Sacking Roger Federer

So apparently the answer to “Can I write two columns a week once work starts?” is “No.” Sorry for the long delay! At least for now, the plan is one column a week, on Wednesday morning, and maybe a quick word or two over the weekend. Today’s column is a little late relevance-wise, but I think it’s an interesting point, so here it is:

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Last Sunday, Roger Federer won the U.S. Open. For the fourth straight time. In straight sets.

Roger Federer is really good at tennis. You know this.

Roger Federer is a lot like Peyton Manning. You might not know this. And the similarities could go a long way toward making Americans care about tennis again.

Peyton Manning, more so than any other quarterback in the NFL, can hit any spot on the football field with pinpoint precision. Roger Federer can do the same on a tennis court. Given enough time, Peyton will be able to put the ball wherever he wants, tearing an opponent’s defense to shreds. Ditto for Roger. Peyton can hold the safety with his eyes, move him wherever he wants, and then throw the other way. Roger can show cross-court until the last minute, right up until his opponent takes the slightest step in that direction, before the ball zooms down the line.

Now, to continue the analogy, if Roger is Peyton, tennis is currently over-populated by the racket-swinging equivalents of Chicago Bears quarterback Rex Grossman. Sexy Rexy has shown flashes of talent. He has a powerful arm. He’s shown he can win games.

But he relies too much on his talent and tries to force impossible throws, leading to mistakes. Then he gets down on himself, gets in his head, and makes even more mistakes. Pretty soon the Bears are blown out in the Super Bowl and Peyton gets to leave the Dan Marino Hall of Fame for Guys Who Couldn’t Win the Big One.

James Blake, meanwhile, is quickly building a resume for that Hall of Fame.

Blake has all the talent in the world, but he quickly gets into the modern tennis equivalent of pissing matches: Who can hit the ball harder back at the other guy. This style of play gets him tired, and when he tries to hit both hard and accurately – difficult to do when not exhausted – he makes mistakes. And mental blocks? The man is 1-10 in five set matches.

Welcome to the modern tennis game of power groundstrokes. It’s sort of like a heavyweight boxing match, powerful guys trading blows, except you don’t have the catharsis of people hitting each other. And when you look at Roger’s record in grand slams, it’s immediately clear that this approach is fatally flawed.

So how do you beat Roger Federer? The same way you beat Peyton Manning. With constant pressure and speed rushes.

In tennis-speak, that means serve-and-volley. Hit big serves and knock Roger off balance. Then come into net to finish the point. Roger might hit a passing shot, but it’s a chance you’ll have to take; giving him another shot just makes it more likely he’ll beat you. And those big serves don’t come easy – shortening the point means you’ll be able to keep up the power serves for longer.

But I don’t want to spend a ton of time on “How to beat Roger.” For one thing, it’s been written. For another, none of you need to know how to beat him, unless someone forwarded my blog’s URL to Andy Roddick.

More important is what someone following that game plan to beat Roger Federer might do for tennis’ popularity in the United States. Renewed competition will save tennis fans like me, who have largely tuned out for about four years now. And while Roger’s fans think it’s quite good enough to watch him dominate, these are like the kids who only had vanilla ice cream going up: Give them more options and they’ll realize what they’ve been missing.

But this sort of a change in the game could also bring tons of new fans to tennis. This is because treating Roger like Peyton will, appropriately enough, make tennis like football.

Rather than long, drawn-out, who-can-hit-harder-fests, you’ll get more serve-return-volley winner. Points will develop quickly, and players will have fewer opportunities to win points; they’ll either make the passing shot or they won’t. This is the kind of fast-paced, high-energy play that Americans crave. Every play is full-speed-ahead, with no room for error.

But, you might say, tennis is all about rallies! First, it’s not. It would be sad if they were gone, though. But rallies aren’t what they used to be; it’s supposed to be two guys moving each other around the court, trying to gain strategic advantage – not two guys hammering the ball at each other.

Those rallies are symptomatic of the insanity that has been Roger Federer vs. everyone else, and winning. Channeling the current power-heavy game into a winning strategy will do more than just knock King Roger off his throne. It will restore a sort of logic to the game, and we’ll see real rallies again, plus more.

