specifically, what would happen if I got on a tennis court with Roger Federer, or Stefan Edberg, or John McEnroe?

Well, a day ago I played with a former Davis Cup player. He's some years and some kilos past his prime, but his game is still fierce and sharp. Yet I was able to rally with him so that I didn't come away disgraced; I even won several points. (Of course Federer etc are several classes above this once-Davis Cupper, but still).

But while that was nice, it wasn't the reason for feeling good about our session. Two other things contributed to that.

First, during a short break we took, addressing me as "dude", he pinpointed in just a few words what I was doing wrong on my serve. Just enough to give me something to think about and focus on, and when we went back on court the serve immediately improved. (Which is when I won those several points). From across the net, he yelled and pumped his fist, appreciating the improvement.

Second, I was actually supposed to be playing with a buddy, AJ. When we got to the court, the ex-Davis Cupper and a young lady were already playing. Seeing the two of us, he immediately asked: "Wanna play doubles?" Which is what we did. He and the young lady wiped the floor with AJ and me, but that hardly mattered. And when she had to stop, he himself suggested a way for the three of us to continue playing, rotating in and out. And when we finally stopped, he himself suggested that we get another game on Monday.

All in all, a refreshing contrast to the "friend" I wrote about a few weeks ago. Makes you believe, again.

Sliming in

Some pain as I type these words. Part is physical: my shoulder hurts, my knees are stiff. Yet that part is welcome -- it's the luxuriant aftermath of a hard session of tennis last evening. Most of the pain is really mental: a smoldering rage at some of those who, like me, play tennis at the nearby club. Much the same feeling that prompted this, a few years ago.

Here's yesterday's dust-up, in brief.

Kids' coaching means that only one court is available for use by members like me in the evenings, these days. This evening, two guys are playing a set when I arrive. I wait some 20 minutes for them. Just as they finish, a guy I know well, and have played with before, also turns up, with an obvious foreigner. My eyes light up, because I don't have a partner, and I was going to practice serves by myself. Here's a chance to actually hit some balls back and forth.

"Want to play?" I ask my friend, thinking we can hit 2-on-1. As I've done many times here.

He replies in lowered tones: "Actually this is my guest and I don't know how he plays, so I'll just hit with him for a while to check him out, and then you join in, OK?" It's a slightly odd request, but I don't think much of it.

Until ... Five minutes of them playing, just when I'm thinking I can join in, they start a set. I can hardly believe my eyes. I say to my friend, "You're playing a set? What happened to the three of us hitting together?" He dismisses me: "You should have brought a partner. We came to play a set, not just hit the ball. Don't be unreasonable, it's silly to play 2-on-1, after all this is a guest from abroad!"

He repeats: "From abroad!"

I'm so angry I'm actually shaking. This guy slimed past me on to the court, and he now gives me this BS!

After the few minutes it takes to calm down, I tell him: "I'm taking half the court to practice my serves. You can play on the other half." Which is what I do. Within a couple of minutes, one of the kids from the coaching class runs over to rally with me.

The peculiar culture of the tennis brat. Not all of whom are kids.

Agony of the feet

Republic Day, as I write this. May my country have many more.

I've been thinking, this is as good a day as any to give some thought to one Prakash Kumar Thakur. Described as a "social worker", this man filed a case against tennis star Sania Mirza three weeks ago. Why? Because she "disrespected the national tricolour by sitting in a manner so that her feet pointed at the flag, which he felt was derogatory and had hurt him." He concluded this when he saw a photograph in the press.

This, felt Thakur, amounted to an offence under the Prevention of Insult to National Honour Act.

A Bhopal court admitted the case and has issued a summons to Sania Mirza.

So yes, I think this day on which we honour our country is a good day to think about the social worker Thakur. To think, too, about what truly insults the National Honour: Sania Mirza photographed with her feet pointed at the flag? Or a man who claims this hurts him? Or a summons that's issued based on this claim? Or the idea that there's something dishonourable about our feet?

Take your pick.

Same blood

Aisam-ul-Haq Qureshi, I read somewhere, has been writing a line in his diary every day of 2007. That line reads: "I will qualify for Wimbledon."

