US Open reveals the best, and worst, of tennis

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One thing about the U.S. Open is that it reveals the best and the worst of tennis just about every year.

The best is always the actual tennis: Novak Djokovic-Roger Federer was a classic and the Djokovic-Rafael Nadal final was also played at a very high level. Sam Stosur’s upset of Serena Williams in the women’s final was a stunner because Williams had looked unbeatable throughout the tournament. There were also a handful of early round upsets involving young American players that gave some hope to those starving for the next American star.

All that was good. But, as usual, the USTA managed to muck things up with its usual incompetence.

The schedule is—and has been for years—a joke. The night matches go on MUCH too long even without rain delays. The USTA doesn’t care at all about the players—sending Federer out to begin a match at 11:50 at night?—or the fans in attendance. It cares ONLY about keeping the TV people who give them their lunch money (you should see those lunches) happy.

That’s why “Super Saturday,” the most overrated notion in sports, exists. Every other major championship puts together a schedule that gives the two finalists in both singles events a rest day before the final. The thought is that semifinals are often grueling and you want players rested before one of the most important matches of their lives.

The USTA says the heck with that. It stretches the first round across three days—robbing those who pay to see matches those days of a good deal of quality tennis—and then makes the men and the women go back-to-back from semis to final. In the old days, when the Saturday order of play was men’s semi; women’s final; men’s semi, the second men’s semi often ended late at night and the winner then had to come back about 18-20 hours later to play the final.

It also meant that the women’s final was the only major championship final in tennis where the two finalists had no idea what time their match would begin. Since they were second match on, the length of the first men’s match determined when they would begin. Which is ridiculous.

The USTA—god bless ‘em—fixed that about 10 years back when it moved the women’s final to Saturday night. This move was made NOT for the benefit of the players but—surprise—for the benefit of CBS which wanted to take advantage of the popularity of the Williams sisters by moving the final to prime time. Now, instead of getting all three matches for the price of one ticket on Saturday, fans have to buy tickets for the afternoon—men’s semis—and then a separate ticket for the women’s final at night.

Honestly, I think if you put the USTA executive committee in a room and threw a dollar on the floor you would see a repeat of the climactic scene in “Invictus,” in which all the players on the rugby pitch are scrumming desperately to get the ball.

Remember this: When Arthur Ashe Stadium was built it didn’t have to have 23,000 seats. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 18,000 would have been far more sensible; would have created a much better atmosphere and far fewer really bad seats and would have made it much easier then—or now—to put a retractable roof on the building. This year that would have meant NOT losing two straight days to bad weather, creating a FOURTH straight Monday men’s final—which, of course bled over into Dolphins-Patriots (thus losing viewers along the way)—and also created the specter of the world’s top players being sent out to play in dangerous conditions on the second rain day because the USTA was getting desperate to get some live play on for ESPN to show—even if it meant a player might do a pratfall trying to skid to a halt on a wet court.

And then there was Serena Williams.

This is, without question, one of the great players in the game’s history. To come back from almost a year away from the game and play the way she did this summer and right through to the final at the Open is extraordinary. Most of the time she makes it look easy.

But anytime things don’t go exactly as she wants them to, she loses her mind and behaves FAR worse than John McEnroe ever did. Jimmy Connors is another story; he’s still the all-timer when it comes to awful on-court behavior.

Two years ago, Williams threatened a line judge for calling a foot-fault on her during her semifinal loss to Kim Clijsters. Even though she kept issuing completely insincere non-apologies, The Grand Slam Committee of the International Tennis Federation (one thing you can be sure of in sports: the longer the title the less effective the organization) decided to fine her the grand total of $85,000 and put her on ‘probation.’ One might have thought the Grand Slam Committee had hired the NCAA to advise it on how to penalize people. The penalty was, to quote Mary Carillo, “a joke.”

That Carillo was 100 percent correct was proven again yesterday.

Williams did not play well in the final against Stosur, who has been a talented under-achiever in the game for a long while. After Stosur won the first set Williams immediately faced a break point to start the second set. She hit a forehand winner but as the ball was rocketing away from Stosur she screamed, “come on!”

Under the rules, that is considered a “hindrance,” the theory being her scream could have distracted Stosur as she chased the ball down. What the umpire probably should have done was either warn Williams not to do it again since it was pretty apparent Stosur wasn’t going to get to the ball or play a let—which the rules allow if the umpire thinks the “hindrance,” was accidental—as in someone’s cap flying off or their racquet slipping from their hands and going across the net.

Clearly Williams’ scream was intentional but it wasn’t meant as a hindrance. The umpire, Eva Asderaki, chose to enforce the letter of the law. Williams HAD screamed during the point. She awarded the point—and, thus the game—to Stosur.

Williams went nuts. Among other things she accused Asderaki of being the chair umpire in the Clijsters match—which she wasn’t.

“Are you the one who screwed me over the last time?” she said. “Yeah, you are. Seriously, you have it out for me. That’s not cool. That’s totally not cool.”

The fact that Williams still believes she was “screwed over,” in the Clijsters match tells you all you need to know about her mindset and about how much her ‘apologies,’ meant.

Williams wasn’t finished: “If you ever see me walking down the hall, look the other way. You’re out of control. You’re a hater and you’re unattractive inside…” And: “Code violation for this? I expressed who I am. We’re in America last time I checked.”

For this behavior The USTA and The Grand Slam Committee decided to really punish Williams. On Monday it announced it had fined her—wait for it--$2,000! Then the USTA wrote her a check for $1.4 million--$900,000 for finishing second in the Open; $500,000 for winning the summer U.S. Open series. Boy, they really showed her, huh? Just like they did last time with their ‘probation.’

The weasely excuse was that, because she didn’t use profanity, she hadn’t committed a “major violation.” It is okay to accuse someone (who didn’t) of “screwing you,”; threaten them; call them a hater and claim they “have it out for you.” That’s no big deal. Translation: They didn’t want to fine her for a major violation while she was still on ‘probation,’ because that might have forced them to actually penalize her in a meaningful way.

Can’t have that.

Even Chris Evert, who never has a bad thing to say about anyone publicly, couldn’t believe the fine was so minimal. Now working (sigh) for ESPN, Evert pointed out that Williams had yet to apologize and had refused to shake Asderaki’s hand at the end of the match. “It’s like dinner for Serena Williams,” Evert said of the fine. “When I saw the comments she made my first impression was just stunned. I was so surprised how disrespectful and rude she was.”

Naturally there were other ESPN analyst/enablers there to run to Williams’ side. Pam Shriver, who has become the classic see-no-evil jock apologist told The New York Times not only that she didn’t think what Williams did was a big deal but that—seriously, she said this—Williams might have felt pressure playing in New York on 9-11!

People ask me all the time why I don’t cover tennis so much anymore. This kind of stuff is why. The matches can still be brilliant. But the people around the matches consistently leave me with an awful taste in my mouth. I guess the good news is the next time anyone will pay serious attention to the sport won’t be until next June.

US Open trip, seeing Bud Collins and should-be commissioner Mary Carillo; Strasburg returns; Upcoming weekly football column

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I know, it’s been a while. Things have been a little hectic plus, to be honest, there hasn’t been any one thing happening in sports the last 10 days or so that has made me want to jump to the keyboard and write.

The New York Times does a great job of covering the U.S. Open tennis tournament. There was a really good piece Tuesday morning written by Greg Bishop on exactly where American tennis is right now. Four American men reached the round of 16 for the first time since 2003—which is the last time an American man won a major title. (Andy Roddick).

Fine.

And Serena Williams is almost certain to win the women’s title, an amazing comeback after being out for almost a year following her foot surgery and the serious scare she got last spring when she ended up in the hospital because of blood clots.

I wish I could get more excited.

I think Serena is an amazing player. God knows how many majors she might have won if she had decided to stay focused on tennis. I don’t fault her for not doing that—she’s got a zillion dollars, she can do whatever she wants—but I have always been bothered by the way she and her sister never give their opponents credit on the rare occasions when they lose a match. And the entire foot-fault incident two years ago was disgusting on every level from Serena’s non-apologies to half-apologies; to her agent literally putting a hand on a TV camera after the match; to the Grand Slam Committee letting her off the hook; to ESPN basically covering up for her at every turn since the incident.

So, if Serena goes on to win as I suspect she will, I will take note of her greatness. But I really won’t care.

Once upon a time I liked Roddick. I especially admired his grace in defeat after his epic loss to Roger Federer at Wimbledon in 2009. Lately though, as his tennis has slipped, he’s become a pill. The way he behaved during HIS foot-fault incident last year wasn’t as bad as Serena’s but it wasn’t pretty. And he’s now taken to lecturing the media on what it should and should not think and say and write about the state of American tennis.

You want to shut the media up Andy? Win something.

I did make my annual trip to the Open last Wednesday. I got lucky—especially given the weather now—by being there on an absolutely perfect day. I wandered the backcourts for a while and only got into one brief tussle with security people. I was walking into what I thought was an entrance to the new court 17 to take a look at it when a guard—after I was several yards past him—said, ‘hey, this is an exit.’

I turned around and said, “there’s no ‘exit-only,’ sign.”

“Yeah well, I’m telling you it’s an exit.”

I walked out but couldn’t resist another comment. (Hey, it’s who I am). “Tell the USTA to spend 10 bucks on a sign. It will make everyone’s life a little easier.”

All of a sudden a guy in a jacket with a walkie-talkie came hustling over.

“Is there a problem sir?” he said.

“No problem,” I said. “You guys just need to spring for 10 bucks for an exit sign.”

“We don’t need one.”

“Apparently you do.”

I was tempted to stay and jaw with the guy for a while but decided it was too nice a day and I’d made my point. Sort of.

I made my way over to court seven and almost burst out laughing when I saw who was playing.

Ryan Sweeting.

For at least the last three years, maybe four, whenever I have been at the Open, regardless of the day, Ryan Sweeting has been playing on an outside court. I know his game almost as well as I once knew John McEnroe’s game although I’ve never seen him win a match. At least this year he got into the draw on his own and not through a wildcard.

Since it’s become a tradition I sat and watched Sweeting play for a while. He was playing someone named Daniel Istomin, who is from Uzbekistan and looked a lot like a young Miloslav Mecir—minus the beard and the almost mystical softball ground game that players found so baffling. Sweeting actually won the first set but then lost his serve at 4-all in the second and went down quickly after that. I look forward to seeing him again next year.

