Peter Bodo's TennisWorld

The S Train

2009-07-09T14:55:21-04:00

by Pete Bodo

Our customary "small group" U.S. writers session with newly crowned Wimbledon champ Serena Williams was postponed on Saturday, in order to better serve Serena and Venus, who had to play the women's doubles final not long after the championship match. We didn't have our little tete-a-tete with Serena until Sunday morning, about 90 minutes before the men's final.

As I walked into the small room we were assigned, Serena was sitting there in that The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Prince type waistcoat - all dressed up with nobody to play (unless, of course, she had designs on snatching the racket out of Andy Roddick's paws and having a go at halting Federer's march to his record-shattering 15th major singles title). I said something like: "What? Haven't you had enough for one tournament?"

Serena laughed; she's got a husky, rich laugh that suggests that the humor is coming from her gut, more than her mind, and said she was supposed to play doubles with her agent (Jill Smoller, a former aspiring pro), her hitting partner (I should know his name, but I don't) and a fourth who remained unnamed. Knowing this was Serena organizing the hit-and-giggle session, I had to wonder who that might be? Venus? Too obvious. Pete Sampras? He was still en-route. Barack Obama? Not big enough a name.

Soon we were all gathered around a table with Serena sitting at the head, casting surreptitious glances at her Blackberry-type phone. Was she going to Tweet right in the middle of this conversation, I wondered? Why not - this was probably the 15th media obligation she had following her victory over Venus in a final that secured Serena's 11th major title. That's four titles, not press conferences) short of Federer, not bad for a girl whose life is - and always has been - more complicated and less bee-lined than the male champion's.

Actually, I've arbitrarily decided that the boundary between great female players and merely excellent ones should be 10 Grand Slam wins. This may make fans of Justine Henin and even Venus howl with outrage, but the number makes sense. By contrast, I'd put the boundary between the greatest of male players and those stacked below them in the waiting room of immortality at 6 majors.

One thing I've learned about Serena over the years is that it's impossible to dislike her, or get your shorts all in a bunch over the words that spill from her lips, if you're present in her company. This woman is not just a force of nature, she's a natural. To some degree, she lives on planet Serena, which is not necessarily the same tired rock the rest of us inhabit. She's basically non-linear in her thought processes - she's more of a Goran Ivanisevic or Ilie Nastase than a Chris Evert or Martina Hingis that way - and her basic software package didn't include the self-censoring equivalent to spell check.

There's a lot of Richard Williams in Serena; both of them are expounders and loose cannons, while Venus, severe at the best of times, has raised withholding information to an art form. Serena's mind (and mouth) run like a train on a parallel track to whatever topic or person she's engaged. She clacks and clatters along, rocking and rolling, occasionally hoving close enough to whatever train is running on the other track for the occupants there to get a quick look inside the windows of Serena's club car. Inevitably, though, she veers off, the tease is over, and you're wondering what more lies behind those smartly curtained panes.

Serena gets in trouble for the things she says, but I hesitate to call it that because "getting in trouble" always presupposes that you got caught doing or saying something and are shortly to pay a price for it. Serena seldom pays a price because even those she's often exasperated have gradually learned that the best, perhaps only, policy regarding Serena is to just throw your hands in the air and accept that this is just how she is. Serena is an entity unto herself.

Serena is no Eliza Doolittle, after all. She has no special desire to please anyone, and nobody is going to teach her the conventions, and she's not in a position to have to embrace them. As awkward or seemingly uncharitable as some of her remarks are, she's become one of those figures who's simply outlasted, out-achieved, and out-foxed those who would shape her into something more palatable to their taste. There's a kind of dignity in that, because the reckless disregard it implies for what we might call "public image" is tonic in a profession with at least one too many specialists fretting over how a player appears to be - rather than how well he or she represents her authentic self.

Turns out that after winning the title and making the obligatory media rounds, Serena repaired to the locker room where she joined the sister whom she just defeated in preparing for their doubles. Venus and Serena watched the men's doubles while they waited in that haven, Serena explaining, "We wanted to make sure we would play like the Bryan brother." I was glad to see that they didn't, given that the Bryans lost while Venus and Serena won the title.

