The Hindu : Sport : If it's spring it must be clay court tennis

Online edition of India's National Newspaper
Friday, Apr 22, 2005

Sport

Sport

If it's spring it must be clay court tennis

Rohit Brijnath

Clay asks for a different mindset. It is a challenge to body and intellect

In the seasons of tennis, spring has its own allure, its particular smells, its distinct colours. You can almost visualise ladies in yellow Chanel suits sipping coffee by the blue of the Mediterranean as players on russet-coloured courts perform their unique sliding ballet. White socks turn the colour of wine, sweat flies from heads like a soft rain and the whirr of topspin is accompanied by an opera of grunting.

Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Munich, Rome, Hamburg, and then, finally, heavenly Paris, it is that season of clay court tennis. French, German, Spanish are not the only foreign languages to be negotiated here; for many, the tennis itself is an idiom they cannot fathom. Degrees in tennis elsewhere are not always recognised in this European university of clay.

There is the best tennis player in the world, and then there is the best clay court player in the world. Infrequently are they one and the same. The vocabulary of tennis alters here and not just in the quaint call of quinze-zero (15-love) by the umpire. If in winter, Hewitt, Safin, Roddick slipped easily off the tongue, now we say Coria, Nadal, Ferrero, Canas. On this surface, Gods and mortals exchange places.

Already a tired Federer, the exception to all rules tennis, has had his streak snapped by the 18-year-old prodigy Richard Gasquet in Monte Carlo; already the buccaneering Nadal, 18 himself, has won Monte Carlo and been anointed by Coria as "the best player on clay."

Different ball game

Clay asks for different shoes, occasionally looser strings, extra socks and an altered mindset. It is a challenge to body and intellect. Pete Sampras once said: "I play my best tennis on instinct, but on clay, I tend to over-think it — do I want to come in? Do I not want to come in?"

This week Federer added: "The serve doesn't get that many free points as maybe on other surfaces and also you just have to be more patient mentally and physically."

Wilander-style productions of moonballing tour te tediums have ceased, and shots are now fired furiously from the baseline, yet muscle, which works on hard court, is itself not enough on this gritty surface. So chess must be played, and as V. Anand might approve, rapidly. Points must be plotted and top-spinning conspiracies forged, openings crafted and chinks in armour patiently widened. Here respite is not a familiar word.

Spaniards and Argentines will lick their lips as their inquisitions commence. For others, these weeks will be only about adjust, adapt, acclimatise. Some will slug from 10-12 feet behind the baseline with their antenna alert for drop shots, others will attempt to own the baseline and with Herculean effort hit a succession of heavy shoulder-high balls.

A specialist's domain

Much is revealed merely through footwork and a familiarity with the dance step particular to clay. Experts like Ferrero will slide, sometimes 10 feet, into a shot, meet the ball perfectly and turn adroitly; novices like James Blake will do, as he once said, "the American slide — slide, hit the ball, slide a little more and then almost lose my balance." Spectators will just swoon.

Nadal delivered an exhibition in this art last week as his heavily spun shots hovered like angry bees, then landed and stung venomously. Always he was altering pace, exploring angles, galloping around his backhand to maximise his strength on the forehand, somehow staying patient and aggressive all at once.

He showed courage unusual to some clay-courters by deliberately getting within hand-shaking distance of the net. Sometimes, though, his volleys were answered with lobs and he would scamper back to the baseline to restart the rally. As Federer said, on clay the bizarre occurs, for "sometimes you have to win a point not only once, but twice or three times."

Spectators are delivered endless pleasure but players mostly are only guaranteed pain. Bananas are consumed by the bunch, cramp is as common as croissants, and wonderfully underhand methods like under-arm serves (remember Michael Chang) are not completely unknown. Only on clay, too, will umpires scamper down to the court to check a mark, though if protestations go on too long there is always the Connors method, the American once jogging to his opponent's side of the net, erasing a mark with his foot and jogging back.

Serve and volleyers will do well to remember the words of Gordon Forbes, who once wrote that "on the way to the net, one automatically had visions of the valley of death." Indeed, passing shots here seem to be hit with a yawn and a half-closed eye. Still, last year Tim Henman reached the French semifinals, and on clay, too, like elsewhere, there is always hope. After all, at the completion of most sets, the court is swept and all start with a clean slate.

Printer friendly page
Send this article to Friends by E-Mail

Sport