The highlight of the day—as always—was the chance to see my two favorite tennis people, Bud Collins and Mary Carillo. Bud is 82 now but the pants are loud as ever and he is still cranking out columns for The Boston Globe. He still gets fired up when he sees a young American player flash potential. His only concession to age is sitting in an aisle seat in the press room so he doesn’t have to climb over people getting to and from his seat.

Carillo is, well, Carillo. All kidding aside she should be the commissioner of tennis. She’s smarter than everyone running the game and cares about it more than any of them too. There was a story in The Times today about the fact that there are fewer top umpires at the U.S. Open than at any of the other majors because the USTA pay less than the other majors do.

The USTA’s response was to hide: The only person allowed to speak on the subject was the PR guy who basically said, “we’ve got enough good umpires here.”

Sure, because it’s okay to have second-rate umpires working the matches that aren’t at night or on TV right? It’s okay for Ryan Sweeting and Daniel Istomin to have second-rate umpires because they’re on court seven where I’m the only one guaranteed to show up and watch.

If Carillo had been in charge I promise you she would have answered the questions herself and probably would have said, “If that’s the case we need to fix it. We make millions on this tournament every year, we can re-invest a few extra bucks to make the umpiring as high class as possible for EVERY player—not just the glamour guys.

And I guarantee you she’d invest in an exit sign.

Oh, one more thing: For all the talk among the tennis apologists about how wonderful the game is, the only sessions of the Open that sold out were the weekends. The USTA was all but giving away tickets for the weekday and weeknight sessions. This is NOT The Legg Mason Classic, this is a MAJOR championship and they can’t sell it out most days. Not good.

******

Stephen Strasburg came back to pitch for The Washington Nationals on Tuesday a little more than a year after he had Tommy John surgery. Clearly, he hasn’t missed a beat. He was consistently throwing in the high 90s with control—40 strikes in 56 pitches. The kid is a freak. I just wish the Nats weren’t babying him so much on the mound (hell, they babied him last year and he got hurt anyway) and in the clubhouse where one pretty much needs a court order to say ‘hello,’ to Strasburg in anything but a formal press conference setting. He’s 23-years-old and he’s making millions of dollars. Time to start acting like an adult…

I’m going to be writing a weekly football column for The Washington Post this fall on Mondays. Looking forward to seeing all sorts of different games—NOT just the big name teams although I’ll obviously do some of that. This Saturday night I’m going to see Georgetown-Lafayette. (Hey, Patriot League stuff!). Georgetown’s an interesting story: It was forced to upgrade to Division 1-AA a few years back because you can’t have a D-1 basketball team and a D-3 football team. That’s made it tough. Two years ago the Hoyas were winless. Last year they were 4-7. I’m interested to see how much progress they’ve made since a year ago…

You may (or may not) have noticed that I’ve tried to resist the urge to take shots at ESPN lately, only because I think people roll their eyes when I do it all the time—not because they don’t deserve it. But I have to ask this question: If Sunday Night Baseball is, as ESPN claims, “baseball’s biggest stage,” just what exactly is The World Series?

Roundup of the week -- Steve Kerr, one of my favorites; Worcester; an almost trip to Bristol (yes, Bristol); all topped off by an amazing shot by Manhattan Sunday

I was driving to New York on Wednesday afternoon—dodging the snow along the way—when I heard the immortal Mike Francesa (just ask him) explain that the reason Brian Cashman’s speculation that Derek Jeter might someday play centerfield for the Yankees had become a big story was, “because it’s a slow news week. The Super Bowl (or in Francesa-speak, ‘Da Soopa Bowl’) isn’t until next week.”

I guess for a lot of people it was a slow news week. But in my world, the week was full of stories and, no tennis fans I’m sorry to say that Kim Clijsters and Novak Djokovic winning in Australia weren’t that high on the list. Good for them and all but even my three-month old daughter is asleep at 3 o’clock in the morning.

Actually the highlight of my week came out of nowhere. After watching the first half of Duke-St. John’s with my mouth open—God, college basketball is weird this year; almost NO ONE plays well with any consistency on the road—I switched over to watch Manhattan and Marist. Yes, seriously. I know they’ve won eight games combined all year but I’m the same guy who drove to Worcester on Thursday to see Holy Cross play Colgate (combined wins going in to the game seven). Yes, I got paid to do it but, as I’ve said before, I don’t do The Patriot League games for the money.

So, I switched to the Jaspers and Red Foxes.

Manhattan is one of those schools about which I have fond boyhood memories because of the doubleheaders they played in Madison Square Garden: Manhattan would play the first game most of the time; NYU the second. The goal for the Jaspers every year was the same: Make the NIT. Nowadays a 10-win season would be nice.

When I flipped over, Marist appeared to be on its way to a rare win. I was surprised—and impressed—at the size and enthusiasm of the crowd at Marist. Last season they won one game; this season they’ve won four. And yet, the gym was far from empty. Not full, but not empty.

Marist led 59-57 in the final seconds after Manhattan had launched an awful shot with the clock running down. There were 3.6 seconds left when Marist’s point guard (can’t remember his name, sorry) went to the line for a one-and-one that could clinch the game. He missed. Manhattan rebounded and called time out right away. Give the Marist clock operator credit: The time out was called with AT LEAST two seconds left. He got the clock down to 0.9 before he stopped it. Nice try. Feets Brody, the timekeeper in The Garden when I was a kid—dubbed, ‘the Knicks sixth man,’ by Red Auerbach—would have been proud.

The officials went to replay and wound it back to 2.0.

So, Manhattan inbounded. Marist had the long pass—or, as the play-by-play guy called it, “The Christian Laettner pass,” even though Grant Hill threw the pass he was referring to—covered. So the ball came in to Manhattan guard Michael Alvarado a good 75-feet from the basket. Alvarado, who was one-of-six in the game to that point, was in full flight as he caught the ball. He took three dribbles, got to about 60-feet and fired. The ball hit the backboard and dropped cleanly through the net. It had clearly come before the buzzer.

Sitting in my chair, reading some notes as I was about to work from for my book project, I literally jumped to my feet: “WOW, how about that?” I yelled. Even at my advanced age I can still be startled by a spectacular play even in a Manhattan-Marist game. It was cool.

Going back to earlier in the week: As I said, I drove to New York on Wednesday—an intermediate stop en route to Worcester—and had dinner that night with Steve Kerr. Steve is, quite simply, one of my favorite guys, someone I enjoyed getting to know when I wrote about him in ‘A Season Inside,’ 23 years ago. We’ve always stayed in touch but it had been a long time since we had sat down and talked at length. Not surprisingly, Kerr was as smart and funny as ever.

He was excited about the fact that he’ll be calling The NCAA Tournament this year as part of the new CBS-Turner deal. I knew he was going to be doing color the first two weeks but hadn’t realized that he is going to be part of The Final Four announce-team, a Turner add-on to Jim Nantz and Clark Kellogg. I’m not planning to watch those games on TV but I think Steve’s presence will be a bonus. Knowing him, he won’t hesitate to disagree with Kellogg when he thinks that’s the right way to go.

When Steve and I walked into Smith and Wollensky at a little bit after 7 it wasn’t snowing yet. When we walked out almost four hours later, it was snowing in buckets. Traffic was at a standstill and the snow was already ankle deep on the sidewalks. I only had a five-block walk but by the time I got inside I looked and felt like Frosty The Snowman. I was completely soaked. Amazingly, by the time I got up, had breakfast and hit the road the next morning, the New York streets had been cleared and the FDR Drive was completely clear. That was NOT the case once I hit the Connecticut line and it was a long trip from there to Worcester.

The only disappointment on the trip was not getting to see Dan Dakich as I had been planning to do. Dan was a graduate assistant at Indiana the year I was there to research ‘A Season on the Brink,’ and we became good friends. In fact, I was en route to meet Dan for lunch at a Chinese restaurant on the morning of January 28, 1986 when The Challenger blew up on take-off. I thought about that on Friday when I realized it was the 25th anniversary of that tragedy.

Dakich is becoming a star at ESPN these days—he also hosts a local radio show in Indianapolis—and the plan had been for us to meet in Bristol since he works in-studio on Thursday nights. Yes, ME in Bristol, do you think the ESPN police might have stopped me at the city line? We were going to have a late breakfast to talk about the old days and more recent days but Dan’s flight got cancelled on Wednesday night and by the time he got in on Thursday, he had to go straight to a radio studio to do his show, arriving a few minutes late.

So, I drove straight thru Bristol. Given the condition of the roads, if I had stopped to see Dan, I might have been late getting to Worcester. And if you’re wondering, yes, I do have regular stopping points en route to Worcester. The main one is a Dunkin Donuts (yes, I DO like the place) off Exit 71 on I-84 a few miles shy of the Massachusetts line. On Thursday, some truck had gotten stuck on the off-ramp though so I didn’t get my coffee or my donut. It made me VERY cranky.

I couldn’t be happier for the success Kerr and Dakich are having. Dakich had some success as the head coach at Bowling Green but really seems to have found his niche in broadcasting. Steve ran the Phoenix Suns for three years and helped them get back to the conference finals last year but was completely worn out trying to commute between Phoenix and San Diego where his family stayed after he got the job with the Suns. Now he’s back at Turner, traveling once a week during the regular season; more during the NCAA Tournament and playoffs and then taking the summer off.

“Haven’t lost a game all year,” he said. “I’m sleeping a LOT better.”

Steve’s oldest son Nick is a high school senior who will play next year at The University of San Diego. I asked him if the son had the father’s shooting touch.

“He does,” Steve said. “Which is good. Unfortunately he also has my quickness, which is not as good.”

When Kerr was at Arizona he described his quickness to me this way: “I have deceptive speed. People think I’m a step slow. I’m actually two steps slow.”

He used that deceptive speed to play on FIVE NBA championship teams—three in Chicago and two in San Antonio. He concedes that Michael Jordan and David Robinson might have helped a bit along the way.

And if you’re wondering, yes, I did watch the golf on Sunday and was glad to see Phil Mickelson play well for the first time, really, since he won The Masters last year. Bubba Watson made two fabulous putts to win. Tiger Woods finishing tied for 44th? Proves very little except that he has work to do between now and April 7th. I would have said the same thing if he had won.

Give me points for consistency.

On to 2011…can 2010 be topped?; After Auburn and Ohio State cases, NCAA should just burn its rulebook; Friedgen for Edsall?