In the doubles, against the strong team of Slammin' Sammy Stosur and Renee Stubbs, the Williams girls played compelling tennis, and neither they nor their inspired opponents were above firing point-blank missiles at each other. Here's something that bothers me about the lack of exposure for doubles: It means that the vast bulk of matches in which the Williams sisters play together are simply not seen. I can't tell you want a pleasure it is to watch Venus and Serena on a doubles court. They seem so. . . relaxed - so contented and committed to the task at hand. They smack palms, utter encouragements, and hold conferences - meetings so focused that they wouldn't be out of place at Davos, or wherever it is that all those beautiful minds get together to flatter and stroke each other.

That's not what the sisters are doing, of course. They're talking strategy, although knowing the way Serena is, I can also see her changing the subject from cross-court chip returns to something utterly unrelated: Hey, Vee, what's up with daddy running around with that stupid camera, when he can get all the pictures of us that he wants off the Internet?

The sisters really seem to love doubles, and if I were a WTA or ITF honcho I'd want to make sure they get plenty of encouragement to keep doing it for as long as they can. And because Serena leans toward bulk, having half the court to cover would enable her to be a great doubles player for decades to come, even if she immediately embraced the chicken-fried steak and french fries diet. "We were really focused on the doubles," Serena told us. "They (Stosur and Stubbs) really picked up their level but we really wanted to win. Venus wanted to leave with a title, like I did last year. She wanted to have something to take home with her."

You gotta love someone to whom a trophy is still a trophy, not some giant and absurdly ornate goblet symbolizing nothing more than the inevitable inflow of another $3 million in endorsement money. These girls really like the thing in itself, which is touching. In fact, they have their silver and gold booty stashed all over at their various homes. "Everywhere I look there's a Wimbledon trophy, and tons of US Open ones," Serena admitted. "Lately I've been putting mine in LA, while Venus has I don't know how many of her Wimbledon trophies in Florida. And now all of these doubles trophies. . ."

She sounded rather like a pretty young thing, complaining - not at all convincingly - about having the attention of too many men.

This has been a great run for Serena. As she said, "About a year ago I had eight Grand Slam titles, who would have thought that I'd now have 11?"

Well, quite a few people Serena, for the one thing people have figured out about you is that it's easy to underestimate your abilities. El Jon Wertheim asked Serena if she took any pleasure in changing the staid culture at Wimbledon, and she replied: "Today it was a little stuffy in the Royal area. Someone said, 'Wait, you have to wait for the Duke to pass. . .' I was like, 'I don't belong in here.' But I've never been like everyone else, and I think it's cool. In general, even going somewhere in LA or Florida, I don't like to look like everyone else. I like to look different."

Of her extraordinary ability to respond to the Grand Slam event challenge, Serena said: "I've always been this kind of person that excels, even in school, when the tests and exams come. I was always the best at getting the right answers and doing the right preparation. You can't buy (that innate ability to win), you have to be born with it."

All matters of Serena's abilities as a scholar and their relation to her talent for beating the tar out of anyone who crosses her path at a major aside, her current run brings back memories of 2002-03, the years of the "Serena Slam," when she at one point held all four titles in her hand. Is she playing as well? Does she appreciate what she's accomplishing a little more deeply, now that she's older and more familiar with adversity?

"That's a good question. . ." She thought for a moment. "I can't say it came easy back then. I definitely worked for it, but I didn't go running or go to the gym as much. It wasn't as intense." She reflected again: "Actually I did go to the gym, so I take it back. I was super fit. The skills came back (now)(, maybe that's it."

We were still staring at the window but the S train seemed to be pulling off and way from us. We craned our necks. How come she's only done well in Grand Slams for the past three or so years?

"I just think that I need to get more consistent with smaller tournaments and be more. . . serious . . " Before she even finished the sentence, she burst into a hearty, decidedly un-serious laugh.

Suddenly, a note of self chastisement, or perhaps it was just mystification, crept into her voice: "I don't have that many titles, thirty something. I think Kim (Clijsters) still has more titles than me. I really want to win the other ones, I really don't know how I lose them! That's one way '03 was better. I was winning all of them."