And this Pakistani tennis player did just that: played through the forgotten tennis backwaters that are the "qualies", and made it to the main draw of Wimbledon. Then on Tuesday, he won his first round match in the main draw, a straight-sets walk in the park against Lee Childs. His reward for that feat? A second-round match against the Russian tennis maestro and maverick, double grand-slam winner and once world #1, Marat Safin.

Whatever Qureshi does against Safin, he will be remembered. Though not for his first round win, nor for qualifying for Wimbledon. Nor even for his superb win two weeks ago at the grasscourt warmup tournament in Halle, against the up-and-coming Frenchman Richard Gasquet.

No, many who love this game remember Qureshi instead for what he did four years ago: he played doubles at that year's Wimbledon. His partner? Amir Hadad. From Israel.

Should it have been a surprise that this got Qureshi into plenty of trouble at home in Pakistan? The sports establishment there worked itself into a tizzy of harrumphing, flinging about words like "ban" and "this is wrong" and "he will not be allowed to play Davis Cup for Pakistan".

To his credit, Qureshi was entirely unfazed by all this. Here's some of what he said in reaction:

"I am surprised at the fuss being made over my partnership ... If we can change people's minds then that would be a good thing. ... If we win here then I would dedicate the victory to my family and to peace. It would be good for those doubters to see that even though we are from different religions it is possible for us to work together and have some fun. A Jew and a Muslim playing together is not the end of the world. We are all human beings. We have the same blood, the same skin."

Indeed. And I have to wonder, what if Qureshi teamed up with our own doubles maestro, Mahesh Bhupathi, to play the next Grand Slam and more? How much harrumphing would there be on two sides of a border?

Yet what kind of a signal would it send out on both sides of that border?

Good speed to you, Aisam-ul-Haq Qureshi. You'll need it in your match against one of the tennis geniuses of our time, Safin. But really, I don't care what happens in that match. As they say: You're already a winner.

McEnroe's description

One more news clipping I wished I had saved: soon after Leander Paes and Mahesh Bhupathi first began having problems with each other, the greatest doubles player of them all, John McEnroe, spoke his mind on them. Remember this was also soon after 1999, when Paes and Bhupathi had reached the finals of all four tennis Grand Slams, winning the middle two. They had the doubles world at their feet. They could have gone on to be the next great doubles pair, following Hewitt/McMillan, Lutz/Smith, Gottfired/Ramirez, McEnroe/Fleming, Flach/Seguso, Woodforde/Woodbridge -- a long and glittering line. Through those glorious months of 1999, Paes/Bhupathi seemed primed for vast success, poised to take their place in that line.

Instead they fell out with each other. They've both had some success since, but nothing like the promise of 1999.

And for that, McEnroe, never one to mince words, referred to them as "stupid" or "foolish", some word like that. Because this Indian pair had not understood the meaning of professionalism in their sport. The worth of what they had found, as a team.

They could have been great, Paes and Bhupathi. Instead they choose to be petty and foolish. Tennis lost, for sure. The two of them lost more.

I know that old lady

Of course there is always an old lady with a pickup truck. She is about as hyper entering the roundabout as a bear in hibernation.

Dmitry Tursunov, the rising Russian tennis star (played in Bombay not long ago right after a terrific 5-set Davis Cup victory over Andy Roddick), writing about driving in Portugal on his blog from the Estoril tournament.

Apparently that Estoril blog was so successful that the ATP has set up Tursunov as their resident blogger. Only once a month or so, unfortunately. But don't miss his Aug 26 post ("The First Post Back").

What a delight to see these tennis guys write! Tursunov in particular, but several others too.

No sweat

Part of the point of our 25-year reunion, of course, was to rewind our lives to those halcyon days when we were young, the air was clean, the stars were bright, and Tuesday dinners consisted of rajma (red beans) and rice. Charged with that spirit, many of my alumni mates who gathered in Pilani attempted activities they don't normally do today, but would have done without a care a quarter-century ago.

No, I don't mean the strenuous activity of hanging around on the campus roads, tongues out, ogling the passing girls. Well, sure, some of the guys may have spent the weekend doing just that, but that's not what I mean. (I feel safe in assuming that the girls of our time did not do the same to passing boys, thus I am quite sure they didn't do it this time either. Well anyway, you ladies, please correct me if I'm wrong and I hope I am).