It’s been a while since I’ve checked in. Hectic holidays as they say. I hope everyone out there had good health and good times and did not become just a little bit worn out by family time.

So, it is on to 2011, although it will be hard-pressed to top 2010.

After all, on New Year’s Day 2010 how many of us predicted the following:

--Tiger Woods not winning a single golf tournament anywhere, anytime, anyplace all year.

--The Saints winning The Super Bowl; The Giants winning The World Series; Butler coming with an inch of winning The NCAA basketball championship and Graeme McDowell, Louis Ousthuizen and Martin Kaymer winning major titles.

--LeBron James making perhaps the worst marketing decision any athlete has made since Andre Agassi looked into a camera and said, ‘image is everything.’

--The New York Yankees targeting a big-money free agent and NOT getting him.

--The Detroit Lions finishing the season on a four-game WINNING streak.

--The Washington Redskins turning their season into a soap opera/circus.

Wait, I digress. The Redskins becoming a soap opera/circus is as predictable as Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer winning major titles in tennis and The New York Islanders battling for the top draft pick.

So much has changed in sports through the years, so much has stayed the same. I tend to hang onto traditions, which is why I watch The Rose Bowl every New Year’s Day regardless of who is playing. This year’s game was great and seeing TCU hang on to win was gratifying to all of us who think the BCS Presidents should all be put to sea in a rowboat for the good of all mankind. Yes, that includes my new best friend Gordon Gee—even though he did tell Pete Thamel of The New York Times that he was planning to eat crow for dinner after TCU’s win in Pasadena. Of course he was eating it in a fancy New Orleans restaurant getting ready to watch Ohio State play Arkansas sometime in January—who among us knows when the college season actually ends these days. (Unrelated note: The college season is now so long that Pittsburgh will be playing under its third head coach since the end of the regular season when it finally plays whatever meaningless bowl it is playing in this coming weekend. Talk about a long season).

Back to Ohio State for a moment. I really think it is time for the NCAA to burn its rulebook. After all why bother having rules if you are going to make up different rules to suit yourself every time something happens involving a major (read moneymaking) school.

Look, we can debate the fairness of the rules forever. But here are the facts: Cam Newton WAS ineligible according to the rulebook. It says if you or any representative (that would include your own father) solicits money, you’re ineligible even if you never receive a dime. The NCAA says Cecil Newton solicited money from Mississippi State. That’s the end of the story. EXCEPT the NCAA says, no, even though it isn’t in the rules, since we believe the player knew nothing (just like Sargent Schultz knew nothing) he’s okay to play. I would ask Auburn fans one question—because I have nothing against you or Cam Newton or Gene Chizik and your former AD David Housel was one of my all-time favorite people in sports: Do you think for one second if your football team was 6-6 and playing in whatever bowl Kentucky is playing in that Cam Newton would have been eligible? If you say yes, PLEASE call me so I can sell you this beautiful plot of oceanfront land I own in Nebraska.

Now we have the case of The Ohio State Five, one of whom happens to be the team’s biggest star, quarterback Terrelle Pryor. They have been found guilty of selling memorabilia, getting discounts (at a tattoo parlor for crying out loud) and receiving ‘special treatment,’ a real NCAA no-no. Again, are the rules silly? Perhaps. But the NCAA says the violations are serious enough to merit a five game suspension.

Now, we can sit here most of the day and make the argument that what Newton went un-punished for is a lot more serious than what the Buckeye Five are being punished for but that’s not the point. The point is this: If they’re guilty, they’re guilty—they go to jail NOW not next September. Except the NCAA, apparently after being lobbied by The Sugar Bowl, says it is okay for them to play in The Sugar Bowl and THEN sit out the first five games of next season. Here are the five games: Akron and Toledo at home (I think they can get past those two); at Miami—coming off a 7-6 season with a new coach—Colorado (another new coach) and Michigan State—perhaps a tough game but a home game too. When do they become eligible again? For the game at Nebraska. What a shock.

Personally, if I was Pryor, all pledges to come back aside, I’d bolt for the NFL as soon as The Sugar Bowl is finally over. This isn’t new stuff for the NCAA by the way: back in 1991, it declared Nevada-Las Vegas ineligible only to move the penalty back a year because, um, UNLV was the defending NCAA champion and had everyone back and CBS really needed The Rebels eligible for ratings.

This is what the NCAA does and then it sits back and claims it has never, ever done anything wrong or done anything with the bottom line in mind. Oh please.

Meanwhile, on more pleasant topics: It was wonderful to see Air Force and (especially) Army win their bowl games although disappointing to see Navy lose. Still, all three had great seasons, combining for a record of 25-14. If you don’t think that’s a remarkable feat at military academies in times like these, you aren’t paying attention.

Maryland also won its bowl game—the Terrapins earning the right to travel 10 miles to downtown DC to play in frigid RFK Stadium in return for their 8-4 bounce-back season. The game was the last for Coach Ralph Friedgen, who was un-ceremoniously fired 10 days before the game by new Athletic Director Kevin Anderson. Basically Friedgen, who was 75-50 in ten seasons at Maryland, was fired for not selling enough tickets. Gee, what a surprise that Maryland people don’t get all that excited about ACC football.

Anderson had a plan though that seemed to make some sense: Bring in Mike Leach with his scorch-the-earth offense and mouth. Controversial, sure, everyone knows what happened at Texas Tech but if Leach won and threw for 500 yards a game no one at Maryland would care. If nothing else he would bring national attention to the school.

But Anderson was apparently overruled by the academic side of the school. Leach, they decided, carried too much baggage. And so, to replace Ralph Friedgen, Maryland hired…wait for it…Randy Edsall, who has done a fine job at Connecticut the last 12 years—just as Friedgen did a fine job at Maryland for the last ten.

Wow. The wolves are already at Anderson’s door and he’s been at Maryland for four months. I guess in the end, 2011 isn't going to be all that different than 2010.

Observations from the weekend – Cowboys, Redskins and the rest of the East, Brett Favre, Mark Dantonio, Notre Dame and yes, The Davis Cup

Some quick observations from the weekend:

--      Question one: Am I crazy or has Jerry Jones turned into Dan Snyder? The Cowboys appear to be a fantasy league football team: lots of names and apparent stars but a lousy team. They have a field goal kicker who has trouble, well, kicking field goals. They have a quarterback who puts up lovely stats and never seems to win a tough game. They have 43 running backs but no running game.

I’m not declaring them dead after two games. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they beat the Houston Texans next week because the Texans are coming off two emotional wins—the Colts and a come-from-behind overtime win in Washington—and have a pass defense that let Joey Galloway (who is 57-years-old) get behind it for a 62 yard catch on Sunday.

So here’s my question: Does Wade Phillips last the season? I mean seriously this guy has become Jerry Manuel: he’s just good enough to keep his job but is guaranteed to never win anything that matters—which used to what you were supposed to do in Dallas until Jones decided face-lifts, selling pizza and building a monument to his ego were the keys to success in life. How much do you think Jimmy Johnson has enjoyed these last 14 years?

--      Question two: Is anyone in the NFC East any good? The Colts made the Giants look like a UFL team Sunday night. That game needed The Little League mercy rule and should have been over at halftime. Not many people would have noticed since the first half took about nine hours to play. (What is it with NBC? Their Notre Dame games take forever and so do their Sunday night games. Maybe they need the extra time so Chris Collinsworth can tell us how great the fall lineup is).

The Giants beat a bad Carolina team last week at home, then got crushed by the Colts. I’m certainly not sold on them. The Eagles, even with Mike Vick’s gaudy numbers, were lucky to get out of Detroit alive even with Matthew Stafford injured. Shaun Hill-yes THE Shaun Hill—threw for 334 yards. Let’s be honest: with all the talk about the quarterback position, the Eagles defense has not been a shadow of its-former-self since Jim Johnson’s death.

And the Redskins? Well, they had the new Mayor planning a parade route at about 6:30 last night and then reverted to their old selves. The local apologists here today are going on about Donovan McNabb’s numbers and the 27-10 lead. Certainly, the team is better if only because it is COACHED and because for the moment Dan Snyder is entertaining all his various sycophants in the owners box and not trying to tell Mike Shanahan what to do. But the game was lost because a chip-shot field goal got blocked and because the defense couldn’t make a play late and because there was NO running game.

Can the Redskins make the playoffs? Sure. Because no one in the division is any good.

--      Question three: What is the over-under on Brett Favre’s next retirement? Favre looked bad, at home, on Sunday against the Dolphins. He and the Vikings may very well bounce back from 0-2 but I think they COULD lose to the Lions on Sunday. If that were to happen things will get chaotic in Minnesota if they aren’t already. The problem with being a great athlete is you never really know when it is time to go home. Favre had a wonderful year in 2009 and that’s why—along with the money—he’s back in 2010. But the margin for error is so small, especially in the violent world of the NFL, that you never know when you are going to step off the cliff. Favre may not be there yet but he can definitely see the posse coming up behind him. It may not matter if he can swim, the fall will kill him.

--      How sad is it that Mark Dantonio’s signature moment as a football coach came only a few hours before he landed in the hospital suffering from a heart attack.

First, thank goodness, he’s apparently okay and was smart enough not to mess around and got himself straight to the hospital. Again though, this makes you wonder about the pressures coaches put themselves under. Dantonio made one of the all-time gutsy calls when he called for a fake 46-yard field goal with his team down 31-28 to Notre Dame in overtime. It was what coaches refer to as a ‘hero-goat,’ call. You’re going to be one or the other, there is no in-between. Dantonio ended up a hero because his team executed the play perfectly and Notre Dame—not surprisingly—never saw the play coming.

The shame is that Dantonio can’t really glory in the moment right now. He’s got to worry about getting himself healthy again and his doctors have to make sure he doesn’t try to go back too soon. This is serious stuff—not Urban Meyer, I’ll resign for 15 minutes and then be back the next day stuff.

--      When will the national media stop moaning about how unlucky Notre Dame is? Someone actually wrote Sunday that Touchdown Jesus should be replaced with a statue of Job because Notre Dame has been so unlucky in recent seasons.

Are you kidding me? The Irish have EARNED their mediocrity with a series of bad coaching hires and some obvious recruiting mistakes. PLEASE do not buy the, ‘our academics are so tough,’ excuse. There may be a few kids Notre Dame can’t take but most of those kids probably don’t belong at Notre Dame anyway. Lou Holtz took some of them and look where that led.