She seemed to lose interest in the topic and glanced at the screen of her phone. The S train was almost gone now, all that was left was the lantern blinking in the jaunty caboose.

Your Call: Davis Cup

2009-07-09T11:34:07-04:00

Mornin', folks. I was a little surprised by some of the reactions to my last post, A Charmed Life. After posting the piece, I felt I may have devoted too much of it to this fashion-image thing (territory I'd covered two weeks ago), but I did so to set up my main theme, which was how a combination of factors (including that one) work against many people fully appreciating Federer's strengths and talents.

And oddly enough, the reactions, with the exception of a few readers, centered on the fashion bits and in a curious way. My commentary was denounced by many as meaningless or frivolous, after which the protesters immediately weighed-in on the theoretically "meaningless" observations - with gusto.

Meanwhile, most of the latter half of the post - the more game- based, fresher, and clearly less controversial material - went largely unremarked. I put it down to the fact that for many, any perceived criticism of their idol - whoever he is - becomes the dominant theme in any post. It's a forest-trees kind of thing, and it causes many people to seemingly abandon what capacity they have for critical, careful reading. It's a form of hysteria, I suppose, caused by drinking too much of the Kool-Aid. In fact, I noticed quite a few readers lurching around yesterday, belching, bellies distended and mouths disfigured by pink stains all around the lips. Maybe the best thing about these regular orgys of denunciation and outrage is the way they provide Grant with a platform for some of the funniest comments I've ever seen posted, anywhere. Anyone else suspect he's channeling that other Grant, Cary?

BTW, I inserted Gottfried von Cramm into the story because he seems to me overwhelmingly the model for Roger Federer - appreciated and lionized in his time for many of the same reasons as The Mighty Fed is admired today. The bits about Barbara Hutton were too tempting to pass up because of the glamour associations, but also because so many of Federer's most ardent and insistent fans are women who have a special most appreciation of men like Cramm and Federer. I imagine that if you polled women only (25-and-older, please) Federer might be the most beloved big-name athlete in the planet. But the counter-force of Rafa fans would certainly be significant.

One thing is for sure: no meaningless post can generate the volume of discussion and debate as some of these less-than-worshipful posts, so let's be honest about this: you can't have it both ways. You can't say you "don't care" about a certain issue and then go off writing long and passionate comments about it without automatically making someone (me) wonder: If this is so meaningless, why is everyone so eager to jump into the discussion. Surely, this stuff hits a nerve. The comments prove it.

Anyway, I've got to get to work on a Serena Williams post, and while it may seem impossible to rally your enthusiasm, let's remember we have Davis Cup coming up this weekend - the toughest weekend of the year, for players (and perhaps fans) alike. All I can say is, thank the Lord that Federer isn't playing Davis Cup. Let's leave that genie in the bottle, shall we?

- Pete

A Charmed Life

2009-07-08T14:08:02-04:00

By Pete Bodo

One of the welcome elements in the unfolding saga of Roger Federer is that he gives someone with an inquiring (or perhaps just mischievous) mind a fair amount with which to play around. That's because Federer is different and not just in the way that's enabled him to shatter the Grand Slam singles title record (he has 15, as of last Sunday at Wimbledon); he's also created an image that draws attention to himself in a way that can be chuckled at just as easily as it can be admired and even envied.

It took a cruel or spiteful streak to make fun of someone like Pete Sampras, but not an Andre Agassi. The former, you sensed, was always just himself, and he remains the ultimate conservative representative of the genus, "tennis professional." Agassi, of course, was different, and for that he sometimes paid. The same is true for Federer, albeit in a different way. That "down to earth" Federer who delighted most everyone, that youngster with the pony tail whose preferred dress was a t-shirt and jeans, and who liked to sit "criss-cross applesauce" on the floor of the locker room under his headphones is a manboy of the past.

The image we now have of Federer, the one that makes as many eyes roll as dance, was probably achieved with a great deal of help from his main sponsor, Nike. And it's a tribute - if that's the right word - to that company's marketing division that the message they want to send via The Mighty Fed (with his consent, of course) was so prominently displayed at Wimbledon, which has always taken great pains to avoid the appearance, if not the reality, of commercialization. Just as Agassi's experimental, somewhat playful nature invited Nike to push the style and image envelope (interestingly, Nike backed off such shenanigans at Wimbledon - Agassi always played there in plain white), Federer's interest in fashion and style-consciousness gave Nike the motivation and confidence to have a far greater impact at Wimbledon than ever before. Who ever even knew what Sampras wore?