For example, there's the alum who, on hearing that another alum's teenage daughter was both at the reunion and is a state-level tennis player, set up to play with her. The man didn't have shoes, but the urge to rewind was so strong that he played in his sandals. They couldn't get a court to themselves, so they persuaded some students to give them a half-court to hit on. A very thorough half-hour shellacking from the daughter ensued. She ran this alum all over the half-court like a madman, up and down, side to side, until he was bent double, gasping for breath and pleading for mercy.

And the daughter? She had barely broken a sweat.

"Thank you for the game," she said graciously. "Hukka-huff-hukka-hukka-you," he managed to cough out in equally gracious response.

There were the other alums who, after breakfast one morning, set off walking to the lawns at the other end of campus for a photo-call (yes, we felt very much like we were at Cannes). As they got started, they ran into some cycle-rickshaws, and the lawns suddenly seemed very, I mean VERY, far away. So some of these guys, in pairs, climbed into the rickshaws -- give them credit, it only took them four or five attempts to make it -- and urged the rickshaw drivers to get them to the lawns on time.

At this point, at least a couple of the drivers turned to look at their passengers and slowly shook their heads. The load, it was obvious from their doubting faces and from the shimmying passenger bellies -- I shall be kind and not mention names here -- was about four or five times what they were used to carting.

But this didn't deter at least a couple of the alums, in two different rickshaws. Each leaned over and asked his driver if he would let them drive the rickshaw. At least one of these fellows had his wife sitting in the vehicle, so I suspect he was, after two decades and more of blissful marriage, finally making a valiant attempt to impress her.

Here's a tip, bud: she ALREADY MARRIED YOU! You don't NEED to impress her any more!

In any case, as the bemused drivers stood watching, both alum-driven rickshaws made their way gently and smoothly, very purposefully, very firmly, into the yellow-flowered hedge adjoining the road.

But let it be said: the two alums looked very impressive indeed as they picked yellow flowers out of their hair.

Final note: the tennis-playing alum made me swear not to reveal his identity. I suddenly don't feel like keeping that promise any more. He was one Shri D'Souza. Yours truly.

***
Yet one more vignette from our college reunion three weeks ago. Previous vignettes: Nap time and Drummer girl.

QOTY

I believe, at the end of the day, personally, my life is not about a banana.

Maria Sharapova, at a press conference after winning the US Open tennis title, September 9 2006. (See here, and don't miss the other thing she said about a banana).

For me, far and away the quote of the year.

This side of Neptune

Kaarsten Braasch? Who's he? Tennis player from Germany, now retired from playing on the circuit. Known for four things. (Well, I know these four things).

Played Pete Sampras, then the defending champion, in the first round at Wimbledon a few years ago. It was expected to be something of a cakewalkover (where that word came from, another time) for Sampras: Braasch was fairly low in the rankings, after all. But with a mix of slice and spin and dropshots, Braasch actually wrested a set and fought hard. Pistol Pete had to summon up all his racket prowess to eventually beat Braasch.

"He's a pain to play", or words to that effect, was Sampras's post-match reaction.

Is a chain smoker, 15 smokes a day. Let's just say that's unusual for a professional tennis player.

Has easily the most peculiar service motion this side of Neptune. I'm unable to find words to describe this flailing that would deposit the ball across the net. If you haven't ever seen it, I feel for you, because I believe nobody should die without having seen Kaarsten Braasch's service at least once. Nobody.

In 1998, he was lounging around at the Australian Open. Williams sisters, then on the up-and-up and full of immense self-belief, announced to anyone in earshot that they believed they were good enough to beat the 200th-ranked player on the men's tour in a practice match. Braasch was within earshot (perhaps smoking his 7th of the day). He was then ranked 203. He volunteered, then went off to train, Braasch style: some golf, some shandies.

Then he played Serena, beat her 6-1. Venus immediately after, beat her 6-2. Braasch wrote later:

Both sisters are great tennis players and hit the ball extremely well. However, if you've been playing on the men's tour there are certain shots you can play that are going to put them in difficulty. Try and put a lot spin on the ball - I was hitting the ball with a degree of spin they don't face week-in, week-out.