Bob Davie couldn’t coach, Ty Willingham never really got a chance to coach, George O’Leary couldn’t tell the truth and Charlie Weis couldn’t get his ego out of the way for more than five minutes at a time. Brian Kelly may be the answer and he needs time before people judge him one way or the other. But this has nothing to do with bad luck. It has to do with running a bad football program at a place where it is almost impossible—given the money, the scheduling ‘flexibility,’ (as in a total of three road games this season) the tradition and the exposure—to be mediocre. Notre Dame has pulled that off for almost 20 years now. That’s not bad luck.

Finally: Am I the only person who noticed that Patrick McEnroe ended his run as Davis Cup captain with a win—a tough one at that. The U.S. had to go to Colombia this past weekend and play on slow red clay in order to retain its spot for 2011 in The World Group—the 16 teams that play to win the Davis Cup. A loss would have meant playing their way back through the relegation group in 2011 to have a chance to compete for the Cup again in 2012.

Without Andy Roddick, the U.S. won 3-1, Mardy Fish winning two singles matches (8-6 in the fifth to wrap it up Sunday) and the doubles with John Isner. Good for Patrick and the U.S. It’s a shame no one pays attention anymore.

By the way, Serbia plays France for the Cup the first weekend in December. A ratings bonanza no doubt for Tennis Channel.

Tennis’s downfall amid the current dearth of American stars; Shame on me for tuning to ESPN Radio this morning

Two days ago I was getting ready to make my weekly appearance on “Washington Post Live,” which airs locally on Comcast SportsNet.

I enjoy doing the show and like the people I work with on it—both in front of and behind the camera. My only complaint—as with just about all media outlets in Washington—is the Redskins obsession. Every day of the year—not the season, the YEAR, there is a required, sponsored (of course) Redskins segment.

On Tuesday, Ivan Carter who hosts the show was going through the show rundown with me and with Charlie Casserly, who was the other guest that day. Since it was the day after Maryland-Navy and Boise State-Virginia Tech, there was a segment on those games. There was, of course, the Redskins segment and another on the NFL and a separate segment (God help us all) on Albert Haynseworth. Finally, Ivan brought up the last segment, which is called, ‘leftovers,’ quick items, quick comments on each.

One was that day’s Ryder Cup selections. There were two other football issues that were relevant. Finally, he said, “And Randy Moss is unhappy because he doesn’t think the Patriots are going to offer him a new deal at the end of the year.”

Really? Randy Moss is unhappy? Randy Moss wants a new contract? Has he left camp? No. Is he threatening to leave camp? No. He just says he doesn’t think the Patriots want him back. Well, that’s film at-11-stuff isn’t it? Moss is 33 and wants one last big contract AT THE END OF THE YEAR and this is news?

Of course it isn’t. So, I suggested instead we talk briefly about Patrick McEnroe stepping down as Davis Cup captain after 10 years and the fact that—in my opinion—Jim Courier should succeed him.

Ivan looked at me blankly. “You’re kidding? You think anyone cares about that?”

Casserly shook his head and said, “John, I work for CBS and they televise the (U.S.) Open but seriously, it’s TENNIS.”

I knew they weren’t wrong. I argued briefly that the show was already full of football and what was wrong with talking about tennis for THIRTY SECONDS?

I lost the argument.

Which, of course, gets back to what I keep saying over and over again: tennis has become nothing more than a niche sport. Even with the hours and hours of airtime ESPN is giving the Open, I’m not sure anyone other than Bud Collins and my friend Tom Ross is paying any attention. As I said last week, I’m SURE the USTA will announce record attendance and there will be all sorts of happy talk about how great the sport is doing but if anyone inside the sport every poked their head into Comcast Sports Net—or almost anywhere else—for a minute, they might be in for a rude awakening.

I am now firmly convinced that while some of this has to do with the sport’s complete mismanagement at the top—the people who run tennis remind me of something Lefty Driesell once said about one of this athletic directors: ‘the man could screw up a one-car funeral,’—it also has a LOT to do with the current dearth of American stars.

Oh sure, there are the Williams sisters on the women’s side but they simply don’t move the meter outside the tennis bubble. I once thought some of this might be racial but Tiger Woods has proven me wrong on that. We are (Thank God) finally at the point where most people don’t care what color you are as long as you can play and you can entertain them.

What’s more, the Williams’s have been around a long time now. People are always looking for the next thing, which is why there was so much swooning last year when Melanie Oudin made the quarterfinals. There’s also the grunting factor—especially with Venus. This may reflect a personal bias but the grunting/screaming makes me crazy. It is why, even though she can play and she’s gorgeous, I can’t watch Maria Sharapova play unless it is on TV and I can hit the mute button.

It may also have something to do with the fact that neither Williams sister has ever given an opponent credit after a loss.

Who knows? On the men’s side, there’s no one close to being as good as Venus or Serena. The current crop of American men have won ONE major—Andy Roddick’s 2003 U.S. Open. Roddick is now 28 and looks like he’s beginning to fade. James Blake, who never made it out of a quarterfinal at a major, has been beaten up by injuries. Mardy Fish has bloomed late into a top 20 player but no one thinks he’s going to win anything big and Sam Querrey has shown some promise but blew a serious chance to make the Open quarters. The new hot kid is Ryan Harrison, who won his first round match at the Open before blowing three match points and losing a fifth set tiebreak in the second round.

Then he walked off without signing any autographs for any kids or acknowledging the crowd which had cheered him on every point. Sounds like he’ll fit right in as a tennis player.

The point is this: The sport needs American stars. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal are great champions and, apparently, pretty good guys. (I always believe Mary Carillo on these matters). But they don’t push the non-tennis-geek meter at all the way Tiger pushes the non-golf-geek meter off the charts or even a little bit. There have to be U.S. stars—real STARS—in both tennis and golf. Golf has plenty of them, tennis, right now, has none.

I’m not saying an American star would fix the ills of the game and the way it’s run but it would be a big step in the right direction. It might even get the sport 30 seconds of time on ‘Washington Post Live.’

*****

I know I am a broken record not just sometimes but often on certain subjects—one being just how bad ESPN can be. It can also be good—like whenever anyone named McEnroe is talking about tennis or when Mike Tirico or Mike Patrick are doing play-by-play. And I like PTI whether I’m fighting with the hosts or not fighting with the hosts.

But the radio stuff is brutal—so shame on me for ever listening. That said, this morning I was en route to the pool when The Junkies went to a fantasy segment (I’d drive into a tree before I’d listen to that) and my two music stations were doing traffic and weather. I took a deep breath and turned to ESPN’s morning pitchmen (seriously, is there ANYTHING they don’t sell?).

They were trying to be funny. I should have gotten out while I still could. After they had made their NFL picks—or some of them, I really don’t know—they announced that next they were going to share with us the picks of their producer’s mother. This has become fairly common shtick on sports talk radio, having mothers or grandmothers or nuns make picks. It peaked four years ago when Tony Kornheiser’s producer’s mother picked George Mason to make The Final Four—and the Patriots made it.

What allegedly made THIS funny is that the producer is British—as is his mother. So, they played back tape of her picking The Browns in the AFC North—“I’ve never heard of them so why not?” (wow is THAT funny or what?) and asking her son if picking a 15-9 score in the Super Bowl was okay.

It was cringe-worthy and un-funny. That’s fine—that’s pretty much what that show is. I would love to hear though how smart the two pitchmen would sound if, say, someone called and asked them to analyze the cases The Supreme Court is going to take on when it goes into session this fall or make state-by-state predictions on the upcoming midterm elections.

That aside though, THIS is what killed me. “She’s WAY into the Jack Daniels at this time of the morning,” one said. “Oh yeah, the other said, probably on her second fifth.”

Really? First, she didn’t sound drunk at all to me. She just sounded like someone who didn’t know football and played along with a joke for her son’s sake. Second, if she WAS drunk at 9 o’clock in the morning or ANY morning (as they implied she was) that’s funny? Seriously? Making fun of someone’s clothes merits a two-week suspension but calling someone a drunk on the air, that’s funny.

Boy do I not get ESPN. Thank God for that.

US Open – Patrick McEnroe, Roddick’s 2nd round exit; Mike Wise twitter incident, Mitch Albom in 2005

I have a number of different thoughts today on a wide variety of topics.

The first is tennis, which I wrote about Monday prior to my annual trip to the U.S. Open. The main purpose of my trip was to run down a number of ex-players who I had covered extensively during my days on the tennis beat to set up interviews for the new book project. I won’t bore you with a lot of the details because most of those conversations were routine but I couldn’t help but laugh about my brief encounter with Patrick McEnroe.

Patrick is the youngest of the three McEnroe brothers. The best description I ever heard of Patrick came from Richard Evans, the longtime tennis observer—Richard’s been a writer, a TV guy, a PR guy, so I’ll generalize and call him an observer—who once said: “You have to give the parents credit. They got it right the third time.”

Everyone knows about John and his temper. Fewer people know about Mark, the middle brother. I think I may have met him once or twice and he seemed (like John) to be a good guy. Apparently his temper was a lot closer to John’s than to Patrick’s. In fact, until John was defaulted during The Australian Open in 1990, John McEnroe Sr. in his frequent defenses of his eldest son often said, “I’ve only had one son defaulted during a match and it was Mark.”

Patrick has all the McEnroe smarts and humor but not the angst. Ironically, it was a lot easier for me to track down John on Monday than Patrick. That’s probably because John was doing one thing—TV. Patrick was doing TV; a book-signing; his USTA development thing and his Davis Cup captain thing.

I finally found him sitting on an ESPN set, cell phone in his ear. I wasn’t going to just walk onto the set—especially given my relationship with ESPN even though Mary Carillo had slipped me an ESPN wristband so I could get into the booth upstairs while tracking John—so I waved to get his attention.

Without missing a beat, Patrick put down his phone, smiled and said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What?”

“Golf sucks.”

Patrick and I have argued often the last several years about where tennis has gone and is going. Naturally, he defends his sport—as he should.

I laughed. “Maybe,” I said. “But, to quote Chico Escuela, golf been berra, berra good to me.” (For the record I think most people know I don’t think golf sucks. While we’re on the subject let’s pretend this is the point in the column where I take a shot at Tiger Woods so those of you who live to write, ‘Feinstein, you don’t like Tiger,’—no kidding, how’d you figure THAT out?’—can fire up your computers).