And don't think that sports agents and marketers are blind to or above shaping a player's image. Do you think Andy Murray has curbed his moping and decided to iron out the rough spots in his Scottish brogue on his own? Do you think LaCoste paid Andy Roddick for the quality of his serve, or to make use of his image as a testosterone-besotted American stud to seduce a broader pool of customers - some of whom may have been put off by the fact that LaCoste always seemed a bit, well. . . twee.

Federer, it turns out, is an ideal marketing partner, and a natural-born wingman. This is an enormous contradiction, given the degree of his accomplishments and fundamentals of his character, but there it is. Anna Wintour and her ilk like to collect celebrities, and it's pretty clear that Roger has no problem whatsoever being the brightest, shiniest, most appealing bauble in her collection. Sometimes, the vanity of a great athlete is so powerful that is simply wouldn't occur to him - or her - that he's being shaped and/or used. Do you think Serena Williams dated Brett Ratner because she's got a thing for hirsute older men with big tummies? Maybe, maybe not. What I am pretty sure about, though, is that it would never occur to personalities such as these that they're beloved for any reason beyond their wonderful selves.

This matters because Federer is not only a great tennis player, he's the great tennis player, holding the game aloft on his shoulders like a modern-day Atlas. And the extent to which he's checked off on creating a specific image undermines the degree to which he transcends image, for the sharper the image, the more likely it is put off as well as attract. We're still different people with different tastes, values and aspirations, and the further you drift from pure performance and personal conduct (as well as the norm in your peer group), the less representative you become.

Sampras, for example, was representative of the traditional tennis player; TMF has been shaped to represent the outrageously successful and gifted tennis player, and that's a different thing. The image is accurate, of course, but to many it seems like he's rubbing the world's face in his genius; it can be irritating because everyone knows that talent is a gift, not something earned.

In one critical way, though, Federer's image is wholly accurate. It suggests that he's led a life lined with gold, a charmed life - nothing has reinforced that more than the events of the last few weeks, in which he's completed a remarkable turnaround from beleaguered and puzzling champ into the back-to-back winner at Roland Garros and Wimbledon. As he said the other day: "I don't know if I've had a more happy period in my tennis life. I don't know if I can ever top this. These last months, with all the records on the line, and coming through both times. . . knowing what it means to me, it's quite amazing."

The other day, Sampras told me that Roger was "lucky," quickly adding that luck always seems to favor the great. As that baseball man Branch Rickey put it, "Luck is the residue of design." And Federer was designed, physically and mentally, to dominate this sport. That he does so with a curious mixture of a champion's requisite arrogance and more than a touch of humility is attractive. The other day he also said, "I just thought that being on the same level with majors as Pete (Sampras), that was kind of important to me, and not really breaking any his records. I almost felt a little bit bad, to be honest."

I have no doubt that Federer was being honest; this is a guy who doesn't even think like a contemporary player in a savage, me-first sport is expected to think these days. Leave the braggadocio and chest-thumping to the Jimmy Connorses of this world - those grunting, sweating, self-aggrandizing icons who need to broadcast their real or imagined superiority from the rooftops. Life is smoother and sweeter in the clouds.

Some of this gets lost in the fabricated Federer image, even though that image taps into some of the man's genuine gravitations. When contemplating Federer, I often think of Gottfried von Cramm, that model sportsman, dashing aristocrat, and adonis (and he, too, had a "beautiful game"). Barbara Hutton, at that time the most glamorous woman on the planet (beat that, Anna W!) was madly in love with Cramm for most of her life. As she was a wealthy heiress and socialite, they made for an appropriate pairing. They were even wed, albeit briefly, because Cramm was gay and that proved too enormous an obstacle even for a formidable beauty with an excellent pedigree and a habit of getting her way.

I often wonder how Cramm would present himself if he were around today. It probably would be in a more discreet manner. That's partly a sign of the times, but it's also because those who grow up in castles tend to underplay their good fortune, which is exactly the opposite of what our boy Roger has been doing lately. The contrast brings into high relief the extent to which Federer, and the company he keeps, accurately represent a striking middle-class interpretation of what those of us not sufficiently lucky to grow up with servants, as Cramm did, might think of as classy, or elegant. It's the same impulse that led Vitas Gerulaitis to run out and buy a Rolls Royce as soon as he could afford one. Federer is too prudent and grounded to do anything like that, which is where this "let's celebrate wonderful and gifted me" theme does him a disservice.

What's worse, and seems destined to keep Federer in this gilded cage, is the way the Federer image undermines some of his most admirable attributes and his ability to win the hearts of so many of those people who are content or constrained to lead rather less glamorous or conspicuously successful lives. For TMF is in many ways a true old-school guy. Isn't it strange that despite his high-flying, urbane ways, the players Federer cites as his heroes and buddies are the Rod Lavers and Pete Samprases - fellas who, if asked to define "catwalk," would probably guess that it was something on a pirate ship?

Andy Roddick made the very telling observation after the Wimbledon final, quoted at greater length in my post, 15, that the thing Federer gets the least credit for is his ability to "dig deep" and to "tough out" matches. We all know that Federer's trademark is a certain ease of accomplishment - a remarkable virtue than not only suggests that he may end up with 20 Grand Slam titles before he's done, but - less fortunately - that winning more or less drops in his lap like a big fat plum falling off a limb.

Federer makes it look easy, for which he is routinely punished. To that end, I'd certainly welcome an image adjustment - nothing as drastic as piratas and sleeveless shirts (Anna probably has already told him that with his arms, he couldn't pull that off), but maybe an eye-patch and a skull-and-crossbones plastered on the chest of his polo. Come to think of it, throw in a wooden peg leg, it probably would help level the playing field.

Federer is old-school in a substantial way, and his image hardly does justice to that, even if his statements and the company he keeps do. Laver touched on a significant element of that in some remarks he made during his own press conference at Wimbledon. He said, "Well, you know, you've got to be in the game and enjoy the sport to be able to do something like this. You're not going to make, you know, the 12 or 13 events if you don't respect the game and enjoy it. It's a thrill for yourself to get out there and play. That's the one thing that Roger has that I think is admirable for tennis."

That's a far more profound observation that it may seem, and another testament to the old-school tennis virtues that somehow don't come through loud and clear. Hail, even Federer's game is old school - a complete repudiation of what most pundits thought of as the new paradigm for an increasingly competitive, global game. That model suggests that the ideal player is a powerful yeoman armed with at least two big weapons, a two-handed backhand, and enough consistency and stamina to blast away for interminable periods of time from the baseline.

Compared to the numerous, successful players who conform to that type, Federer seems almost frail, and certainly lacking in the departments of sheer physicality and power (but does anyone dare question his stamina now?). Yet there he was, serving two aces to every one hit by his opponent in the Wimbledon final - a player (Andy Roddick) who better conforms to the theoretical contemporary model . Federer's greatest weapon is that, like Laver before him, he doesn't really have one or two shots that stand out as such; if you insist on the "two weapons" theory, try these: they're Federer's versatility and his feet. Like so many of the greatest players, Federer wins many points before, rather than after, he strikes the ball.

And how about that forehand he hits, often inside-out, where his right foot kind of kicks back instead of coming around? I can't even conjure up my mental image of how he does that, but my notebook tells me he does, so there you go. Federer's talents as a contortionist are substantial and rendered nearly invisible by his basic smoothness. How about those cross-court backhands he hits, balled up and with a low center of gravity, with his back to the net? Laver was right: to really appreciate his gifts you have to watch just him - not the ball, not his opponent - just him. I tried it and that crafty old Rocket certainly was on to something.

The other day, in the 15 post, I wrote quite a bit about Federer's patience. I'd add that this extraordinary composure (for that's what patience is) is linked to the pure love of the game that Laver cited. And it was one of the main allies Federer had in that harrowing final. At work, Federer is a problem solver with a furrowed brow who takes out what simmering aggressions he has on innocent bystanders, like Hawkeye. But unlike others, he seems to wipe the slate clean before playing each point. That is, every point presents a new problem, to be solved in a new way - a job he entrusts to his marvelous neurological system and the electric dialog it conducts in nano-seconds with his nimble feet and racket arm.

