Requiem for a Contender

Men's pro tennis is brutally competitive: the entire tour is made up of supremely fit, supremely skilled athletes. Competitive advantages are razor thin, nearly indistinguishable. Unless you're Roger Federer, it's almost always confidence that determines who wins and loses, the confidence to propel one through the big points that dictates winning and losing. And in men's tennis, confidence usually comes from that one big victory against a name opponent, the so-called "breakthrough" match. And if you don't get that breakthrough early in your career, you go from being a 'future star' to an 'also-ran'. And that transition can be lightning quick. Ask Robert Kendrick.
Flash back to Wimbledon 2006. Kendrick was the new gunslinger on the tour, and one of those big American serving studs who had sailed through three qualifying rounds in London. He blitzed his first opponent in the main draw, and found himself taking a serious liking to grass. He marched out to Centre Court to take on the French champion. a guy named Nadal that hadn't proven a thing on grass, yet. On national television in the States and the U.K., Kendrick punished Nadal, short circuiting rallies with classic serve and volley tennis, jumping to a two set lead, and holding comfortably in the third. Announcers were already projecting his third round opponent; for a millisecond, the tennis world was his proverbial oyster. And then reality kicked in, and Rafa became Rafa, and in painstaking fashion, Kendrick was bled to death for three agonizing sets, Close enough to taste victory, but secretly learning the fear and loathing of defeat on the biggest stage. It was awful tasting, a taste he never quite got out of his mouth.
A month later he was rocking on the grass in Newport, rolling into the quarters to face a teenager named Andy Murray. The Scot knew a bit about grass, and demolished Kendrick, whose lost confidence cost him a nationally televised trip to the semis at the Hall of Fame Championships.
Fast Forward to Flushing 2010. Kendrick's raw skill earned him 3 victories in the Flushing Qualies. His skills match up quite favorably with summer sensation Mardy Fish. Fish has the edge on the volley, Kendrick is the superior ground stroker. But he is now a low-ranked journeyman, and the confidence from his run through the qualies was superficial. In another display of painstaking tennis failure, Kendrick threw away several chances to knock off a notable seed in his five set killing loss to Gael Monfils of France. There was no solace of having played a 5-set war in which he was nearly equal to the victor. Kendrick continued to curse himself as he sat down after the losing handshake. He is now a middle aged pro, no longer being considered for Wild Card entries into the big tourneys that are reserved for the up and comers. He is still searching for that breakthrough, a breakthrough that will probably die the death of failed confidence.

Girardi Town

As this item is being posted, Yankees skipper Joe Girardi is enjoying a homecoming in Chicago. 36 hours off in his kind of town. A town that has Joe's perfect job available for him: to manage the beloved north side Cubs. And his current Yankee gig expires in 2 months As Wallace Matthews reported on ESPN NY.com, Joe's deal is third on the Pinstripers priority list behind looming free agents Jeter and Riviera.
A quick look at the facts on Girardi: Born and raised in Illinois; Lifelong Cubs fan; 2 stints as a player in their organization; went to college within walking distance of Wrigley Field (Northwestern); Ailing dad (Alzheimers) living in Chicago; he prefers the National League style of play and managing.
Hell, Yankee fans who care about Girardi would urge him to take this gig. Yankee fans who might be worried about their club's long-term health might want to keep tabs on Joe G. today. Will he be hanging on the South Side with his current club, or the north side with his future club? If the Empire crumbles, this might be one of those dates you put in the historical time line.

Just Desserts for Montreal Director

She is a tournament director's dream, or should be, especially at the Canadian Open, especially in Montreal. We're talking about the former World #1 Ana Ivanovic, 2008 French Open champ who had her breakthrough moment in Montreal back in 2006, winner her first offical tour title. Current Tournament Director Eugene Lapierre concedes as much. "She's a player who has done a lot for out tournament--almost saved it one year. She has a lot of charisma. Everyone likes her."

An ideal candidate for a Wild Card. Due to injuries and distractions, Ivanovic's ranking slid to the mid 60's, preventing her from being admitted into the Canadian Open main draw. In July her manager sought a WC on her behalf. Lapierre was blunt, telling Team Ivanovic that he was saving the wild card for a native Canadian player. Fair enough; Ivanovic was prepared to play through the Canadian qualifying rounds in her comeback bid. That is until she read Lapierre's interview from his local paper the Montreal Gazette. Here were some of the more salient quotes from the loose-lipped Lapierre.

"She hasn't demonstrated that she deserves a wild card. She is the one who dropped down to number 65, and not because of an injury.

"If I were her coach, I would force her to play qualies."

Oops.

As the opening match of the 2010 Canadian Open approached, injuries took out the Williams sisters, Justine Henin and Sam Stosur, forcing LaPierre to backtrack, especially in light of Ivanovic's impressive run to the Semifinals of the big-name Cincinnati tour stop. "There's still a chance," said Lapierre a week prior to the tourney. "Especially now that Ana is playing like a top 10 player again. Stand by for developments." It was a bit late for stand-by's. Ana's response was posted on her web site.

"I would have been happy to play qualifying, but I felt they stepped over the line with this (Montreal Gazette) interview, making public our correspondence and misrepresenting it. I don't feel welcome."

Ouch.

Fast Forward to here and now. On the day when the next women's event is scheduled to commence, Sunday August 22 in New Haven, Lapierre is under an umbrella with his hand out, wondering what else could possibly go wrong for his tournament. On a day when trophies should have been handed out, checks written, players kissed and then escorted to the airport, Lapierre has barely completed the quarterfinals. Two days of relentless rain has turned his magnificent stadium into an expensive ghost town. The Wozniacki/Kuznetsova semifinal, that could see the just-turned-20-year-old Wozniacki clinch a #1 seed at the U.S. Open, turned into a comedic soccer exhibition in what was essentially a mausoleum. Fans are being asked to show up at 10 AM for simultaneous semifinals on Monday, with a separate admission Championship match at 1:30.

What brutal circumstances for players, fans, and most significantly, tournament director Eugene LaPierre. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

Intrusions into Phil Simms world

The man with seemingly all the good things in life, but there's that word, life, which has a funny way of leveling the playing field. The family man who dissects football games for America has had a rough year, a year in which he really hasn't done anything wrong.

A year ago his brilliant and beautiful niece, Natasha Collins died from Leukemia. This was shortly after graduating from Yale Medical School.

A month ago Simms' son Chris was busted at 2 Am in NYC and charged with driving under the influence of Marijuana.

A week ago, Phil's brother in law Tedd Collins was exposed as a serial money fraud and cheat by the NY Times. His sister Mary Anne was named in one of the scandals, trying to rip off a female pastor at a church in South Carolina.

Phil's been working out with Chris at an astroturf park in the wealthy NJ suburbs. When practice is over, he scales the 3 foot fence and returns to his estate on the adjacent property without revealing himself to the other park visitors. You can't blame the man for trying to tighten his circle. Life can intrude on even "perfect" lives.