Second entry from Doha during 2012 Qatar Open.
Mike Agassi, a former Olympic boxer, is quoted as stating that tennis was the closest of any sport to boxing. Two people stand across from each other, trading blows, seeking to score a point against the other. Some use power, others use stamina, but at the end of the day only one of them stands as victor.
To posit another analogy, center court might just be a stage in a theater, where players perform before an audience enthralled by the drama of an unknown outcome, where suspense rides high with the passing of each point.
Watching a tennis match live, one becomes aware of a space created within the venue that is distinct, but not altogether separate, from the space inhabited by the players. As a spectator, you oooh and aahh and applaud or yell to express support or praise for a player or a play. As a player, you are like an actor, playing the role before the crowd, yet pitted against an opponent who seeks your demise. It is at once bloodsport without the blood and performance without the artifice.
Yet there is a psychic space that is inhabited by both the players and the audience. In rare moments of a highly competitive match, the players and the audience actually engage in a psychic exchange whereby the audience is reacting to the play and the players are drawing energy from the crowd, in the same way that a stage actor draws energy from the attention of the audience. There is a scene in the film Gladiator when Proximo advises Maximus "Win the crowd, and you will win your freedom." In tennis, you usually win the crowd by winning the match, but there are instances when the player has won the crowd but lost the match. When Agassi and Baghdatis faced off in a five-set thriller in 2006 at the U.S. Open, Agassi emerged the victor, but Baghdatis had earned the respect, if not the affection, of the crowd.
Watching Federer and Nadal play this weekend, not against each other, but in the quarterfinals against lesser opponents, I realized that each of them represents a distinct mode of virtuosity on the court. Federer is the paragon of grace and fluidity, he makes it look all too easy; while Nadal is a firebrand of passion and stamina, hitting each stroke with every ounce of energy he can muster, daring his opponent to hit harder, confident that whatever they throw at him, he will return with equal or greater force.
Federer is of the same ilk of Sampras and Lendl in how they embodied grace and fluidity, each one of them executing shots with technical perfection, gliding to victory even in the face of greater power and stamina from worthy opponents.
Agassi and McEnroe, much like Nadal, won with passion and with stamina, wearing their hearts on their sleeves, living and dying by the sword of power and velocity. While Fed and company won the minds of the crowd, Nadal and his ilk won their hearts.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Doha Day One - I Can Dig It
First of a couple posts about trip to Doha for Qatar Tennis Federation's ATP Event January 5-7, 2012.
I arrive in Doha at 0900 via Abu Dhabi on an Etihad flight departing Islamabad at 04:00. It is my first time flying Etihad, and all is well. On both flights I score an aisle seat with an empty seat in the middle.
As I emerge from passport and customs control at my destination, I spot a row of booths from the wide range of hotels operating in Doha. I have booked a room at the W, and find their booth almost immediately, make my way over there and make myself known to the smiling young woman sitting across the counter. She speaks a proper, international English (with a tinge of a British accent). She politely informs me that there are two options for getting to the hotel, a limo which she can arrange, or a metered taxi. I opt for the latter, and she escorts me to a taxi outside as we engage in the normal banter of how long are you here for and where are you coming from, etc... I tell her that I'm here until Saturday to watch the tennis, and she tells me that the finals have been sold out, as everyone is expecting a showdown between Federer and Nadal. Within a matter of three minutes we are at the taxi, she gives the driver instructions and bids me farewell.
Despite the fact that I am bleary-eyed and foggy-minded from several hours of overnight travel, I am alert enough to appreciate the skyline of Doha through the window of the taxi. I see tall, modern buildings on the skyline. More importantly, I see water, and I see boats, and I am happy. Even though I have no intention of necessarily riding on a boat or swimming in the water, I am comforted by their presence. Islamabad, where I have been residing for the past six months, is the only place I've ever lived in that is not situated upon a mighty river or expansive ocean. Doha is perched upon the Persian Gulf.
We arrive at my hotel, and I pay the driver 40 Qatari Royals. A valet appears and assists me with my baggage, leads me to reception where another young woman behind a counter greets me and briskly processes my check-in and issues me two plastic key cards. Another woman appears and introduces herself as the Social Media Executive of the hotel. Just yesterday I had "followed" the W Doha Twitter feed. I am intrigued. Thus far Doha is living up to its billing as a five-star city.
The quarterfinal matches don't start until 15:30, so I have some time on my hands. The first thing I do is book a massage. The masseuse is from Serbia, and she tells me I'm super tense and recommends that I detoxify. What does that entail? She tells me to eat fruits and vegetables and drink lots of water. Okay, I tell her, but only after gorging on a half-pound cheeseburger at the restaurant upstairs, which is exactly what I do about an hour later. Despite the recent arrival of Hardee's in Islamabad, a burger that sits as well as it tastes going down is hard to come by. This burger is the real thing. The meat is fresh, high-quality, and appears to have been flame-broiled. For dessert I order a cheesecake, which as a petite, round portion, accompanied by a tartine of raspberry sorbet. I am starting to feel like I am on vacation.
Whenever I stay in a European or American city, I am in the habit of walking out of the hotel after breakfast and checking out the neighborhood. Part of the appeal is getting out to walk and get some exercise, while the other draw is the prospect of finding a decent cafe or bakery to duck into for a spot of tea or a cookie. If you do that in Doha, like I did on Friday morning, you are likely to find yourself traipsing through patches of dirt mounds on non-existent sidewalks and staring up at a crane in the midst of some construction site. To get anywhere in Doha, it would seem, you need to a) know where you're going, and b) have wheels to get you there. Like many cities that are younger than I am, pedestrian-friendly is not a quality I would use to describe Doha (though in that sense it is oh-so-LA).
If, however, you are transiting through the region or just looking for a couple days to enjoy high-end service and haute cuisine, it is a fine place to go. If you have the opportunity to come here in early January and watch the likes of Federer and Nadal duke it out with lesser opponents and potentially each other, then Doha is the place to be.
I arrive in Doha at 0900 via Abu Dhabi on an Etihad flight departing Islamabad at 04:00. It is my first time flying Etihad, and all is well. On both flights I score an aisle seat with an empty seat in the middle.
As I emerge from passport and customs control at my destination, I spot a row of booths from the wide range of hotels operating in Doha. I have booked a room at the W, and find their booth almost immediately, make my way over there and make myself known to the smiling young woman sitting across the counter. She speaks a proper, international English (with a tinge of a British accent). She politely informs me that there are two options for getting to the hotel, a limo which she can arrange, or a metered taxi. I opt for the latter, and she escorts me to a taxi outside as we engage in the normal banter of how long are you here for and where are you coming from, etc... I tell her that I'm here until Saturday to watch the tennis, and she tells me that the finals have been sold out, as everyone is expecting a showdown between Federer and Nadal. Within a matter of three minutes we are at the taxi, she gives the driver instructions and bids me farewell.
Despite the fact that I am bleary-eyed and foggy-minded from several hours of overnight travel, I am alert enough to appreciate the skyline of Doha through the window of the taxi. I see tall, modern buildings on the skyline. More importantly, I see water, and I see boats, and I am happy. Even though I have no intention of necessarily riding on a boat or swimming in the water, I am comforted by their presence. Islamabad, where I have been residing for the past six months, is the only place I've ever lived in that is not situated upon a mighty river or expansive ocean. Doha is perched upon the Persian Gulf.
We arrive at my hotel, and I pay the driver 40 Qatari Royals. A valet appears and assists me with my baggage, leads me to reception where another young woman behind a counter greets me and briskly processes my check-in and issues me two plastic key cards. Another woman appears and introduces herself as the Social Media Executive of the hotel. Just yesterday I had "followed" the W Doha Twitter feed. I am intrigued. Thus far Doha is living up to its billing as a five-star city.