But here we go again, complicating the simple, making the easy seem somehow more labored than it appears. It's an easy trap to fall into, when trying to evaluate Federer. Perhaps we should let TMF's buddy, Sampras, have the last word. When he was corralled by the BBC after the final on Sunday, Pete made a characteristically blunt and simple comment. "He's a stud," Sampras said, and I could imagine the interviewer, perhaps expecting or hoping for something a little more lofty, cringing. Maybe it makes some of you cringe, too. It certainly doesn't conform to the image Federer has been projecting, but perhaps he's saving that eye patch and skull-and-crossbones polo for a time when he's in more desperate need of them.

Some thoughts on Serena tomorrow.

Dressed to Kill: the Poem (YC)

2009-07-08T10:58:02-04:00

Mornin' As has become our custom, TennisWorld poet laureate Madame Highpockets has mined her fecund imagination to craft yet another glorious verse tribute to our most recent Grand Slam champion. As you know, here at TW have exceptionally high standards when it comes to poesy. You can spare us those faux poems that don't rhyme, or are rendered entirely in the lower case.

We have no use for verse that's as depressing as some stupid emo ballad. Spare us poems with words that make us rush to the Thesaurus, or goad the gullible into heated arguments at the Starbucks because of the perverse obscurantism of the text. We like our poems simple and clear, with (preferably) pleasantly rhyming couplets - something that can get stuck and play over and over in your head, like the words to the late Michael Jackson's hit, Beat It.

Personally, I think 'Pockets is on track for a Nobel prize with her body of Grand Slam work, but you know that committee - I'm sure they'll unearth some beaten-down Icelandic or Bangladeshi depressive to give it to instead. . .

I'll be back with a Roger Federer post later today, and you can use this post as the Your Call to discuss tennis - and anything else you want - during the day.

- Pete

DRESSED TO KILL

by Highpockets

Floating on high like a huge Luna Moth,
It was made of translucent, water-proof cloth.
As the crowd stared in awe, transfixed at the sight,
Wimbledon welcomed another fortnight.

When asked what he thought of the wondrous device,
“Compared to most roofs,” Murray said it was nice.
This young lad from Scotland, the UK’s new man,
A wordsmith he's not, but play tennis he can.

With bittersweet longing, we welcomed the rain,
When the Wimbledon champion went back to Spain.
Then Roger took Centre Court, dressed like a dandy,
And we got us a night match with Stan and with Andy.

The stories unfolded; some matches were great,
And five seasoned vets made it to the last eight.
The weather was warm, but cold was the Pimm’s,
No champ yet for Britain; the Hill is still Tim’s.

After Murray went down, all of England deflated,
And Roddick said humbly that he was elated.
He played with a purpose; he played with tranquility,
And a camera caught him showing vulnerability.

He's smart and sarcastic, twitchy and lanky,
And he’s trimmed down since he hired Larry Stefanki.
He’s been in the Wimbledon Finals before,
Two times facing Roger, who showed him the door.

The contest on Sunday was a true grass court fest,
As Andy and Roger showed us their best.
The fifth set was tense; many points saved by aces,
And the strain of their effort showed in their faces.

In the end, though, the dude with the gold lamé trim
Strolled straight into history, his fifteenth slam win.
And there in the stands was a sight we could savor:
Sampras and Borg, Santana and Laver.

What is it about this oasis of green?
That makes everything drab in the space in between?
Well, Pete said it best; he summed up what it does:
“There’s no other place like it—it just gives you a buzz.”

