IN MELBOURNE
EVERY time I watch live tennis I am reminded that television cannot translate speed. The sheer pace of the players, the astonishing acceleration of the ball, even the kick of the ball, this truth never quite comes through. It is why sitting at a court is a privilege.
You hear the ball rocket off the strings, race off it, spring off it, sing off it. It is amazing how women players like Justine Henin and Yanina Wickmayer (who played each other on Sunday), so slim, their arms seemingly so slight, can produce such power.
Justine Henin goes for it at the Australian Open on Sunday. PHOTO: AP
The legendary Billie Jean King, No.1 in the 1960s and early 1970s, said today: "I swear they (the women) are hitting the ball harder. I didn't think it was possible. Every two years, three years, the players, both men and women, keep hitting the ball harder and harder." Sigh, us amateurs don't. We just buy bigger rackets and hope we do.
I love watching these players, yet hate it. They heighten my incompetence as a player. Particularly I am taken by their trust in themselves. Hackers do not have this. Almost every shot, Henin takes a rip at the ball. Puts body, mind, enthusiasm, training behind it. Leaps into it. It is stunning to watch this faith, in technique, in oneself.
To actually let go and give everything to a shot, even in golf, requires a confidence the amateur doesn't own. We have not practised enough to believe the shot will land in, so we are hesitant about our skill. We play the percentages. We're safe, tentative. In our dreams we are Fernando Gonzales, who thinks restraint is a sin, but when we arrive on court we are too scared to be him.
Because Gonzales lets himself go (and, of course, because he practices), he hits lines. Repeatedly, even during his loss to Andy Roddick. It is amazing because the ball is coming to these players at a mighty pace, with extraordinary spin, at an acute angle, and yet, on the run, they just know exactly how much spin and pace to attach in reply to hit a line.
Maybe 20 times in a set they might hit within a foot of the line. Maybe 7-10 times they will hit it on the line.
If I hit one sideline in a set, I want to stop I'm so excited. But the harder line to hit is the baseline. This is also because of our tentativeness. We're so scared of the ball going out, we hit it short.
But sport is full of ironies and there is one here, too. A sweet irony. For all their rage during a point, their seemingly complete faith in themselves, when the point is over, players turn to their box. Henin looks at her coach, Carlos Rodriguez, searchingly. She wants reassurance constantly. His faith in her is as important as hers.
Rohit Brijnath is in Melbourne, reporting from the Australian Open.
Read more: