On Milos Raonic’s exit at the Australian Open 2012

There’s a moment during the final fight of the martial arts tournament in the movie Bloodsport where after getting off to a flying start Frank Dux, played by Jean Claude Van Damme, is momentarily blinded by his opponent Chong Li. The video, fast tracking the action until that moment, cuts in on Dux crying out in despair as he swings violently either trying to catch Li or in self defense. After moments of drama, and despite the blurred vision, Dux gets Li and the movie ends with the Westerner winning the native. Like it was always expected to end. Milos Raonic’s game at the Chennai Open a fortnight earlier had nearly the exact same plot.

Raonic won the tournament without ever dropping any of his forty eight serve games. A feat only achieved by Roger Federer earlier. One would then imagine that his serve rattled his opponents forcing them to submission. Strangely, his serves – though consistently held – kept getting playable after the first set. Despite being shot at over 200kph, their placement seemed to offer the opponent more time to react and whip a return. And, as an immediate consequence, Raonic appeared to have lost his game overall in the quest to find his best serves, unnecessarily allowing the following sets to tie-breaks.

And then, very quickly, his game would improve overall though the same couldn’t be said of his serves and he’d send his opponents packing. Just as Dux did in Bloodsport despite the blurred vision. Raonic did win his first two rounds at the Australian Open with effortless ease, finally dropping only two of his serve games in six matches this year against a worthy opponent in Phillip Petzschner. But in the match against Lleyton Hewitt last evening, that patch of bad form we saw in the Chennai Open seemed to last three of the four sets they played – his first serve percentage was appalling and midway through the third set, he had more unforced errors to his name than winners.

After winning the first set, the Canadian appeared to not know what we wanted from his game, losing that general sense of direction. And when things fall apart at venues as intimidating as Rod Laver Arena does get while playing an Aussie, defeat is a perfectly fair result.

Wrecking Janko Tipsarevic at the Chennai Open finals, and Nicolas Almagro the previous evening – world number nine and ten respectively – was enough evidence that the surge into the top ten was a matter of playing a few more tournaments well. And that there wasn’t much difference in the quality of tennis between the world number nine and a player ranked thirty. There is a gulf in class, however, between the top four and the rest of the ranks. A serve that opponents couldn’t soak up in their dreams could only land Milos Raonic in the top ten. The climb further up should entirely depend on the reducing of his switch-off duration.

Facing Australia’s most loved Tennis star of recent times at Rod Laver Arena is tough. Even for the defending champion. Naturally, for ATP’s newcomer of last year, the stadium is an unscalable fortress. Like playing Barça at the Nou Camp, possibly. That, despite this knowledge, Milos Raonic started as the favorite against Lleyton Hewitt last evening is a victory of sorts. Or after the defeat, should be viewed as a consolation.

Australian Open 2012: appreciating Ernests Gulbis’ defeat

Early in the fourth set today at Melbourne’s Margaret Court Arena, after being beaten 2-6 in the previous set by David Nalbandian, an understandably petulant John Isner got nothing but his big serve right. Through that set, though, he appeared calmer, visbily more determined with every serve he held. He should have, probably, believed at that point that he wasn’t far from breaking Nalbandian’s serve. Or so it appeared. This will to win got ever more apparent in the final set, until the moment Isner won it 10-8 and with that, the match.

John Isner’s is a portrait of a person trapped by ideals of being or, at least, feeling superior, to whom there’s no comparable cure in defeat. As was evident from the marathon final set against Nicolas Mahut on Wimbledon’s Court.18 that ended with Isner winning an epic 70-68. When playing an opponent of other-worldly skill and class, these are athletes akin to the kings and heroes described in the epics whose highest honour lay in their death during a battle than after pneumonia.

The thought applies to Federer, Nadal and Djokovic, too, now. They are of a much superior class of tennis, surely. But not quite alien for their objectives are no different from any other human being on this planet – to win; keep winning and be immortalised in history. It is, perhaps, their struggle that we can relate to that makes them our favourites. And absorbed in their quest for glory, we’re probably blind to the existence of a true alien in the sport.

Ernests Gulbis is a millionaire in Latvia who is known for traveling to Tennis tournaments by his private jet. I recollect a time in 2010 when there was gossip that he even had his own submarine. For a laugh, maybe. Apart from that he is the first and only Latvian to reach a grand slam quarter-finals. That was at Roland Garros in 2008 where he was beaten by Novak Djokovic. And for someone who turned pro in 2004, he has merely two singles titles to his name. That isn’t bad – Janko Tipsarevic too has won only two singles titles despite having been around in the pro circuit for ten years now. Only, the Serbian shows that will to win, dies a heroic death during the battle. How Gulbis crashed against Michael Llodra yesterday at the Australian Open first round match, and how he exits most tournaments early, it’s easy to see he probably isn’t looking at scoring those hero-points.

And it’s the manner of defeat, too. This isn’t a rookie who’s there so the giants could improve their stats with a straight set victory. He’d trouble them, push them on to their best. For only one set, though. For the promise he was as a teenager, who has troubled the likes of Nadal in the past, his attitude and game in the recent years are, possibly, a thing of art. I’m not qualified enough to recognise a piece of art but when a man travels the world to play a tennis match or two – and in them, a couple of sets to the best of his capabilities – with a possible disregard for the winning ways of the capitalist world, he represents the sheer joy of playing the sport. And since it lacks any purpose but itself, it should be art. Probably.

Milos Raonic and a new joy of watching Tennis

Milos Raonic takes his time before each serve. Longer than most other Tennis players at the highest level. Long enough for a photographer to quickly tweak his camera’s settings, long enough for the last bit of noise from the audience to die out, for the otherwise slow ball kid to suddenly feel more agile and fast. For what he would unleash with the serve, it’s, literally, as if he heralds the quiet before the storm. And then, the serve ricochets past his opponent even before the speedometer’s digital display could pick it up.

The match promised to be a treat even before it began last evening. In fact, it’s been one since the Chennai Open draws were announced on Sunday. Though tennis loving Chennai hadn’t tracked every bit of Raonic’s surge up Tennis’s world rankings in 2011 – which was as fast as his serve: he went from being ranked over 200 when he visitied Chennai last January where he fell as a qualifier, to being ranked 31 this time – there was a general awareness of the digits that would appear on the centre court speedometer. And his opponent was to be either Sam Querrey – holder of the record for most consecutive aces in the Open era – or Victor Hanescu whose serves are, if not as much as Raonic’s as the crowd realised later on, quite intimidating and unplayable, too.

Querrey appeared to have lost all his form with his injuries last year and Hanescu brushed aside the American in under ninety minutes. Less than twenty-four hours later, though, he’d be at the receiving end of precision reminiscent of Pete Sampras combined with brutal power from Milos Raonic. And, the Romanian would fall sooner than he dismissed Querrey. In only an hour and thirteen minutes.

It started with Hanescu opting to receive on winning the toss. Raonic’s first ever competitive serve of 2012 is interuppted as man seated behind the chair umpire nearly ten rows up – quite literally, the very edge of Raonic’s visible range – decides to move a few seats to his left. A possible early indication of Raonic’s focus when he decides to abort his serve and allow time for the man to find his seat.

Within minutes, the Canadian-Montenegrin was up 3-0 in the first set, breaking Hanescu early. Hanescu’s response came with some hard work. He held his serve the second time as he made it 3-1 with a superb cross court backhand that left us audience gasping. Briefly afterwards, for the first set didn’t last much longer, there was perfection at the net from both players, of the highest order. And en route to wrapping the set 6-1, Raonic served a 230kph ace without the slightest grunt or strain on his face. In fact, he averaged over 190kph and his occasional second serves were dispatched at 170kph, the average speed of first serves in the next match on centre court between Stanislas Wawrinka and Edouard Roger-Vasselin.

Given he only turned twenty-one last week and was ranked over 200 a little longer than a year back, it was hard not to be awed by Raonic’s sublime placement of shots and his judgment. The kind of quality that, one would expect, comes with experience and a gradual ascent in the world rankings. The kind that bears the promise of a future champion.

