by Pete Bodo

Given that tennis players are by nature and need a self-absorbed lot, each one going his own way and keeping his or her own counsel, it's been heartwarming to see the way so many of the pros, including Novak Djokovic, had kind words for Brian Baker, and welcomed him back to the tour.

Baker is out of the tournament now, a five-set loser to Gilles Simon. But here's what Richard Gasquet, who's very much alive in this event, said about his former junior rival after defeating Jurgen Zopp yesterday:

"You know, I played him in Les Petits (juniors). I don't know which year this was, I don't think I saw him since then. I think he's not really changed at all. He's the same, a bit taller, but his face, the game, you know, his style, I recognized him immediately. He was playing really well. . . he was a talented player. I saw him again, and he is playing well. On a hard surface he is going to be even better because he's very talented. And even at the time he had a very good two‑handed backhand. That's his strength. But I was happy for him. I think it's probably difficult."

Virginie Razzano had a career win yesterday, inflicting upon Serena Williams her first opening-round loss at a Grand Slam event. When Razzano was asked if, given all she's been through (she lost her fiance and coach to a brain tumor at this time last year), she saw the hand of fate at work on her behalf in the seismic upset, she replied:

"I don't know what to answer. I will use my joker (identity). Honestly, the past is the past. I think now I did my mourning. I feel good today. It took time. . .I also worked with someone who helped me making progress and helped me maybe start something else, something new. I felt I was ready to go ahead and live my life professionally and personally, so that was a thorough work. It helped me. So is it destiny?  Is it fate? I don't know. I wanted to win that match. I wanted to give myself the chance of winning it. I went as far as I could, and I think I won it as a champion."

Hear, hear.

Rafael Nadal may be going for an unprecedented seventh title at Roland Garros, and he may be locked in a deadly embrace with his rival Djokovic, but there was a spirited debate yesterday about . . . the precise color of his Nike shirt. (It's pink! No, it's red! Nike says it's "scarlet," na-na-na-na-nah.)

And suddenly, there also seems to be interest in the state of his skin and whether or not he uses any protection against the UV rays of the sun. When asked about it, Rafa replied:

"No, I should use sun protection creams, but I can't. I can't play with this. I have the impression that afterwards my skin is sticky, and I don't like feeling this, something sticky on my skin. That's awful. I have always, you know, touching my nose, my face, and then I have the impression that even my hands are sticky. Even during practice I don't use sun protection cream. I should perhaps. . ."

Who said this guy was a bit compulsive?

Tommy Haas is through to the second round, after qualifying. He's 34 now, but figures that he lost about four years to various injuries and surgeries, so he looks at himself as more like a 30-year-old (I don't know if that makes sense scientifically, but I like the thinking). He has a number of different motivations to continue, not least of which is his 18-month old daughter, Valentina.

"If I can play another year, year and a half, maybe she gets to see me play at a real high level still, which is another goal of mine. I don't know if I'll make it, but I'll try."

Great Britain's Heather Watson has been playing well, and yesterday she had an impressive win over Elena Vesnina, 6-2, 6-4. When she was asked about her background on clay, where her "clay pedigree" was from, she replied:

"I don't really have a huge clay background. I have trained in (the IMG Nick) Bollettieri (Tennis Academy) since I was 12 years old, and it's mainly hard courts there. I think a big factor to do with it is I play with the boys a lot, and they hit a lot of heavy spins, so I'm prepared for the balls that are coming above my shoulders." 

When a reporter kept pressing Janko Tipsarevic on how he felt about being a Top 10 player from Serbia, and how having to live in the shadow of his pal Djokovic might leave him feeling less "pressure," he responded:

"I'm going to repeat it again: I don't really see it that way. I'm not feeling I'm carrying the burden of the country on my shoulders, you know. We are all individual athletes, and of course you're feeling pressure when you are, I don't know, Top 10, when you're playing in the French Open, when you're playing an important match. So being currently No. 2 of a country doesn't really relieve any kind of pressure."

Not to be outdone as a fashion icon by that Spanish clothes horse Nadal, Andy Murray (who took out Tatsuma Ito in straight sets) balked when he was informed that his one of his numerous Boswells in the British press, the estimable Neil Harman, had pronounced Nadal's shirt "uninteresting." Presumably, that was a tweet, for Harman is a regular Tweetin' fool.