Patrick held up his phone. “I’m about to do radio. You need me?”

“Just your cell number,” I said. “I lost it again.”

Quick story about me and my penchant for losing phone numbers: About 10 or 12 years ago, I got a call from a woman who said she worked at Disney. I’m not sure her title but it sounded pretty high up and she apparently was involved in developing films ideas.

“I’m a big fan,” she said. “I really like your work. I just wanted you to know that anytime you have an idea for a movie or if you think one of your books would make a good movie you call me. We’ll fly you out and I’ll have you in a pitch meeting the next day.”

Wow, I thought, that’s pretty cool. I’d never even been in a pitch meeting so just being in one would be an experience. I wrote her name and number down on a scrap of paper right near the phone. And lost it. I couldn’t remember her name. Friends suggested I just call Disney and ask for anything like the ‘film development,’ department. I was too embarrassed to even try. Now of course, you can put numbers in your phone and not lose them. Except I don’t know how to do it. I have one number in my phone—Paul Goydos’s because he got so mad at me for constantly losing his number that he grabbed my phone on the range one day and put the number into it.

Anyway, I’ve got Patrick’s number in this computer now so I hope I won’t lose it again. I’m looking forward to explaining to him why golf doesn’t suck.

Andy Roddick is a tennis player I don’t know the way I knew some of the older guys. But I like him. I’ve liked the way he has handled himself most of the time in his career. The other night he lost in the second round of the Open and there were all sorts of stories about his ‘meltdown,’ over a foot fault call. You would have thought he was almost in Serena-world the way it was reported.

Roddick certainly blew up. He got frustrated because the line-judge told him he had foot-faulted with his right foot—almost impossible for a righty server—when it was his left. She had the call correct but Roddick, who was losing badly at the time, went off. There was no profanity, just a lot of wise cracks about the quality of officiating.

After the match Roddick made a point of saying that the call and the incident had ZERO affect on the outcome. “If anything I played with a little more emotion after that,” he said. He made the point repeatedly that Janko Tipsarevic, his opponent, had outplayed him. In fact, he and Tipsarevic both told the story about Roddick reminding Tipsarevic at the net that, after he had beaten him at Wimbledon, he had lost his next match. “Don’t do that again,” Roddick said.

This is a bad guy?

Completely different subject: a lot of people have asked me in the last few days how I feel about the Mike Wise twitter incident. Let me say first that Wise is both a colleague and a friend—we’re not close but we’re certainly friends. A few years ago he loaned me a jacket for a ‘Sports Reporters,’ appearance because the Final Four hotel in Atlanta had lost my jacket. (It was found eventually but too late for the show).

Mike was wrong and has said so. He made up a story that Ben Roethlisberger’s suspension would be chopped from six games to five and put it out on twitter. He did it to make a point about the internet and the social media and how almost anything gets picked up and is treated seriously. That wasn’t the way to do it. Heck, all he had to do was cite ESPN’s 409 Brett Favre ‘scoops,’ of the last two years as proof. If you are a journalist, you don’t make stuff up EVER. Mike’s been suspended by The Washington Post for a month and the entire staff has been reminded about the simple fact that you report what you know to be true—regardless of the venue: newspaper, internet, twitter, facebook.

To his credit, Mike hasn’t blamed anyone but himself for his mistake. I DO find it ironic that he has been nailed so heavily on this while Mitch Albom basically skated five years ago when he LIED in a column. Albom described how two Michigan State players looked from the stands during a Final Four game and how he felt during that Final Four game. The only problem was he wrote the column on Friday and the game was played on Saturday—and the two players in question, who had told Mitch they’d be at the game didn’t show up. Whoops. Tony Kornheiser calls what Albom did a “mistake of tense.” I call it a lie.

Let me pause HERE to say Mitch and I are not friends. We did Sports Reporters together for a long time. We never exchanged any angry words that I remember but we were never friends. I thought what he did back in 2005 was awful and said so. I thought the column he wrote when he came back from a two week, ‘vacation,’ from The Detroit Free Press was worse. It began—I’m paraphrasing but only slightly—“I don’t often talk to God. But lately I’ve been asking him to give me the grace to forgive those who have been jealous of me.”

Oh please. How about just saying, ‘Man did I screw up. I got carried away with myself and violated tenet one of journalism. I’m so sorry.’ Instead he said people had criticized him because they were jealous of his success.

Believe me when I tell you I’m not jealous of Mitch. I’m very happy with my career and my life—the Mets aside. But I thought what he did was much worse than what Wise did—a firing offense to me—and the editor of the Free Press basically gave him a free pass because he was her biggest star.

This past summer the Associated Press Sports Editors (APSE) awarded Mitch its highest honor: The Red Smith Award. Some very distinguished people have won this award. It’s a big deal. I thought they demeaned the award and the past winners by giving someone caught in an out-and-out lie the award. Of course the APSE is made up of a bunch of editors, it is extremely political—some very UN-distinguished people have also won the award—so it isn’t that big a deal. Except that Mitch came in and gave an acceptance speech on the subject of ethics in journalism.

As my mom used to say, oy vay.

US Open – still awed by the world’s best, taking my annual trip today; Thanks for the suggestions

Today I make my annual trip to The U.S. Open. That’s tennis and when I say annual I mean one day and one day only. I’ve actually been to every Open since 1980, but in recent years I’ve limited my trip to one day, except a few years ago when I was researching, ‘Vanishing Act,’—my second kids mystery—and spent a couple of extra days so I could refamiliarize myself with the grounds again.

I go now really more out of habit than for any other reason. I go to see Bud Collins and Mary Carillo; my former Tennis Magazine colleague Mark Preston—who now works for the USTA; my old pal Tom Ross (described in ‘Vanishing Act,’ as MY agent—actually he was Bobby Kelleher’s agent in the book but Bobby and I have a fair amount in common) and a few other tennis people I’ve known through the years.

If I get the chance, I’ll wander to the outside courts and try to find a match or two away from the madding crowds that I can watch quietly from close-up. I’m still awed by the skill of the world’s best players and enjoy watching them for a while from the close proximity you can have at some of the outside courts, but it has become harder and harder to find space out there through the years because the USTA will sell a ticket to anyone who might be wandering by on The Grand Central Parkway.

This is where I always get into trouble with the tennis geeks. (Geek is not a putdown word, I consider myself a sports Geek with a capital G; to me it just means you live and breathe something). I have been saying for years that tennis is a sport that has, for all intents and purposes, killed itself with horrific mismanagement.

Years ago, you couldn’t get anywhere near the U.S. Open unless you knew someone or had big corporate bucks. The number of media covering the Open (and Wimbledon for that matter) was well beyond the number covering ANY golf tournament and TV ratings, especially when the big boys or girls played one another, were superb. The Davis Cup was a huge event in this country and around the world and it seemed like there was tennis on network TV every week.

Quick, name this year’s Davis Cup semifinalists.

Now? Have you checked the money the USTA spends on trying to sell tickets these days? If the USTA had turned its advertising budget over to the banks or the car companies no bailouts would have been needed. Just check Sunday’s New York Times sports section for one small example of how much money gets spent. Oh sure, the USTA will announced ‘record crowds,’ when the tournament is over—it does every year—but those ‘records,’ are built on the sale of grounds tickets (a good idea which the USTA finally copied from Wimbledon a number of years ago) because, as I said, the USTA never limits those sales and, at least for the first week, those tickets are a great deal.

Arthur Ashe Stadium is much too big. The seats upstairs might as well be on Mars. Other than the outside courts, the best place to watch a match is still the old Grandstand Court, where you can practically sit on top of the players.

Here’s how far tennis has fallen: Saturday night, I was flipping around trying to get some quick scores before going to bed. I stopped on ESPN News because their crawl is usually a little less annoying than the other ESPN crawls since it contains less blatant advertising. As luck would have it, they were showing highlights of the Pilot Pen Finals from New Haven. Out of that, they went to a graphic showing the top four women’s seeds at The Open.

Serena Williams was listed as the No. 2 seed. Huh? She only withdrew two weeks ago and if she HADN’T she would have been the No. 1 seed. No, they didn’t accidentally put Serena’s name where Venus’s should have been because Venus was listed as the No. 3 seed. Since most of the ESPN News anchors can barely do more than read, the anchor blithely read off both Williams sisters names as the No. 2 and No. 3 seeds.

Shame, of course, on ESPN. But seriously, do you think the guy would have noticed if, say, Tiger Woods had been on a graphic as playing somewhere when he was out injured? Or Phil Mickelson?

(While I’m doing my ESPN-bashing thing, one of their radio update guys, I think his name is Kevin Winter, opened a Sunday morning segment by saying, “Four weeks until the end of baseball season…” PLEASE look at a calendar will you? October 3d is five weeks from yesterday.)

Back to tennis. Last year I dragged Tom Ross to an outside court to make him watch John Isner because I’d never seen Isner play up close. Ross, who has trouble sitting still UNLESS one of his clients is playing, was miserable, but I made him watch for two sets because I was enjoying myself.

There are certain things about covering tennis I truly miss. I loved wandering the outside courts the first week at any major looking for a match that would be a good story. I always loved being at Centre Court at Wimbledon. I loved the fact that there were no night matches in Paris or London.

What I didn’t love is what keeps me from making any kind of serious attempt to go back and cover it now: the lack of access to the players. Years ago, the one tennis tournament where you could walk into the locker room and talk to players was the U.S. Open. No more. That went away a few years ago. When my pal Pete Alfano and I were President and Vice President of the tennis writers, we tried desperately to open up access to players at tournaments. We even told the various people running tournaments that someday tennis might not be as popular as it was; that McEnroe and Connors and Lendl and Evert and Navratilova and Graf wouldn’t play forever.

The attitude of most people in tennis was summed up by an ATP Tour drone named Weller Evans, who managed to convert a Princeton education into a career as a glorified-racquet carrier: “It’s OUR locker room,” he said. “We’ll decide who goes in and who doesn’t.”

I said it then and I’ll say it now: “Weller, it’s guys like you who will kill the sport. It’s not YOUR locker room, it’s the player’s locker room yes, but it’s also the public’s because the only reason your players are making the money they make is because the public cares about them. For both better and worse we (the media) represent the public.”

Of course tennis has gone down the chute in the last 20 years even though there have been some truly great players: Federer, Nadal, the Williams sisters and others. People care about four weeks a year: Wimbledon, the Open and the last weekend (maybe) of The French and The Australian.