Not Quite An Upset for the Ages

Apologies, folks, but today was my first day of work, I moved into my new apartment yesterday, and I have four hours until I have to wake up for a plane. So today won’t be a full column.

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Opening week of the college football season is characterized most often by two phenomena: Anticipation of a season-long battle between the best teams of the nation for a shot at BCS bowl berths and the national title, and those traditional powers beating the ever-loving crap out of John Doe State University to get the student body and alums excited for the season.

Less common events during opening week include teams from Division I-AA – now known as FCS, Football Championship Subdivision – whooping on those high-flying national powers. But this is what Appalachian State pulled off against formerly-No. 5 Michigan last Saturday, winning 34-32 in the Big House.

Michigan had entered this season with high hopes for a national title. The Wolverines boast a quartet of potent offensive weapons: Quarterback Chad Henne, running back Mike Hart, left tackle Jake Long, and wide receiver Mario Manningham. While the stellar defense lost more than half its starters to graduation or early entry into the NFL, second-year defensive coordinator Ron English was regarded among the best at his vocation, and was expected to have his unit ready to play.

Michigan was a legit contender. Appalachian State was nobody. This was a huge upset, one of the biggest college football has seen in a long time. But the upset looms larger on paper than it does in real life.

Michigan’s loss, one of a touted program to a virtual unknown, was absurd, unfathomable, laughable. But it was not awe-inspiring, incredible or world-shaking. Upsets are only as good as the matchups that produce them.

Two key factors build potent upset potential: The media hype surrounding a game, and what’s at stake. Consider the 2007 national championship game between Florida and Ohio State. The focus of the college football world was squarely upon that game, the sole remaining contest of the year and the one that would determine the nation’s best team. The national championship, the right to call one’s self the best program in the country, was up for grabs.

Everyone thought Ohio State would win, pundits and laymen alike. When the Gators pulled off the impossible, it became the type of awe-inspiring upset we dream of as sports fans, and Florida was handsomely rewarded for proving us all wrong.

None of us cared about the Michigan-Appalachian State before it happened. Why get riled up for a gimme? And we can’t say a national title was at stake in this contest. While Michigan was capable of putting together the season necessary to compete for that title, the Wolverines were four months of solid football away from realizing that possibility.

The loss is sad for Michigan and its fans, and Appalachian State deserves praise for slaying a giant. But I couldn’t care less about the game these two teams were about to play a week ago, so I can’t care too much about the result now.

The New Dream

The Dream Team is dead.

On paper, Team USA basketball looks as good as ever. The squad has locked up the top seed in the FIBA Tournament of the Americas heading into the semifinal round behind the play of superstars LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony and Kobe Bryant. The team’s average score of 114.3 points per game leads the tournament, and its average margin of victory is 39.3 points.

But no matter how many points Team USA could put up on the US Virgin Islands last week (123, against only 59), its latest venture into international play has revealed that the magic of those fabled US Olympic squads of the 1990s is gone for good.

Despite the numbers, the squad’s play hasn’t been perfect. There are only three big men on the roster, including little-used Tyson Chandler, and several teams have been able to take advantage on the glass. The squad’s focus on defense wanes after the opening minutes, and several opponents have been able to move the ball for open looks from beyond the arc and easy lay-ups. A combination of occasional sloppiness and appetite for the big play leads to turnover problems.

Case in point: Last night’s 91-76 win over Argentina. Team USA was out-rebounded 28 to 37, and committed 21 turnovers. While the U.S. took the first quarter 28-13, they increased their lead by only four in the second quarter, and were outscored by four in the second half.

Meanwhile, Argentina’s best player, power forward Luis Scola, sat the entire second quarter with three fouls, and only ended up playing 18 minutes, presumably so he could rest for the semifinals.

Team USA should easily defeat Puerto Rico in the semifinals, having trounced them 117-78 already, to qualify for the Olympics. While a finals rematch against Argentina may prove more competitive than the first contest, the U.S. will be the strong favorite.

But frankly, Team USA’s play at the Tournament of the Americas is irrelevant. This squad cannot be a Dream Team for reasons that go beyond their play on the court.