Murray asked if Harman was in the room. Informed that the correspondent for London's Times was absent, Murray said:

"So I can be really, really rude about him (Neil), then . . . Some of the shirts that he comes to work in have been very dodgy over the years, so I'm not going to listen to what he's got to say on fashion, that's for sure."

Since things were getting kind of personal, but in a good way, Murray went on to admit that he played only in "old" socks. He says his feet slip in his shoes a lot, so he prefers old ones, which are softer and somehow give him more secure purchase. Of course, that can be a problem during clay events, at which the socks take a terrible beating, color-wise, but Murray revealed that he'd just done his own laundry, back at his hotel, a few days earlier. When it came to socks, he was loaded for bear.

How old are those socks he plays in, someone wondered?

"Have no idea. Probably—like I'll wear new socks like just to walk around in, and the old ones to play matches in. I mean, they could be, I don't know, two, three months old. Don't know. No idea."

It's difficult not to like Andy Murray.

When Maria Sharapova, who didn't lose a single game in her first-round match with Alexandra Cadantu, was asked if she recited "a mantra or something" in those moments when she repairs to behind the baseline, back to the net, and pauses for a few moments, she replied in the negative—with typical snark and a smile. "I mean, if there was, I'd be happy to share it with you," she said.

You don't often get the serious, thoughtful side of Sharapova when the conversation strays outside the lines of the court, but she was unexpectedly forthcoming and sincere when she was asked a rather off-the-wall question about how she felt being from Siberia.

"You know, I'm really happy and proud of where I came from and where I was born and how—it's fun to hear when they introduce me, they don't say just born in Russia, they actually say I was born in Nyagan, Siberia.

"Every time they say that, you can hear the crowd going, Whoa. Like I don't think people actually realize that's where I was born. When they say it, I always feel so proud, no matter—like when they even say I've won the Grand Slams or been No. 1, when they say that, I get goosebumps, because I'm so proud coming from there and getting to the position I am today.

"Thankfully, I mean, my parents had absolutely no clue about sport or tennis or anything. Just somehow, here I am."

And here we are, just somehow as well.

by Pete Bodo

I know that many fans cultivate love-hate relationships with commentators, just like they do with the players. And I understand that "celebrity" talking heads—John and Patrick McEnroe, Tracy Austin, Lindsay Davenport, Cliff Drysdale, et al—are often held to a higher standard than run-of-the mill broadcasters. But for my money, it was welcome to hear John McEnroe's voice again after a steady, five-week diet of Tennis Channel broadcasts from Europe. 

The Tennis Channel's and other world-feed commentators (that's a distinct if heretofore unidentified segment of the media, the "world-feed guys") are astute, excellent observers of the game (I'm not singling anyone out for either praise or blame), but watching and listening to them, I too often feel like I'm stuck in a locker room with a couple of guys who are sitting around, picking at their toenails and callouses while they heap praise on a Federer or Nadal, or painstakingly analyze a service toss. They're just so. . . into it. . .that it leaves me feeling a little claustrophobic.

That's what many viewers want, I guess, but I prefer for my commentators to be higher than ground level, and I like the various blends of frivolity, expertise, familiarity, and uber-knowledge—the kind you can really only get from playing experience—that the celeb broadcasters have. The celeb commentators bring a pleasant kind of authority to broadcasts, but have you noticed that they almost never show of their knowledge of technique or strategy? Heck, I'm not even sure Chris Evert knows what "technique" means, but I guarantee you she gets to the higher truth of what's really happening out on that court more swiftly and clearly than many X-and-O junkies.

I even enjoy the amiable meanderings of those confident, comfortable titans of the game between points, like when John McEnroe marveled today at the way Rafael Nadal easily sloughed-off an umpire's refusal to uphold his objection to a call that went against him (the umpire did check the mark).

"Why wasn't I more mature back then, Ted," Mac asked his sidekick, Ted Robinson, in a reference to his own playing days.

"You were saving it for your twenty years in broadcasting," Robinson replied.

"Alright, alright Ted."

McEnroe and Robinson have their Lone Ranger and Tonto shtick down pat, and I don't even mind the self-serving elements. In a sneaky way, they—like the other celeb commentators—have become a substantial part of the pleasure I take from watching the game.