It shouldn’t be that way. Tennis at its best is wonderful to watch. I’m looking forward to getting the chance to watch up close for a few hours today. But when I leave tonight, it will be with no regrets. I’ve never liked trying to talk to athletes in interview rooms. Most of the time in tennis, that’s about all you get.

*****

I want to thank everyone who wrote in with suggestions for people to talk to for the new book. You brought up some very intriguing names and gave me a lot to think about. Dinner with Ivan Lendl, by the way, was great fun. I also watched him play for a little while that day and, even at 50, he can still crush the ball.

Sports, for me, is a companion; Ivan Lendl; Working on new book – reader suggestions on it are welcome

The other night while I was watching the Cubs—minus Lou Piniella—maul the Nationals—minus Stephen Strasburg—my wife walked in, glanced at the television set and said to me: “Is there ever a day in your life where you say to yourself, ‘I just don’t want anything to do with sports?’

The question was semi-rhetorical but I got the point. Here’s the answer: No. Some might call it an addiction. Others might point out—correctly—that I need to track sports on a daily basis because of my job. But that’s really not it. In fact, in my 20s when I didn’t cover sports, I probably went to more games and watched more games than I do now. (Children are a factor in that too).

Sports, for me and I suspect many others, is a companion. On almost any day, regardless of the time of year, no matter what else might be going on in your life, sports is there. Sometimes just checking scores can provide escape from either the dullness of everyday life or the pressures of everyday life. As I’ve written before, I still vividly remember how happy I was to be able to watch Mets-Brewers highlights on the day of my heart surgery (even though the Mets lost) in part because I was alive to watch them but in part because they were a reminder that there were going to be games to watch during my recovery period at home.

I needed to know that. So perhaps I am addicted.

If so, there can be worse addictions. I don’t gamble on sports; never have and never wanted to. I get emotional about sports but not so much about who wins and who loses but who has a story worth telling. I guess in that sense, given what I do, I am different than a lot of people. That’s not to say I don’t care at all about ‘my,’ teams anymore. I still roll my eyes at the mediocrity of the Mets (not to mention their doctors) and, as history has proven, I can get wound up about Navy football. Army football too, as a matter of fact.

More often though, it is about individuals. That’s why I laugh when others in my business claim to be ‘objective.’ I make no such claims. Those posters who rip me every time I criticize Tiger Woods are right about one thing: I don’t like him. What they’re wrong about is when they speculate that it has something to do with him not talking to me (he doesn’t talk to anyone one-on-one except on TV to promote himself in some way or if he’s being paid—as Golf Digest does—for the time). Tiger has a perfect right not to speak to me. I was the first guy to criticize his dad publicly and he took that personally. As I’ve told him, I get that. What I don’t like about him is the way he treats people—whether it is kids seeking autographs; my colleagues asking reasonable questions or anyone NOT doing something FOR him. (That’s an Earl lesson by the way, do nothing for free).

That said, I almost gagged yesterday when a gossip columnist from The New York Post asked him TWICE if he still loved Elin. First of all, the question is irrelevant. Second, when he clearly ducked it (legitimately) the first time why the hell ask it a second time?

He started out this morning in his first round—first guy on the tee at 7:10 am because of his FedEx Cup ranking—by birdieing four of his first seven holes. That will start the, ‘Tiger’s back,’ stories again. He might very well win this week. Heck, he might even win the FedEx Cup. But it will still be a lost year in his mind because he didn’t win a major.

Anyway, back to individuals I’ve liked and disliked. Tonight, I’m having dinner with Ivan Lendl, who I covered extensively when I was The Washington Post’s tennis writer and when I wrote, ‘Hard Courts,’ back in 1991. I’m starting research on a book that will be keyed to the 25th anniversary of ‘A Season on the Brink,’ and I’m going back to talk to a lot of the people I’ve met along the way who I found either interesting or fun or challenging. The number one test for me in deciding who to track down is simple: How many times have people said to me, ‘so what became of ------.’ (If anyone has ideas or suggestions I’d love to hear them).

That means Chris Spitler, the unofficial hero of, ‘The Last Amateurs,’ will be in the book and so will quite a few players from ‘A Civil War,’—among, I hope, many others.

Lendl certainly qualifies. We had a very combustible relationship. I was very hard on him at times. He had a tendency to lose from ahead in big matches early in his career—particularly against John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors. He turned that around completely when he came from two sets down against McEnroe in The French Open final in 1984 (McEnroe got into a fracas with the umpire in the third set and let it get to him) to win. From that point on he became a great competitor in big matches.

We battled often. When George Bush (the first) was pushing as Vice President to waive the five-year waiting period for citizenship so Lendl could play Davis Cup for the U.S. I was very much against it and said (wrote) so. Lendl saw it as a shot—which it really wasn’t, I just didn’t think you pushed aside the law in the name of winning a tennis competition—and we had it out a few times.

One night, after he had won a tight match from Connors in Washington, he was asked about a third set incident in which he had slammed his racquet.

“Well,” he said. “I figure no matter what I do John Feinstein is going to rip me so why not slam my racquet?”

It was a funny line but he wasn’t being funny. Eventually, because Lendl is at heart a good guy, we talked things out, agreed to disagree and, if you read, ‘Hard Courts,’ you can tell he cooperated with me on the book. When I tracked him down (with the help of one of the blog’s regular posters, so who says doing this is a waste of time?) for this book he said: “I just have one question. If you want to write about the most interesting people you’ve met, why are you calling me?”

I look forward to catching up with him tonight. Maybe someday I’ll do the same thing with Tiger. Then again, maybe not.

****

A brief note to a couple of angry posters: I didn’t rip Tiger for criticizing the greens at The PGA—it was at the U.S. Open. Hard to tell those two events apart I guess. Here’s a quote from that tournament after he called the greens, ‘ridiculous,’ the first day when he failed to make a birdie: “He’s whining. He needs to stop blaming the greens for his failures and go out and play golf.”

Pretty harsh, huh? There I went, Tiger-bashing again, huh? One problem: That line came from Tiger’s good friend Notah Begay. I was sitting next to him when he said it. Yes, other players were frustrated during the week as the greens got worse in dry weather. But they all said the same thing: this is what you get with poa annua greens. That’s what Tom Watson was saying on Sunday talking about how tough they were to putt.

And to the person who posted in regard to my referencing my own mistakes: “Um, the Duke soccer players?” Um, I believe you’re talking about LACROSSE players?

Wide-ranging morning ---- Haynesworth, Strasburg, Zack Bolno, US Open tennis, Arjun Atwal, and the last note on rules officials

There was a lot going on this past weekend in sports. Lou Piniella retired. Vin Scully did not. (Thank God). Stephen Strasburg felt a twinge in his arm and everyone in Washington writhed in pain. Roger Federer won a tennis tournament. Serena Williams and defending men’s champion Juan Martin Del Potro withdrew from the U.S. Open. Fred Funk won an alleged major on The Senior Tour. (Are there any events on that tour that AREN’T ‘majors?’). Arjun Atwal, who was involved in a fatal accident in Florida three years ago won on The PGA Tour, the first player since Fred Wadsworth in 1986 to come through a Monday qualifier just to get IN to the tournament and then win.

Oh, and Albert Haynesworth is whining—which was apparently enough reason for the Washington Redskins to fire their PR guy on Sunday.

What a world.

Let’s start with the ridiculous—which is always the NFL team here in Washington. The Redskins should have conceded the folly of signing Haynesworth before training camp even started. It’s not as if Haynesworth was the first god-awful Dan Snyder free-agent signing, he was just the most recent and the most expensive. The minute Haynesworth refused to show up for mini-camps (or OTA’s or whatever the NFL calls them) that should have been a clear sign that he learned nothing from his embarrassing season a year ago, could care less about his teammates and was going to try to battle Mike Shanahan’s authority. Last I looked, Shanahan has pretty good credentials as both an authority-figure and as a coach.

We all know what’s gone on since. Haynesworth couldn’t pass the conditioning test he was required to take when he finally showed up for camp. He finally passed and began working out—occasionally. Then last week he didn’t work out, refused to speak to the media and the team said he had headaches. After he didn’t play until the second half in Saturday’s exhibition game, he whined that the team wasn’t telling the truth about his headaches and that he should have started the game.

I have two words for Haynesworth: SHUT UP. I have two words for the Redskins: CUT HIM. Sure, they’re going to take a huge financial hit but there’s an old saying about being penny-wise (okay in this case $21 million-wise) and pound foolish. The Redskins are trying to be good again; trying to get past all the embarrassments of recent seasons. This guy is a pox, who is likely to be unproductive. The sooner the Redskins get rid of him, the sooner the team can move on and focus on the future.

In the meantime, after Haynesworth mouthed off on Saturday, Redskins PR director Zack Bolno got fired on Sunday. For the past two years, most people who have to cover the team will tell you Bolno has been a voice of reason and (gasp) cooperation in a sea of stonewalling built by Snyder, former GM Vinny Cerrato and martinet-bully PR guy Karl Swanson. Cerrato and Swanson are finally gone but Bolno is being made the scapegoat for SOMETHING and it is clearly the team’s loss. Of course if the team wins, no one other than the people who know Zach (I got to know him when he was the Wizards PR director) will care.

The other Washington story is, of course, Strasburg. When he clutched his arm after pitching 4 and one-third shutout innings in Philadelphia on Saturday, you couldn’t help but go, ‘Oh God no, here comes surgery.’ It is now likely that bullet has been dodged but the Nats are also likely to shut him down for the rest of the season. After all WHY take any risk with him? The team is going nowhere, he’s proven he can pitch very well at the big league level already. The only reason to pitch him at all would be ticket sales and the Nats are smarter than that. If you pitch him now and God Forbid something happens, you will regret sending him out there forever.

On the tennis front: I think there’s a very good chance Roger Federer is going to win another U.S. Open. Del Potro has been hurt most of the year, so his withdrawal is no surprise. Rafael Nadal, as always seems to happen this time of year, is struggling on U.S. hard courts. Andy Roddick has had a so-so summer at best. In fact, the hottest player on tour this summer has been Mardy Fish, who lost a very good three set match to Federer in Cincinnati yesterday after beating Roddick for the second time in the last few weeks in the semifinals. For once, the Open is wide open. Someone like Novak Djokovic could get hot or Roddick could get on a roll in front of the New York fans.