International basketball has developed greatly over the last decade. Brazil could add NBA players Anderson Varejao and Nene Hilario to its squad. France has the likes of Tony Parker, Boris Diaw and Mickael Pietrus. When the Argentines come to play for real next summer in Beijing, they could bring Manu Ginobili, Fabricio Oberto, Andres Nocioni, Walter Herrmann and Carlos Delfino. That doesn’t even count Scola, who will return to international play next summer with a year of experience with the Houston Rockets under his belt.

And those are just NBA players. The U.S. lost in the semifinals of last year’s world championships to a Greek team of purely European players, although point guard Vassilis Spanoulis would go on to play for the Rockets in 2006. While the NBA is still the premier basketball league in the world, the disparity is shrinking.

As those international players have become stars in their own right, the Dream Team aura has waned. During the 1992 Olympics, opposing players often asked the U.S. superstars to take pictures with them before games. The U.S. players – Jordan, Magic, Bird, Barkley, Malone – were idols, to be feared.

15 years later, the San Antonio Spurs defeated the Cleveland Cavaliers in a four-game sweep in the 2007 NBA Finals, with Manu Ginobili outscoring LeBron 27-24 in the deciding Game 4. Manu, now a three-time NBA champion, is not scared by anyone on Team USA’s roster.

Frankly, the U.S. personnel doesn’t shout “Dream Team.” These are not the 13 best American basketball players. 1992 was the first year that pros were allowed to play in the Olympics, and the American superstars jumped at the opportunity. 10 of the 12 players on the original Dream Team were named among the 50 Greatest Players in NBA history in 1996. That excitement has since waned, and a number of the NBA’s biggest superstars, including Kevin Garnett and Tim Duncan, declined to play for the U.S. this time around.

And with the evolution of international basketball, a collection of the best individual players would not give Team USA its best shot at victory. The team needs role players to complement the high-flying superstars. Mike Miller is on the team for his outside shooting. Tyson Chandler provides interior defense. These guys are necessary, but they do diminish the American squad’s “star power,” and whatever intimidation that’s good for.

The expectations are too big. Team USA will never again create a dynasty in international basketball. There are too many good players abroad, and more and more internationals are coming over to the NBA, gaining valuable experience in the process.

Also, the consistency Team USA Managing Director Jerry Colangelo seeks is a pipe dream. There was huge turnover from the World Championships team a year ago to the FIBA Americas team, with only three players returning. Egomaniac-by-nature NBA stars won’t be willing to endanger NBA careers and contracts on a long-term basis by participating in international play, where injury is possible, and the twelfth and thirteenth men will likely resent diminished playing time, as Chris Bosh did last summer.

However, while the Dream Team isn’t coming back, the newest incarnation of Team USA basketball offers something new. Where the Dream Team was an opportunity for the USA’s best to dominate on the world stage, next year’s Olympics will be a test of individuals looking to prove something.

Carmelo Anthony showed in one moment of immaturity – a punch thrown at New York Knicks guard Mardy Collins last season – that he still has to grow up. Playing through a bruised heel this week is a step in the right direction. Kobe Bryant’s immense talent has often been overshadowed by his off-court issues, most recently making and then retracting demands to be traded. His selfless defense this week shows he wants to play for his salvation. And LeBron, for all his success, is only 22, and is coming off that four-game sweep in the NBA finals. He will travel to Beijing next year in hopes of building his resume as one of the greatest basketball players of all time.

An easy path to the gold medal next summer is unlikely. But that prospect fits this Team USA. The Dream Team had to be perfect, or it failed, as it inevitably did. In contrast, if these men can be leaders on the court, play selflessly and give all the effort asked of them, the final result on the scoreboard might not even matter.

Welcome to The Extra Point

This blog was unofficially conceived during the top of the 8^th inning of a baseball game between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the San Francisco Giants on August 1^st, 2007. With two outs and a man on third, Barry Lamar Bonds – just one home run away from tying Hank Aaron’s all-time record of 755 – stepped into the batter’s box to face Dodgers reliever Jonathan Broxton.

As had happened every time Bonds stepped to the plate that series, the boos came quickly. Roughly half the stadium got to its feet, with the occasional fan holding up a sign that read “756*” or “Ruth did it on hot dogs and beer.” The first pitch was outside for a ball. So was the second.