I was interested when Ted asked John, "Which of the Big Three would you choose to play at Roland Garros if you made to make that decision?"

McEnroe hemmed and hawed a bit before he replied, "On this surface, I would say Roger Federer. Just because he's the least . . ." McEnroe paused, searching for the right word, before he added, "damaging."

Out of context it may not sound like an earth-shattering perception. But these guys know it isn't really rocket science, and the exchange certainly made me perk up my ears.

One of Mac's great strengths is that his view is from a helicopter, not a bunker; he doesn't need to establish any street cred. But he is by no means out of touch with the game and where it's going. A typical example was a remark he made about Nadal: "He's so strong. Look at that upper body—you don't often see that in a tennis player. And those legs. It's hard to tell with these guys now because now they all wear their shorts so long, but his power is amazing. That's what gives him such a phenomenal push-off."

If you remember McEnroe in shorts during his salad years, you might agree that this shift to long shorts (courtesy of Pete Sampras—now there's a trivia question for you) isn't entirely a bad thing. His pudgy thighs looked like a pair of bratwurst poking out of those Fila tighty-whiteys.

                                                                    #####

One great thing about the television broadcasts, and Tennis Channel has come a long, long way on what might be called the diversity-of-coverage front, is how far and wide they cast their nets. This is especially important during Grand Slam events, where the threat of putting viewers to sleep during wall-to-wall coverage in the first week is a real one. So they've learned to spice things up for the sofa rangers who can't partake of the sights, sounds, and 45-minute waits in line for the bathroom, or to buy a drink that is part of the charm of attending.

My favorite one today: Wimbledon's Twitter feed tweeted that the practice courts at Aorangi Park are already busy; in addition to Paul Hutchins and others, former No. 1 and Wimbledon champ Lleyton Hewitt was practicing on the grass. It's noteworthy, because the quintessential "Aussie battler" Hewitt, now 31 and heading the wrong way on the rankings highway (he's hanging in at No. 176), lost at Roland Garros just yesterday.

Another reason to love Lleyton Hewitt.

                                                                 ###### 

The in-booth visits that have become de rigeur during Grand Slam coverage are another pleasant add-on. Today, Tommy Haas dropped by to chat with the ESPN2 crew, led by Chris Fowler and Brad Gilbert. Haas was once ranked as high as No. 2, and he's on the short list for "best player never to win a major." 

Haas is 34 now, and ranked No. 112. And he wasn't too proud to play in the Roland Garros qualifying event, although I'm hard put to figure out why this guy didn't get a wild card, based on what you might call, "distinguished service to the game," or, if you prefer the Hollywood version, "Lifetime Achievement."

That service was interrupted by terrible injuries to hip and elbow, both of which required surgery. After which Haas bit the bullet and put himself through the crucible of rehab and a painful return to world-class fitness. He successfully endured both those trials well after the age of 30, which puts him right up there with the aforementioned Hewitt when it comes to determination and, well, resilience. Who thought tennis's quintessential pretty boy (B.L., or Before Lopez) was so tough?

Haas not only qualified for the French Open, he took out Fillipo Volandri today in four sets. He entered the broadcast booth with his hair still wet from his shower, wearing a black t-shirt and a neon smile. He told how different it was to show up for the qualifying event. "You get here early, nobody much is around. You take a taxi to the courts, instead of a courtesy transport with a driver. You realize how good you have (had) it."

                                                                  #######

McEnroe and Robinson were back in action, tracking the last few games of Andy Murray's straight-sets win over 24-year-old Tatsuma Ito of Japan, ranked No. 68. Robinson took pains to point out that Ito had offered some fairly stiff resistance in the second set. It seemed like so much commentary fluff until McEnroe pointed out that Ito had good reason to appear like he embarked on the French Open with something less than a full tank. 

Ito played Houston in early April, then he traveled to Kaohsiung, Taiwan, where he lost the final of a Challenger event to Go Soeda; after which he visited Busan, South Korea, where he won a Challenger; and then he flew to Dusseldorf, where he was 1-2 in the ATP World Team Cup event. By the time he was done, his ranking had shot from No. 98 to No. 65—and his frequent flyer miles were through the roof. Clearly, the guy had done his heavy lifting for the month; an upset of Murray at Roland Garros just wasn't in the cards.