As for the women, I don’t know, I think Chris Evert is the favorite now. Maybe Martina Navratilova or Steffi Graf? With Serena Williams out—foot surgery after she stepped on some glass—Venus Williams having been invisible all summer, Maria Sharapova who-knows-where with her game, Justine Henin out hurt (again) and defending champion Kim Clijsters looking shaky ANYONE can win. Billie Jean King maybe. Now that would be a story.

Arjun Atwal is a remarkable comeback story—sort of. Certainly coming back from injuries that caused him to lose his PGA Tour card and to go through a Monday qualifier—players call it a ‘four-spotter,’ because there are four spots in the field open, often with more than 100 players trying for them—to win his first tour event is remarkable.

But Atwal’s story is a little murkier than that. He had made a very good living playing around the world after leaving India as a teen-ager and had moved to Orlando, where he often played at Isleworth with Tiger Woods. On a March afternoon in 2007, after playing nine holes with Woods and John Cook, he was driving home on county road 535 when a car—driven, as it turned out by another Isleworth resident—fell in behind Atwal.

The police believe to this day that Atwal and the man began racing. Apparently CR 535 was infamous for street racing. Atwal has admitted to going 85 miles per hour. The police say it was more like 94. The other man apparently got up close to 100. Both lost control on a curve. Atwal lived. The other man did not. Police wanted to charge Atwal with vehicular homicide but the Florida attorney general decided that making a case in court that Atwal was the CAUSE of the accident would be difficult.

There seems to be little doubt that Atwal was guilty of stupidity and was incredibly lucky to live and not go to trial—or to jail. He has told other reporters that as bad as he feels about what happened he knows he “did nothing wrong.” Maybe he’s talking—as instructed by his lawyers—about the death of Mr. Park, the other driver. Clearly he DID do something wrong based on the speed he was going so it is difficult to make his win on Sunday as much of a feel-good story as it might otherwise be.

I mean, good for him, hanging in through the injuries and the Monday qualifiers and the guilt he must feel after the accident. But, on a wholly different level, like his friend Woods, Atwal must bear some responsibility for the difficulties he went through after his accident. Totally different story—obviously—in fact one far more tragic.

*****

One final note: I couldn’t help but notice that some posters STILL think that there are waking rules officials only with SOME groups at majors championships. That is flat out wrong: At the U.S. Open, British Open and the PGA every group for all four days is assigned a walking rules official. The Masters does not assign a walking rules official to ANY group because of its tradition that no one goes inside the ropes except caddies, players and TV camera and sound men. Dustin Johnson had NO advantage over anyone on the golf course last Sunday. In fact, he had a disadvantage because David Price, his rules official, failed to warn him he was in a bunker as a good official would have done. I am really tired of hearing the apologists say he wasn’t ‘obligated,’ to do so. No he wasn’t. Often in life what is right is not what you are obligated to do it.

Even if you disagree with that opinion, let’s keep our facts straight. Everyone had a walking rules official that day. Johnson just drew the short straw when he was assigned Price.

If I was ever to write another tennis book, it’d be based on this time of year; Next up - Queens, Eastbourne, Roehampton, the great Ted Tinling

Perusing the morning paper today, I caught myself doing something I rarely do at this point in my life: reading the tennis results—known in newspaper terms as, ‘the agate,’ because that’s the type-face used for results. Years ago, when I covered tennis on a regular basis, I read the agate daily. Not only did I know just about every name I came across, I had a pretty good sense of what a win or a loss meant to that player.

These days I read the golf agate carefully—not just the results from The PGA Tour but also The Champions Tour and The Nationwide Tour. I may not know all the names, but I know a lot of them on all three of those tours. I can tell you most of the time where the guys I know stand on The PGA Tour money list and I usually have a pretty good idea about The Nationwide list too, especially as it relates to the top 25—the magic number of make the big tour—but also the top 60 because that gives you a spot in The Nationwide Tour Championship and also exempt status on The Nationwide next year if you don’t make it through Q-School.

Most of the tennis names fly by me un-recognized now. Oh sure, I know the big names, even the semi-big names, but in the old days I could give you name, rank and serial number on anyone in the top 100 and a lot of players not in the top 100. I used to take great pleasure in wandering the back courts at tournaments in the early rounds to watch a match between two qualifiers, knowing that a first round win was huge for the winner.

Those days are gone. I still get nostalgic watching The French Open or when I notice that The Italian Open is going on and I have fond memories of traveling to Australia, especially the month I spent down there researching ‘Hard Courts.’ That said, if I ever did go back to do a tennis book it would be during this month—the next four weeks. The time of year is the reason I found myself checking out the agate this morning.

The French Open is over. The grass court season has begun. It lasts exactly five weeks (including Newport, the week after Wimbledon) and is played almost exclusively in Great Britain. The men are at Queen’s this week—note it is The Queen’s Club NOT Queens Club—and the women are in Birmingham. The men also have an event in Germany that will draw some good players but it almost doesn’t count. Queen’s has almost as much tradition as Wimbledon and is one of the best tennis venues I’ve ever been to in my life.

Next week the men and women BOTH go to Eastbourne. This is a radical change in tradition. Until last year, Eastbourne had always been strictly a women’s site, a wonderful event in an old English seaside town at another tennis ground—as they are called in Britain—that just reeks of tradition. Last year the men’s event that had been played in Nottingham was moved to Eastbourne to coincide with the women’s tournament. I can’t imagine that made the women happy but if I was still covering tennis it would be a dream come true to have the men and the women in the same place the week before Wimbledon.

Of course a lot of players don’t play the week before Wimbledon although Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert almost always played Eastbourne. It was a great place to go the week before Wimbledon to get time with top players in a relatively relaxed atmosphere.

One year at Eastbourne I was sitting with the great Ted Tinling watching a match in the front row, so close to the players you could just about touch them. Ted was one of the most remarkable, can’t-make-him-up figures I’ve ever met in sports. He had become famous for designing Gussie Moran’s famous lace panties at Wimbledon in the 40s and had been very close to the great Suzanne Lenglen. He was also a spy for The British during World War II and one of the great storytellers ever born. There was NOTHING Ted wouldn’t say to anyone or about anyone.

Ted was about 6-foot-4, completely bald, wore a diamond stud in his ear long before men did that and was always open about the fact that he was gay. He was as good a source I ever had because he knew everything and everyone and never considered anything a secret. It was Ted, as an advisor to The Wimbledon media committee, who convinced the gentleman of the club that they needed to allow a member of the American media into their daily planning meetings—not just a member of The British media.

One morning when I was the American rep, the committee chairman, a very nice guy named Barry Wetherill, made the mistake of asking the innocent question, “everything alright with your group John?”

Well, he asked. I told Barry—and the others—that I thought the lack of access we had to the players was ridiculous. We couldn’t even get into the tea room (Wimbledon for player lounge) without someone sneaking us through the entrance and the fact that we couldn’t even walk over to the practice courts to find a player was a joke. Barry turned to my English counterpart to ask if he saw any of this as a problem: “No not at all,” he said. “We’re very happy to have players brought to the interview room.”

Thanks for your support. I explained that the reporting we (Americans) did was a bit different than the Brits since it involved, well, reporting. Wetherill looked at Ted. “What do you think about all this Ted?” he asked.

Ted had been lying in wait. “Well OF COURSE John’s right,” he said. “It’s OUTRAGEOUS. Who do these players and their bloody agents think they are prancing around like royalty. The Royals sit in the Royal Box. The rest of the people in this place should TALK to people for more than the nine minutes when they come into the interview room. It’s HORRIBLE.”

I drank the sherry in front of me in one swallow at that point to keep from falling down laughing. The committee members were not nearly as amused.

So, on this day at Eastbourne, I’m sitting with Ted watching what was a pretty bad match when suddenly a fan a few yards away from us stands up during a changeover and points a shaky, drunken finger at Ted. “That’s it, that’s it!” he says. “I’m not watching another minute of this. Nothing but lesbians playing here. (The two women playing were, in fact, gay). And you Tinling, you f----- homosexual, you shouldn’t be watching this either!”

With that he sat down, apparently having forgotten that he was leaving.

Ted was very calm. “You know,” he said. “If I was a PRACTICING f---- homosexual I wouldn’t mind. But, given that I’m not, I think I’ll have him removed.”

Which he did.

The other cool place to go that week was Roehampton, in suburban London, which is where the Wimbledon qualifying tournament has always been held. Very intense, competitive tennis on dicey grass courts with very few fans around. There are always a couple of up-and-coming names or down-and-fading names at the qualifier. Most of the time if you wanted to talk to a player after he or she had played, you’d just plop down on a grassy bank near one of the courts and talk.

Queen’s has the same type of atmosphere. It is right in downtown London, best reached by subway and the stands, put up each year just for the tournament week, sit right on top of the court. Unlike at Wimbledon, there is (or at least used to be) ample access to the players since their dining area is (was?) open to the media. It was a perfect place to get time with players and watch very good tennis from very close up.

For me, the two weeks between the end of The French and the start of Wimbledon were always the best two weeks of the tennis season. Then came Wimbledon, which was always difficult to cover because of the lack of access (believe it or not the committee did NOT rewrite the rules based on my semi-tirade, although they did make a few changes eventually) but always great fun with great drama.

Someday I’d like to go back. Especially to Queen’s and Eastbourne—even though Eastbourne would never be the same without Ted.



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John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and in bookstores nationwide. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases

To listen to 'The Bob and Tom Show' interview about 'Moment of Glory', please click the play button below:

Larry King interview accomplishes LeBron’s goal of diverted attention, what I’d ask; French Open

LeBron James has come out of hiding—sort of. He taped an interview earlier this week with Larry King on CNN in which he apparently tells King that Cleveland has, “the edge,” in terms of signing him once the free agent period begins on July 1.

If you believe that statement has any meaning at all, I would suggest you start baking Santa’s cookies right now because you can never start too early on a task like that.

Let’s start with the venue James chose for his re-coming out party after he absolutely spit the bit in the NBA playoffs against The Boston Celtics. King still has a huge audience—LeBron likes that. King reaches a non-sports audience—LeBron, man of the world, likes that too. King isn’t likely to ask too many tough questions—LeBron likes that most of all.

Now, without benefit of seeing the interview, here are some of the questions I would have asked had I been guest-hosting for King (I actually DID guest host his old radio show years ago but for some reason have never gotten the call from the TV people) on the night LeBron showed up.

