The Turning Point

I don't have a problem criticizing the world No. 1 on the women's side. I feel no need to prop her up in ways she doesn't quite deserve simply because she's the face of the tour. You're shocked, I'm sure. And while she deserves her ranking, because, well, the system is what it is and the computer says she's the world No. 1, it's becoming clearer, what with her all her shenanigans, monologues, and tall, tall tales, that she's more interested in being an actress. Or a fiction writer. Now make no mistake, acting and fiction writing are honorable professions. But if you're going to be a serious tennis player then play tennis and stop playing games. Still, the world No. 1 competes hard, doesn't give up, unless she's completely overwhelmed by her opponent and can't call on her father, and does the best she can to earn the respect of those who believe she's a joke.

Most of the match reports from the 2-hour-24-minute, 3-set quarterfinal last night against Ironwoman Francesca Schiavone will tell you that Caroline Wozniacki turned the match around by beginning to step up and put more pressure on the bold Italian. That she changed the thrust of the match and took her elder foe out of her comfort zone. That she showed the world why she was worthy of the No. 1 ranking.

Like beauty, such things are in the eye of the beholder.

I saw a 20-year-old player being schooled by a real tennis player. A player who, to quote dapxin, need not be burdened by anything more than sweet candy. A player so desperate to win the match, she took a medical timeout off the court after dropping the first set to have her left thigh taped. A player who, after icing her opponent with such nonsense, returned to the court and fell behind a break of serve and got so angry she ripped the tape off her thigh, running about like the squirrel she was before the icing.

And then I saw a 30-year-old woman who had played the longest women's Grand Slam singles match in recorded history, who, last night, didn't call for the trainer once, crash head first into a brick wall. Out of nowhere, she committed 4 horrific errors, lost her advantage, lost her way. Was that nonsense icing the turning point, the stoppage of play that allowed fatigue to set like concrete, both in her body and in her mind?

The Ironwoman was gracious enough to say she wasn't at all tired, that Little Miss Sunshine, without the leg wrap she had stopped the match to receive, simply started to play her tennis and that was that. Good for her. But by the beginning of the third set, I saw a woman who looked as though that head crash caused concussion, a disoriented woman who had nothing left and left nothing unspent.

Whatever the case, from where I sit, the story of the match reads as follows:

A 20-year-old woman needed a 30-year-old woman who played for 4 hours and 44 minutes in her previous match to hit a wall just to have a chance to win her quarterfinal.

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Thank you, Francesca, for lifting the WTA to new heights, if only for one fortnight.

AP