Murray was leading, 6-1, 7-5, 5-0, when the men had a brief rally followed by one of those cat-and-mouse, four- or five-drop shot exchanges up at the net. Surprisingly, Ito won it.

The crowd then began chanting Ito's name, and pure delight was amply reflected on his face. The late sun caught him in that amber glow, and you could see the the rivulets of sweat—and the red particles of clay—on his face. McEnroe, being a great champion, seemed more interested in Murray's reaction to the support. "You know he's just standing there wondering, 'Who the hell is this guy?'"

I'm pretty sure Murray was thinking nothing of the kind, although I'm sure that in his shoes, that's what Mac would have been pondering.

by Pete Bodo

Virginie Razzano first played in the main draw of Roland Garros as a 14-year-old in 1998, and she lost in the first round eight times in her 11 attempts, including the last two. But not this time; she incredibly knocked out Serena Williams, 4-6, 7-6 (5), 6-3. It was the first time the American, currently ranked No. 5, suffered a first-round loss at a major. Ever.

Razzano, now 29, is a far cry from the raven-haired, deep blue-eyed youth we've known for many years. You know how certain momentous events in life—falling deeply in love, losing a loved one, a battle with a long illness—can alter a person's very physical presence? Razzano is now lean and sinewy, almost gaunt, but in a way that only makes her more striking. Not all of that tempering can have come from age, an athlete's conscientious diet, a fitness regimen. It was at this time last year that she lost Stephane Vidal, her fiancé and former coach, to a brain tumor.

Fate may not have been very kind to Razzano, at least not in that one towering way. But fate has also been known to be fickle, which is probably the mantra that Serena is reciting to herself tonight. For by the end of their match on Court Philippe Chatrier, it certainly looked as if some agency other than themselves was guiding the hands of the players. Perhaps fate came back to console Razzano with a gift she would not have been able to appreciate nearly as much had she been awarded it a year ago, when her big wound was still so fresh. 

Some of what went on was almost outlandish. Razzano appeared to be cramping badly late in the match, but (to her good fortune) in small, sharp bursts, none of which threatened to lead to her disqualification. So she went on. In that epic final game, Razzano survived 12 deuces—and the unnerving experience of having seven match points shoved right back down her throat. You know, the kind of thing that Serena does so well (at least on the rare occasion when that talent has been called upon). Still, Razzano went on.

If you can divest yourself of allegiance to either player, you may agree that this was just one of those matches. One of the ones that seem to proceed in a way that is at the same time incredible and inevitable. These matches are truly rare, and they tend to lift tennis out of the realm of sports and into the sphere of great drama. For who would suggest that this match really was about Serena missing those service returns in the match game, or even Razzano gritting her teeth time and again, as the most able competitor in women's tennis assaulted the confidence that is such a perishable quality in players of Razzano's class?

There seemed to be something else going on. Don't look at me to tell you what it was.

What I'm pretty certain of, though, is that it all began when Serena failed to win the second-set tiebreaker from a 5-1 lead, or with two serves coming and holding a 5-2 advantage. Once Razzano escaped that dilemma, the match took on a life of its own, becoming a different movie from the one either woman might have felt she had been watching, one in which they seemed no more capable of altering the outcome than a moviegoer can change the end of a film by standing up in the theater and shouting advice to the protagonist.

And it was almost eerie how, right in the gut of the tiebreaker, Eva Asderaki—the chair umpire who was at the heart of the hindrance controversy involving Serena in last year's U.S. Open final—was obliged to become a prime player in the drama. She was called upon to check a mark or overrule three times between the time the tiebreaker score went from 5-2 to 5-4. Serena kept Asderaki busy, and you could almost sense a hint of discomfort when they addressed each other. But Asderaki appeared to make the correct as well as fair decision each time.

Very little of that seemed to make much difference as far as Razzano went; she was off somewhere else, projecting the kind of assurance and aplomb that is visited upon players who find themselves in her shoes. It was as if she was being given a chance to know what it is like not to be herself, but a player who would not be denied. There is no such player, of course, just a number of them—including Serena—who come a whole lot closer to being that on a day-to-day basis than does someone like Razzano.