1. What the hell happened in the Boston series—especially games five and six and double-especially game five when you were so bad there were people who actually suggested you were tanking?(Follow up if he starts rubbing his elbow: Then what happened in game three when you went off for 38 points? Did you re-injure it? And then: Do you understand why people would be skeptical if this is the best you’ve got as an excuse?).

2. If you’re leaning towards Cleveland, why all the theatrics? You know they will pay you max money, why not just say Cleveland is where you want to be, that you still have unfinished business there?

3. Do you understand how reviled you will be in the state of Ohio if you leave without ever having delivered anything other than boatloads of cash for yourself?

4. If a championship is really your first priority in life (as he will no doubt claim) how about taking a break from peddling products until you produce one? (fat chance but the question might get an interesting answer).

5. Do you understand why people are saying right now that Kobe is a lot better than you as he plays in The Finals for a seventh time and the third straight year without Shaq? By the way, is it sheer coincidence that you scheduled this interview in the middle of The Finals? Is there a little bit of A-Rod (see World Series, game 4, 2007) involved in the timing?

6. What did you mean after game five when you said you had played three bad games in seven years? Three, really? And, to follow up, did you really mean you only disappoint yourself when you play poorly? Those folks paying for tickets and buying all of your products, you aren’t concerned about them?

7. You do understand that no one buys into your numbers in game six? You had nine turnovers and were invisible when the game was on the line.

The one question I would not ask that people might find relevant is the one about his mom and Delonte West. That comes from the wild rumor category and I’d only go there if HE brought it up and somehow decided to confirm it—which I would think is extremely unlikely. My guess is that the tone of the King interview is somewhat different than mine—which may be one of many reasons why King is who he is. He may not be as soft a landing spot as, say, almost anyone on ESPN, but he’s pretty close.

It’s my personal opinion that James isn’t going back to Cleveland. This is not based on any inside information at all, only on my observations of him through the years. To be as great a player as he is—and he IS great even if he hasn’t been able to close the deal in the playoffs yet—you have to have a massive ego. To be surrounded by enablers every day who are no doubt telling him that Michael Jordan should sit at his right hand, probably makes keeping any sort of perspective pretty close to impossible.

Which is why I think his first concern will be the size of the stage and the size of his audience. That to me means New York or it means New Jersey/Brooklyn with the billionaire Russian telling him how he will help market him worldwide. I still don’t see Chicago because he’s going to want a bigger statue than Jordan someday and that’s not happening there. Miami is a dark horse because he might somehow think playing for Pat Riley—or even better, having Riley say he will come back one more time JUST to coach LeBron—makes him even bigger than he already is. Fitting those two egos into one locker room would be worth the price of admission.

In truth, it is all speculation, which is what LeBron wants. The more people talk about his free agency, the less they talk about his meltdown against the Celtics. The more they talk about him at all, the less they talk about Kobe.

So, the King interview does everything LeBron wants it to do. It diverts some attention from Kobe and from The Finals. It allows him to keep people in Cleveland at bay for a while longer with his coy, “Cleveland has the edge,” non-answer and it means he has come out in public without yet facing hard questions about what happened in the Boston series.

It’s too bad the interview was taped. It would have been pretty funny if King had taken questions and had started out with, “New York—you’re next!”

******

Someone pointed out yesterday that in writing about the sports I was looking forward to paying attention to in the coming week I failed to mention The French Open. Wow, talk about a Freudian slip.

It isn’t that I’m completely un-interested in what goes on at Roland Garros. I have a lot of fond memories of covering the tournament in the 80s and early 90s. I mean, just being in Paris at this time of year, can’t possibly be anything other than a great assignment.

But tennis just doesn’t do it for me the way it once did. Some of it, no doubt, is because I don’t know the players anymore. I know the announcers, not the players. Some of it is, I’m sure, the American drought on the men’s side: no American man has won a major title since Andy Roddick won the U.S. Open in 2003 and there’s no sign that may change in the near future—unless Roddick can finally somehow win Wimbledon.

I may be the one guy on earth who doesn’t enjoy watching Maria Sharapova play. Healthy, she’s a superb player and she’s drop dead gorgeous but the screams on every single shot are just too much for me. She makes Monica Seles sound like a mute. And, fairly or unfairly, even though I recognize the brilliance of the Williams sisters, I have never been able to enjoy them as much as I should. Some of it may be their need to constantly call attention to everything BUT their tennis; some of it may be that they are never gracious in defeat—it’s always, “I gave her the match,”—and some of it is the respect I lost for Serena after her behavior at the Open last fall. (Not to mention her moron agent sticking her hand in front of the CBS camera afterwards).

So, I’ll probably watch at least for a while from the semifinals on—although my pal Mary Carillo won’t be there because she’s flying home for her daughter’s high school graduation this weekend—but the truth is I just won’t be as into it as I was once upon a time. I wish that wasn’t the case, especially since Nadal and Federer appear to be good guys, but that’s the way it is.


--------------------------------------

John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and in bookstores nationwide. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases

To listen to 'The Bob and Tom Show' interview about 'Moment of Glory', please click the play button below:

Rory McIlroy’s bravura performance; Tennis schedule reminds me of a player in the past

I’m not sure who to write about this morning: Rory McIlroy or Andrei Chesnokov.

Andrei Chesnokov?

Let me come back to him in a minute. It is impossible to ignore McIlroy this morning given his performance on Sunday at The Quail Hollow Club in Charlotte. Looking up at a leaderboard that included Phil Mickelson, Davis Love III, Angel Cabrera and Jim Furyk—to name a few—McIlroy went out on Sunday and shot 62—finishing his round with six straight 3’s—to win The Quail Hollow Championship by four shots over Mickelson and five over Cabrera.

It was a bravura performance, climaxing with a 40-foot birdie putt on 18 that was never going anywhere but the middle of the hole almost from the moment it left his putter. I just finished writing my weekly Golf Channel essay and the thing I kept coming back to wasn’t so much the brilliant golf but the absolute joy McIlroy clearly brings to the golf course.

The kid turns 21 on Tuesday, which means he’s about the same age that Tiger Woods and Mickelson were when they burst onto the scene—Mickelson by winning a tournament while still a junior in college; Woods by winning twice on tour at the end of 1996 a few months before his 21st birthday.

Woods was always a golf prodigy, a genius on the golf course—and still is in spite of his performance this past week—but one thing he never was going to be was fun. Mickelson tried a little harder. He’s always made a point of signing autographs and smiling back at people but it has never been something that has come naturally to him.

This kid has a little Arnold Palmer in him. He’s got all the shots but he’s also got a natural way of connecting with the fans that you rarely see on the golf course. A lot of players complain that it is unfair for fans to expect them to smile or acknowledge them when they’re working—which is what they’re doing on the golf course. I get that. But when a player is naturally inclined to be that way it is all the better for him, for the fans and for the game.

McIlroy walking up 18 on Sunday applauding for the fans was cool. It also was natural, not concocted in any way. Fans like him; other players like him; the media likes him and he can flat out play. If Tom Watson doesn’t win the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach next month, a McIlroy victory might be the next best thing. That’s no knock on Mickelson by the way, it would just be a fresh new story line.

Okay, onto Chesnokov. Unless you are a real tennis geek you have no idea who I’m talking about. In fact, unless you are a real tennis geek you are probably wondering why in the world tennis would be on my mind at all right now. I do keep up with the tour, at least enough to know who is winning week-to-week. This past week, the men were in Rome for what was once known as The Italian Open. Now, thanks to some marketing silliness it is called The Rome Masters or some such thing. Rafael Nadal won for, I think the sixth time.

When I was a kid, NBC used to televise The Italian Open, The French Open and Wimbledon. Only Wimbledon was actually on live, but I watched raptly anyway. Bud Collins called it, “The Old World Triple.” I still remember Vitas Gerulaitis winning The Italian one year and how big a deal it was back then.

I dreamed back then of someday doing the “Old World Triple,” in the same year. Not only did I get to do it in 1990 when I was researching, “Hard Courts,” I got to do it while hanging out with Bud a lot of the time which only made it about 1,000 times more fun. Bud believes he is part-Italian and traveling around Rome with him was a little bit like being with Vito Corleone at Connie’s wedding—except Luca Brasi was nowhere in sight.

My fondest memories of that week in Rome though center on Chesnokov—who liked to be called Chezzy. He was then a solid clay court player, the first really good player to come out of the Soviet Union in years. He liked to pretend he didn’t speak much English but in truth he spoke it about as well as I did. He and Natalia Zvereva were in a battle back then with the Soviet Tennis Federation about purses. The federation was getting about 90 percent of the money they were making on tour. Chezzy and Zvereva didn’t see that as fair.

It took a while for me to get Chezzy to trust me—which was understandable. At first when I told him I was writing a book on life on the tennis tour, he was suspicious. “Why do you want to talk to me?” he asked. “I never win anything important.”

He never did win a major, but he had beaten Mats Wilander at The French in 1986—the first time I encountered him—and had been in the French semis in 1989, losing in four sets to Michael Chang. He won at Monte Carlo in 1990 and made it to the Italian final a couple of weeks later. What was amazing was HOW he made it to the final. He kept losing the first set, falling behind in the second and then rallying—somehow—to win. The matches took longer and longer--Chezzy was a classic stay-back clay-courter who simply wore you down—but he kept winning.

Every time he was asked in a press conference what he was going to do to get ready for his next match he would smile and say, “I go to disco.”

He was joking. He was very serious about his tennis, but not about much else. When I finally got him to sit down and talk to me over a long breakfast that week, he talked in detail about how he had fallen in love with the game as a kid and had known early on that it was his ticket out of a rudimentary job in Moscow.

“I know this because of the Olympics,” he said. “Once they say tennis will be in Olympics (1988) I know the government will put serious money into the tennis programs and I will have a chance. If not for the Olympics, they don’t let us travel to compete.”

I like to think that Chezzy and I found common ground that year. He became one of the non-star stars of “Hard Courts,” much the same way Paul Goydos did in “A Good Walk Spoiled.” Unlike with Goydos, who I am still friends with and see all the time on tour, I haven’t seen Chezzy for years. There aren’t that many people I’d like to sit down with at length again from my years covering tennis, but Chezzy would be right near the top of that short list.

He was a very good player. And a better guy, though I doubt he ever did see the inside of a disco.