Tuesday Net Post

2009-07-07T11:58:48-04:00

By TW Contributing Editor, Ed McGrogan

Last Week's Tournament

Wimbledon (ITF - Grass - London, England)

Men's Singles Bracket
- Roger Federer def. Andy Roddick
Women's Singles Bracket
- Serena Williams def. Venus Williams
Men's Doubles Bracket
- Daniel Nestor/Nenad Zimonjic def. Bob Bryan/Mike Bryan
Women's Doubles Bracket
- Serena Williams/Venus Williams def. Samantha Stosur/Rennae Stubbs

McGrogan's Heroes

ATP - Roger Federer

It’s been a wonderful and strange year so far in men’s tennis, especially at the majors. Back in January, Rafael Nadal, the then-world No. 1 who limped towards the end of the 2008 season, wasn’t given much of a shot at winning the Australian Open. But he did, surviving a titanic tussle with Fernando Verdasco in the semis, and then beating a favored and far-fresher Roger Federer in the final.

At Roland Garros, Nadal – the four-time defending champion who bagged more prestigious hardware this year at Indian Wells, Monte Carlo and Rome – was the only choice to win. He went on to lose his first-ever match at the French Open in the fourth round, and Federer promptly collected the missing piece in his career Grand Slam puzzle.

The final at Wimbledon was supposed to be a showdown between tennis history (Federer, seeking a record 15th major title) and the end of British futility (Scotland’s Andy Murray). But as has been the case this year, things didn’t go according to plan. Andy Roddick’s surprising four-set win over Murray in the semis prevented that much-anticipated match from happening, and all of a sudden, it was 2004 (and 2005) all over again on the final Sunday.

Roddick looked like he was going to be the third surprise Slam winner of ’09 – he had taken the first set and had four set points in the second-set tiebreaker. Federer had thwarted Roddick’s cannon serve in 18 of their prior 20 meetings, but on this day, the American brought much more than a first strike, hitting his groundstrokes with unusually great accuracy and pace.

Federer had been in a similar position before. In last year’s Wimbledon final, Nadal led Federer 5-2 (and was serving) in the fourth-set tiebreaker, one that Federer had to win to extend the match. For all intents and purposes, Federer had to pull the same escape act here. Somehow, he did it. It was just one part of the entire effort needed to win the match, but it was a very important one.

Federer’s eventual victory gave him his 15th Grand Slam singles title. It was just one part of the entire effort needed to set the record, but it was a very important one. Federer said that he didn’t feel as much pressure after finally bagging the French title, but if he lost a second straight Wimbledon epic – this time to his career whipping boy, version 2.0 or not – you have to wonder what kind of psychological strain that would have put on him.

That question, however, is irrelevant at this point. And so is the “Who is the greatest of all-time?" query. It’s Roger Federer. Enjoy him while you can.

WTA - Serena Williams

I haven't asked an "if..." question in some time here at the MNP, but I have one in regards to Serena's play last week at Wimbledon. Which of these two victories was the most impressive?

1. Serena coming back from match point down in the semifinals to beat Elena Dementieva 6-7 (4), 7-5, 8-6

2. Serena defeating two-time defending champion Venus Williams in the final in straight sets, 7-6 (3), 6-2 (Venus had won her previous 34 sets.)

Serena's run to the title at Wimbledon may have been ho-hum in some respects - her last three tournament wins have come at Grand Slams, so you know what to expect, and when its coming - but it was nonetheless admirable.

In the semis, Serena brought out the best in Dementieva in what should be one of the matches of the year on the women's side. In the final, Serena brought out the worst in Venus, who looked meek and ragged compared to her sister. Remember, this was the same Venus who pumelled the - in name only - world No. 1 Dinara Safina 6-1, 6-0 just two days earlier.

Like Federer, Serena will be going for three Slams in a calendar year at the U.S. Open. And if her displays at the Australian Open and Wimbledon - the two fast-court Slams contested so far this year - are any indication, you can start the engraving now, regardless if she's seeded first, second, or thirty-second.

This Week's Tournaments

(TV Schedule)

Campbell's Hall of Fame Tennis Championships (ATP - Grass - Newport, United States)

Singles Bracket
Doubles Bracket

Davis Cup (ITF - Various)

Czech Republic vs. Argentina
Croatia vs. United States
Israel vs. Russia
Spain vs. Germany

Collector Swedish Open (WTA - Clay - Bastad, Sweden)

Singles Bracket
Doubles Bracket

GDF Suez Grand Prix (WTA - Clay - Budapest, Hungary)

Singles Bracket
Doubles Bracket