Then, with Bonds facing a 2-0 count, the boos became decidedly louder.

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Stay tuned for the conclusion to that story. Most of the time, I’ll be writing about stuff just like that – as in, sports. But today will be a little different. I’d like to introduce myself, explain what I’m going to try to do here, and hopefully encourage some of you to check back with me soon.

My name is Dan Adler. I’m 21 years old, and I just graduated from college. My taste in music has changed disturbingly little since 1996, I walk into things, and I have an unfortunate love for bad puns – but I’ll keep them out of this blog.

Why, you ask, do I care who the crap you are? Fair question. I’m not the attraction here, and I can assure you here and now that this will never devolve into “21 reasons why I’m awesome today.”

However, you need to know who I am for two reasons. First, if you understand that there’s regular, ordinary, perfectly fallible me behind these columns, you will understand that whatever I write is nothing more than my opinion. If you know where I’m coming from, my particular quirks and biases, you’ll take whatever you see fit from my ramblings and not just disregard me the moment we have a little disagreement.

Second, frankly, this blog has a lot to do with me. I’m about to jump headlong into a – gasp – real job, where I will have to wear a suit and stop acting like a 12-year-old. But I love sports, and I love writing, and this is where I’ll be testing whether I want to turn one or both of those passions into something I could do for a long time.

This blog will be updated twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. The goal is to have a roughly 1000-word column for you both days, although I’m not going to make any promises just yet.

Content-wise, any sport is fair game. My personal favorites are professional football and baseball, and college football and basketball, but you’ll be seeing a lot more than just that. Don’t run away if you see a column on pro cycling; if I write on a more fringe sport, I’ll make sure it’s accessible. I’ll also be looking to write on subjects beyond the sporting events themselves. That includes off-field issues, but also sports culture, such as movies, books and video games.

This blog will not be many things, but a few of those deserve special mention.

My frustration with much of sports coverage is best described by the immortal words of Brick Tamland: “I don’t know what we’re yelling about.” Athletes have done some stupid things lately, and some really bad things too. But I firmly believe that athletes on the whole are just as worthy of our respect as anyone else, and that the current popular atmosphere toward them is undeservedly toxic thanks to the over-exuberance of uninformed witch hunters. I will reserve my judgment for individuals who deserve to be called out.

At the same time, this blog will by no means blindly glorify sports and its trappings. To state the obvious, sports come with no small measure of trouble these days, and I will not hesitate to call them to your attention. While I don’t want to be just another angry voice, I will very much give the problems in sports their due in this space. On the flip side, when I write about the positive in sports, don’t expect 1000-word odes on the beauty of LaDainian Tomlinson’s field vision. You wouldn’t enjoy reading that, and I sure as hell can think of more exciting things to write about.

One last thing this blog will not be is a one-way street. The beauty of sports isn’t how hard Brian Urlacher can hit someone, or how easily Jose Reyes steals second base. The beauty of sports is that I can go up to someone I’ve never spoken to before in my life and immediately strike up a conversation based on any one of a million sports happenings. In that vein, WRITE ME. I know there’s not a heck of a lot to respond to in this entry, but there will be soon. Send me anything: Counterarguments, movie recommendations, job offers with Sports Illustrated. The more you write me and the more I know you’re out there, the more motivated I am to be creative in this space. You can reach me at: dansextrapoint@gmail.com.

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Back to Dodger Stadium, and the big idea behind this blog.

The crowd had not become more raucous in protest of Barry Bonds’ 755^th home run, nor any sign from the slugger. The boos were redirected toward the Dodgers. Catcher Russell Martin had stood up, stepped away from the plate and motioned for an intentional walk.

It says something that as much as the crowd at that baseball game may have detested Barry Bonds, not giving him a shot at Hammerin’ Hank was even more repulsive.

The bottom line is that despite steroid scandals, dogfighting and Isiah Thomas, sports mean something extremely special. My brain knows that Barry Bonds was probably hitting something a little harder than flaxseed oil, but that didn’t stop me from craning forward in suspense every time he came to the plate.

To say that sports merely distract us would be unfair. We want sports to save us, to show us that life can be pretty sweet sometimes. This blog won’t be looking at sports through rose-colored glasses, but I hope it reminds us there’s a reason we care.