The quarterfinal matches don't start until 15:30, so I have some time on my hands. The first thing I do is book a massage. The masseuse is from Serbia, and she tells me I'm super tense and recommends that I detoxify. What does that entail? She tells me to eat fruits and vegetables and drink lots of water. Okay, I tell her, but only after gorging on a half-pound cheeseburger at the restaurant upstairs, which is exactly what I do about an hour later. Despite the recent arrival of Hardee's in Islamabad, a burger that sits as well as it tastes going down is hard to come by. This burger is the real thing. The meat is fresh, high-quality, and appears to have been flame-broiled. For dessert I order a cheesecake, which as a petite, round portion, accompanied by a tartine of raspberry sorbet. I am starting to feel like I am on vacation.
Whenever I stay in a European or American city, I am in the habit of walking out of the hotel after breakfast and checking out the neighborhood. Part of the appeal is getting out to walk and get some exercise, while the other draw is the prospect of finding a decent cafe or bakery to duck into for a spot of tea or a cookie. If you do that in Doha, like I did on Friday morning, you are likely to find yourself traipsing through patches of dirt mounds on non-existent sidewalks and staring up at a crane in the midst of some construction site. To get anywhere in Doha, it would seem, you need to a) know where you're going, and b) have wheels to get you there. Like many cities that are younger than I am, pedestrian-friendly is not a quality I would use to describe Doha (though in that sense it is oh-so-LA).
If, however, you are transiting through the region or just looking for a couple days to enjoy high-end service and haute cuisine, it is a fine place to go. If you have the opportunity to come here in early January and watch the likes of Federer and Nadal duke it out with lesser opponents and potentially each other, then Doha is the place to be.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tennis Diplomacy in Pakistan
December 24, 2011 - Islamabad, Pakistan
Sports have for long been an arena of international relations where countries who might otherwise have differences can put them aside for the sake of common cause. Anyone who reads the news knows that 2011 has marked a low point in Pakistani-U.S. relations. On a warm Saturday afternoon, the day before Christmas, a group of Pakistani and American tennis enthusiasts put politics aside and came together to enjoy an afternoon of camaraderie and sport.
During my six months here in Islamabad, I have found that a great outlet for any pent-up energy has been to go out and hit the fuzzy yellow ball a few times across the net. It clears the mind and keeps the body sound. I've been fortunate to find a solid community of a dozen or so players within the embassy of varying skill levels who share my passion for the game.
One Saturday in late December, thanks to the initiative of the Embassy's tennis pro Imtiaz Khan, our small contingent of tennis enthusiasts welcomed a delegation of youngsters, adults and coaches from the Pakistani Tennis Federation to the grounds of U.S. Embassy Islamabad for an afternoon of tennis.
The event was a huge success; we mixed up the teams into doubles pairings, one team of one Pakistani and one American playing against another team of one Pakistani and another American. In the first match I picked my partner wisely - Chaudry turned out to be the #5 men's doubles player in Pakistan. We pulled out four in a best-of-seven game series against the embassy's top racket (Haroon Ullah) and his Pakistani partner, a 17-year old junior who is likely going to the U.S. next year on a full tennis scholarship. It had been a while since I'd played with 5+ players, but it was exhilirating. Haroon later took his revenge by pairing up with the coach's son, a lanky 19-year old with a picture perfect one-handed backhand that seems to be a trademark of the Peshawar school of tennis.
The day went on and we continued in a round-robinesque format, and even had a battle of the sexes match later on in the day. I informed our opponents up front that this wouldn't be the first time I'd lost a tennis match to a girl (it was a common occurrence during my two-years in Ukraine).
As the time come to bid our guests farewell, we all shook hands and thanked them for coming, opening the door to future get-togethers and wishing the youngsters luck in their endeavors. I tip my hat to my colleagues and to our fellow Pakistani enthusiasts for their sportsmanship and sense of fair play. I also acknowledge Coach Imtiaz Khan and his incredible staff for putting together such a great event; keep up the great work, and I look forward to the next one.
Photo credits: Sadia Niazi
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