The Hindu : Sport : Rain is a test of skill

Online edition of India's National Newspaper
Wednesday, Jun 27, 2007
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Sport

Rain is a test of skill

Always Wimbledon cries for adaptability, writes Rohit Brijnath

Through the phone, behind Leander Paes’ voice, you can hear the crockery clinking in the Wimbledon restaurant. It’s raining, and when it rains you shrug, and then you eat. Once, Paes says, it took 11 rain delays and three days to finish ‘one’ of his matches. Alas, he lost that encounter but presumably gained a few pounds sitting in the restaurant. Who said the French Open was the ultimate test of patience?

Of the four major racket sports, tennis is the only one played competitively outdoors, this additional factor of the elements the reason why some insist it is pre-eminent. And of the four grand slam tournaments,

Wimbledon is the one whose surface alters most with the rain. Clay is absorbent but can turn slower; hardcourt can be wiped dry with 30 ball-boys using the locker room’s entire stock of towels; grass, wet or sweating under the covers, turns slick.

Rain should not be confused with only irritation at Wimbledon, it is also an examination. A fellow can begin in sunshine with the bounce higher and speed slower, and then return after a rain interruption to a surface that is greasier than roadside Chinese food in Mumbai. Always Wimbledon cries for adaptability.

“Like a slick wooden floor” is Paes’s first description of a damp court, but he then uses an analogy that works better for us by likening it to “playing football on a wet pitch when the ball skids through”. Endless Wimbledon visits have turned the Kolkata boy into an amateur horticulturalist, for he says: “If the blades of grass are long, then they retain moisture and the ball skids. In the second week, when the courts are chewed up, it doesn’t skid as much”.

Stroke mechanics must be adjusted, reflexes polished for lunging forehands, and temperament kept cool especially when the returner swipes air as the serve shoots under his racket. Cricketers, dismissed leg before to grass-cutters, would wince in sympathy.

Footwork can be testing, for tennis players do not wear steel spikes as some golfers still do, or turf-churning studs like footballers. When lobs hiss into the air, players must back-pedal rapidly; when the ball slithers back in a direction they hadn’t anticipated, players must twist and turn nimbly as if auditioning for Cirque Du Soleil; when it is occasion for a smash they must swiftly position themselves for here the ball cannot be allowed to bounce. On slick grass, all this movement is an art.

On court and off, on and off, is “mentally fatiguing” says Paes, for the rain falls in dribs and matches are played in drabs. Players will shower, change outfits, stretch down and then have to warm up. The top players have houses rented a lob away from the courts and hasten home; the commoners have nowhere to go and boredom seeps into the bones.

“There are (during rain breaks) 400 people in the players’ lounge,” continues Paes, “and there is no solitude, no one corner to chill.” So refuge is found in that marvellous invention: the headphones. Music is the best balm for the frantic sportsman.

“Rain is a great advantage to the player playing badly”, says Paes. “The break allows you get in a frame of mind different to what you are in.” There is more. You can consult with your coach. “You can”, adds Paes, “meet a loved one and get a hug.” Everything counts.

But one man’s pleasure is another man’s pain. For the player in ascendancy when the rain floats in, the break can be cruel. It can steal his rhythm, it can take away that one precious thing he sweats for: momentum. Some days the body feels strong, the strokes feel sound, the game is just clicking, and then, damn, pitter-pat, pitter-pat.

Like 2001. Tim Henman is two sets to one and 2-1 up against Goran Ivanisevic in their semifinal. Pete Sampras has been knocked out by Roger Federer, so it could be Tim’s year. Then the rain, the break, and a Goran re-birth. “His service rhythm was different,” Henman explains to an English newspaper. He loses. In Wimbledon, rain murmurs down the drains carrying with it the shards of interrupted dreams.

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