But then, there were flaws. Due to playing a vastly experienced opponent, probably. Hanescu had the space to hold his serve early in the second set and almost break Raonic twice. Only almost, though. Raonic’s serve briefly, and as quickly as itself, went from being deadly to ineffective as he was down 0-40 trailing 2-3 in the second set. Hanescu, as if he’d opened Pandora’s box, was quickly punished. Three unplayable bullets and a minor struggle later, the game belonged to the Canadian. But, had it not been a Romanian in his sunset years in the sport on the other side; had it been the likes of Federer, Nadal or Djokovic – the club that the lad will come up against this year, without doubt – or Tipsarevic or Almagro, even – the top two seeds in this tournament – Raonic might not have been fortunate enough. A poor spell of six games in a set is easily what it would take Federer or Nadal to vanquish his opponent. A few tournaments – from the general vibe, a couple of Grand Slams – short of perfection, perhaps.

With more consistency in his serves and better court coverage – not that it wasn’t enough at Chennai, though, not enough for a major, surely – this is a lad capable of being Djokovic’s or Nadal’s nemesis in a few years. Unless he goes down Ernests Gulbis’ route, that is.

Why Bhaichung Bhutia isn’t India’s greatest ever footballer

Hailing Bhaichung Bhutia as the greatest Indian footballer goes on to show most Indians clearly lack knowledge of the nation’s glorious football past and clearly need reminding.

What India needs now is a documentary showcasing the past when influential people did not have to meet in some posh Gurgaon-based hotel to discuss the business of Indian football and it’s future. Football, before independence from the British, was what, possibly, inspired Indians – in the east, particularly – to stand up against their rulers. If you could beat them at their own game, you were no longer subordinates.

Now, though, it’s an appalling state where the Indian football league lacks a broadcast partner and scribes, to praise or be critical of their game, for a reason – no Indian would pay to watch any league, England and Spain aside. The converse – where the Indian media has failed to lure the average Indian Manchester United or Chelsea fan into watching the I-league – might be true, too.

And forgotten in the process are men, probably, more praiseworthy than the Indian captain who retired today. Including P.K.Banerjee, whom I reckon should be bestowed upon the honour of being India’s greatest ever footballer.

P.K.Banerjee earned eighty-four caps for India, a time in which he scored sixty five goals. Bhaichung Bhutia, India’s most capped player, scored a mere forty three goals in a hundred and nine appearances. One might point to the varying depths of the Indian squads these two were a part of but, the former’s achievements came when professionalism was a mere concept or a dream, probably. In this part of the world, at least. And seeing as Banerjee played his game during the times Salo Muller, the physiotherapist – as David Winner mentions in Brilliant Orange – finds treatment facilities at Ajax comprised one wooden table and a horse blanket, a possible reflection of global conditions, he could be said to have clearly top trumped Bhaichung Bhutia.

And then come the silverware, which some might find odd coming from an Arsenal supporter. Under Banerjee, India reached it’s apotheosis, first holding the French to a 1-1 draw at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome and then helping India clinch gold at Jakarta in the 1962 Asian Games. Bhutia did help India win multiple South Asian Football Federation Championships and, surely, this can’t be underplayed but Bhutia’s Indian squad is barely written about even as they play now. They are hardly known and, probably, enjoy no fan support playing away from home. Banerjee’s Indian football team, by contrast, is still remembered for what they were capable of and, sometimes, did. Should the legend be considered, Bhutia remains well and truly outclassed.

There are, of course, other Indians who could top trump Bhutia as well. Mohammed Salim, the Mohammedan Sporting club player, whose game took him to Scotland, where he played for the Celtics, is surely one of them. Bhutia’s claim to fame as the first Indian to play in Europe either ignores pre-professional times – such as the 1930s and 40s when Salim played in Glasgow – or mocks the average Indian who wouldn’t take to books, as much as the telly, unless there’s gold on offer.

Bhaichung Bhutia’s achievements are a matter of national pride, surely, and he’s one of the best ever to have represented the subcontinent. Not the greatest, though.

Happy Birthday, Madras

Beloved Madras,

Your reputation for seducing visitors who, blinded by capitalism, naively blame you to be conservative, turning them into settlers is legend. Progressive you have to be but, how you preserve the room for romance is where you are streets ahead of the rest of the nation.

Shine on, love.