What I found sharply ironic in this match was that for almost the entire first two sets, I was in deep appreciation of Serena's talents and abilities. Commentator and former No. 1 Lindsay Davenport informed us that a Nike seamstress divulged that, since the Australian Open, she's had to take in Serena's tennis dresses by a full inch-and-a-half. Apart from wondering if she will get fired for revealing what might be classified as one of those deep secrets women keep to themselves, the detail confirms that Serena is in great shape these days.

I carefully studied Serena's footwork when she was in full control of the match, and came to the conclusion that she has far better footwork that it may appear, if you just watch her from the knees up. Unlike, say, Marion Bartoli, Serena makes no great show of jumping up and down, doing split-steps, or quick pitter-patter exercises. Everything about her footwork is based on economy and efficiency. I planned to write about that, but I have to confess that it was not in this context.

It was a great day to be Virginie Razzano, and you might say life owed her one of those.

Well, we'll see what the day brings for Hercog and all those other hopefuls battling it out on the red clay of Roland Garros. I'm a little torn about the schedule; do I really want to get up at an ungodly hour to watch Francesca Schiavone get to it with 41-year-old Kimiko Date-Krumm? No I don't, and it's just because I can't stand those noises Schiavone makes when she's playing; they really do belong in a barnyard. I'll even take shrieking Maria Sharapova or Mrs. Whooooo (Victoria Azarenka) over Schiavone as a listening experience any day.

But I sure would like to catch a glimpse of Date-Krumm. What did they do, schedule the match first-on because they know oldies like Date-Krumm and Schiavone (she's quickly closing on 32) tend to be early risers, and don't need to get as much sleep as the kiddies like Vika or Maria?

Anyway, enjoy the matches today. I have no idea what I'll be writing about later.

-- Pete

by Pete Bodo

It was the perfect antidote to the dispiriting experience of watching Nicolas Mahut drum Andy Roddick out of the French Open the other day. Roddick, we all know, is the last American male to be ranked No. 1 as well as the last to win a Grand Slam title (2003 U.S. Open). 

Nine Americans—three men and six women, won singles matches Monday in Paris. Sure, you can point out that they were first-round singles matches on what is traditionally the first day of the two-week competition (we'll ignore that wretched Sunday start business). All I can say is, it beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. 

Check that.

All I can say is that the results were particularly noteworthy because many of them were truly "quality wins," and thus perhaps indicative of brighter days ahead for the USA. Out of the 10 Americans in action Monday, only one lost—and even that was a quality loss.

That shortcoming involved Ryan Harrison, who left the court cursing the gods for the turn of fate they ordained in his match with No. 11 seed Gilles Simon, an accomplished clay-court player performing for his home crowd. Simon subdued Harrison, 3-6, 7-5, 6-4, 6-1. The scores eloquently tell the how the air went out of the match for Harrison after Simon contrived to escape from the deficit of a set, and a break, and a double second-set point for the American.

Doesn't it sometimes seem that the those selfsame gods are bent on putting Harrison through every possible wringer as he impetuously flings himself at the ramparts of career? That's kind of what you get for wanting it that badly, it seems—and it turns out that Ryan not the only one in the family with that affliction. He has a younger brother, Christian, who's a highly promising junior. As Ryan said, "He (Christian) wants it so bad. It's so good to see. You know, I get a three‑page text message from him before I can even check my phone about what he thought about the match (today) right after I finish."

But let's not dwell on the might-have-beens. Harrison lost a tough match to a terrific player, and in some recent years that alone might have constituted a good Roland Garros for the USA. Today, though, it was the only dim bulb on the tree. And the scores put up by some Americans were just as impressive as the names alongside them. Note that they with the exception of Harrison, not one of them lost a set today:

Brian Baker d. Xavier Malisse, 6-3, 7-6 (1), 7-6 (5): Baker's story, one which has by now become very familiar to anyone who hasn't spent the last month living under a rock, just keeps getting better and better. There was something poignant in this battle, as both men were once highly touted prodigies. Malisse, now 31, No. 77, and playing some of the best tennis of his life, more or less got lost in the fun-house and never did fulfill his promise; Baker's aspirations were killed off by his series of injuries. 