Williams sisters then announced to all in earshot that they wanted to do it again, but against the 350th-ranked player.

Braasch, now perhaps on his 10th smoke, told the press that he was about to lose a lot of ranking points, and would be at #350 in a week. So if the Williams sisters wanted, they could play him again in a week.

They didn't take up that particular challenge.

Please, please don't be content with my mangled and abbreviated account of this encounter. Far funnier are Braasch's own words.

My kind of man. God I love tennis!

***
Postscript: Then there was the time when Karan Rastogi beat Maria Sharapova.

Doubles, piece of cake

Top flight tennis in the city as I write this: India's Davis Cuppers tangling with Pakistan's on grass at the CCI. What I wouldn't give to go watch -- perhaps tomorrow or Sunday, if it's possible. (What I wouldn't give to go play ... but that's for another time, another life).

In the last several days, there's been plenty of press about the players, their practice sessions, their familiarity or otherwise with grass, that sort of thing. But I'm a little surprised that nobody seems to have remembered something quite unusual about Pakistan's #1 player, Aisam-ul-Haq Qureshi.

A few years ago, Qureshi formed a doubles team with an Israeli player, Amir Hadad. They played with some success on the Challenger circuit, and entered Wimbledon and the US Open in 2003, I think. Muslim and Jew, Pakistani and Israeli -- as you can imagine, they raised a number of eyebrows.

The Pakistan Tennis Federation even asked Qureshi not to play with Hadad, because Pakistan does not recognize Israel, let alone maintain diplomatic relations with that country. They threatened to ban him from tennis (how were they going to enforce such an absurd thing?). When the International Tennis Federation announced that any such move by the PTF would result in sanctions against Pakistan, and that they would not be able to participate in the Davis Cup, the PTF ate its words.

Pakistan does not recognize Israel. But Qureshi recognizes Hadad, and recognized his tennis talent enough to want to partner him, regardless of muttered prejudice and threats. That's the kind of man who just beat Rohan Bopanna (7-6, 6-4, 6-4) in the first singles. I don't care what else he does in tennis for the rest of his life: Qureshi's partnership with Hadad was example enough. Hats off, Aisam and Amir.

And I wonder, what if Qureshi and Bopanna decide to form a doubles team? How would our respective tennis federations react? How would all of us on both sides of a British-drawn border react?

***
Writer called Akshay Sawai covers tennis for the Hindustan Times. He's been writing about tennis for a long time, for different papers, and I've long admired his knowledge of and passion for the game.

So I was amused to read this in his report of yesterday's draw for the Davis Cup:

[At the draw ceremony] Prakash Amritraj, India's highest ranked player, found a piece [of cake] being thrust at him. But it was Lent and he has given up dessert and soft drinks. So, despite the formality of the event at Maharashtra governor SM Krishna's residence, the 22-year-old got up and kept the piece back on the table.

Amritraj, and India, will need the same discipline and boldness to win the tie against the tricky Pakistanis.

Really, Akshay! I mean, it's just a young man declining to eat a piece of cake! You're reading "discipline and boldness" into that?

Up against it

Idle Sunday afternoon, and I got to reminiscing about the sports which I've played and loved a lot; and then wondering if I can ever gauge just how much better the masters are at them than I am.

For example: if I ever got on the same tennis court with John McEnroe, or Stefan Edberg, or Roger Federer, I feel pretty confident about knocking with them, just hitting back and forth across the net. (Actually, I have some small reason for this confidence: I have hit with a couple of pretty good US university players). But if we played a set, I have no illusions. I'd lose 6-0, and I'd be astonished if I won as much as a single point.

What about in basketball? One-on-one with Michael Jordan, how far would I get -- would he allow me to dribble longer than five seconds, let alone get off a shot, let alone score?

And cricket? How many balls would I last against Glenn McGrath, or Anil Kumble, let alone score a run, let alone hit a boundary? Of course, I always far preferred bowling to batting (not that I was good at either). So if I bowled to Rahul Dravid or Brian Lara, would I be able to produce even one ball that they wouldn't hit out of the park, let alone beat them, let alone get them out?

Tennis is the only sport in which I feel a bit of that confidence I mention. Is that because of these three sports, I play tennis best? Or is it a function of the kind of sport tennis is?