Jesse Levine d. Benjamin Becker 7-5, 6-2, 6-4: Another qualifier, Levine was up against a salty, 30-year-old veteran in Becker. That can be a tough assignment for a guy like Levine, who's been on the cusp of the direct-entry elite for a long time now (he's presently No. 131), because players like Becker, who's No. 157, know full well how valuable those early-round ranking points can be, and how much tougher it is to get them from, say, a Novak Djokovic.

John Isner d. Rogerio Dutra Silva, 6-3, 6-4, 6-4: Silva is ranked No. 121 and he earned his way in via qualifying. Barring a meeting at some Challenger with, say, Ivo Karlovic, I'll bet Silva has never seen anything quite like that serve of Isner's. Now he can return to Sao Paolo, Brazi, and tell his friends that he's been to see the elephant.

Unlike some Americans, Isner is taking his sojourn on clay in stride. He said, "Well, for me, personally, I don't mind clay. I don't care what surface I'm playing on. I don't care if it's mud . . . My serve is my serve. I like to think I'm gonna hold serve a lot. Whether it's clay, grass or hard, I'm always gonna have that on my side."

***

And now for the women:

Not long after Christina McHale and Sloane Stephens won their matches, they huddled in the locker room, excited about having won, eager to know: What next? As Stephens explained, "I was like, 'Who do you play (next)? She's like, 'I play Lauren Davis.' I'm like, 'Oh my God. I play Bethanie (Mattek Sands).' So all the Americans are playing Americans. But it's good that we'll have people in the third round. That's always nice."

Let's not worry about that for now, or wonder who's going to take a bullet for the team. Let's just look at the winners:

Christina McHale d. Kiki Bertens, 2-6, 6-4, 6-4: A 20-year-old from the Netherlands, Bertens is No. 89. Given that McHale is No. 35, the final score may be a little surprising, but look at it this way: McHale is now a force on the tour, and she just turned 20. She's living with pressure that some of her less accomplished countrywomen known nothing about to this point, and McHale seems to be managing it well. Surviving a scare like this is a ritual of passage for all Top 25-type players, and it will probably carry a confidence dividend over to the next round.

Lauren Davis d. Mona Barthel, 6-1, 6-1: This was a real stunner, mostly because of the borderline inconceivable score. Barthel, after all, is No. 32, and in the midst of what might be a career year (although she's still just 22), one she launched with a win at Hobart. Davis is just 18 and only 5'2", but she has a big, big heart. This was a terrific win that nobody would have dared predict.

Vania King d. Galina Voskoboeva, 6-4, 6-2: The 23-year old-doubles expert King is locked in a fascinating race with Venus Williams and Varvara Lepchenko—the prize being the fourth and final berth on Team USA for the upcoming Olympic Games in London. This was a winnable match, given that at No. 48 Voskoboeva is just eight places ahead of King in the singles rankings. But that only made the assignment that much more nerve-wracking. Venus also won her first match, as did Lepchenko, so the race continues unresloved.

Sloane Stephens d. Ekaterina Makarova, 6-4, 7-6 (6): Makarova is No. 37 in the world, Stephens No. 79. But it amounted to yet another convincing, straight-sets upset by an American. Stephens loves the clay, even though her familiarity with it is limited. She's just 19, and a real live wire with a big, carefree personality. That could serve her well in the days to come, as the pressure begins to ramp up.

Varvara Lepchenko d. Ksenia Pervak, 2-6, 6-7 (6), 6-4: Lepchenko was born and spent her early years in Uzbekistan, but is now an enthusiastic American citizen. She's making a mighty push to earn a place on the Olympic team (see above) and this win keeps her hopes alive. She's got to be feeling good after losing the first set and surviving an 8-6 tiebreaker. Perhaps it will free her up to swing from the heels in her next match.

Bethanie Mattek-Sands d. Sabine Lisicki, 6-4, 6-3: Bubbly, irrepressible, 27 but still a little goofy (but in a good way), Mattek-Sands is down to No. 167 and coming off a long struggle with a back injury. This is something the woman she vanquished knows a lot about, having overcome a serious, career-threatening episode (ankle) herself. This one ranks right up there with Davis's destruction of Barthels as an eye-brow raiser, but for the women of the USA, it was all in a day's work. On a very special day at Roland Garros.