Tag: tennis

Women Who Hit Very Hard — Dewey Nicks – Slide Show – NYTimes.com.

These New York Times photos of some of the top female tennis players go with a story emphasising the sheer power on display on the woman’s tour seem to have been generating a little buzz.  They’re apparently taken with a shiny new type of camera (whose predecessor Chase Jarvis raved about), which shoots in stonking high-def.   It’s clear to see that the technology of the camera and the photographs and film are stunning – they’re absolutely crystal.  But. Here’s the thing. I don’t like them as photographs or film clips.  And that’s probably because they *are*  so good.

For me, they showcase the thing I really really don’t like about some  women’s tennnis – the power, without anything else.    Not all women’s tennis, for sure, there is some artistry still there, if not as much as there was  – and oh, what I wouldn’t give to get to watch Hingis play Novotna again, or Henin for that matter, or the glory that was women’s doubles when Gigi Fernandez and Natasha Zvereva played, back when I would actively seek out women’s tennis over men’s – and this perspective sells Kim Clijsters, in particular (of the subjects on display here) short.  But it’s just power, and without any shot-making skill or artistry it’s just ugly and dull.   And that’s what these photos say to me.

So, Andre Agassi has admitted that he took crystal meth while he was still a tennis player, and then lied about it to the tennis authorities.  I have to confess to being baffled as to why anyone is really surprised by this.  If any top player in recent memory was likely to have taken drugs recreationally  it was going to be Agassi, and it was going to be in that period when his career was on the slide.  I think if the story had broked come out at the time, it would have been hard for me to think much worse of Agassi than I did back then, because he annoyed me for his behaviour and the way he seemed to be wasting his talent – I should point out I have no knowledge whatsoever about the potential performance-enhancing qualities of crystal meth, if it does have performance enhancing qualities then I might have thought worse of him, though I’d probably have had a hard time believing that was why he took it.  It also doesn’t make me think any the worse of him now, or be any less impressed at the way that he rebuilt his life and his career, or lessen my appreciate his tennis in the second phase of his career.

Well, ok, not my whole life, but the last month and a half at least. You may have noticed my burgeoning affection for David Foster Wallace, and his wonderous writing, since I discovered him at the end of last year. Now there is MOOOOORE.

Acutually there probably is more, lots more, since there are probably humungeous numbers of his essays and short stories out there uncollected, not to mention whatever else he was working on. But this isn’t about that. This is about Tennis. Or DFW and Tennis.

David Foster Wallace having been a junior tennis player, properly (as opposed to those of us who just played junior tennis for shits’n'giggles), gets tennis and is pretty much one of the best writers about the game I have ever read. His essay ‘How Tracy Austin Broke My Heart’ started my affection – because it is just so true. Really great sports people can’t explain it. It’s why the best sporting autobiographies are by the slightly less brilliantly talented. Why Will Greenwood’s autobiography is better than Jason Robinson’s, and so on. And then I came across his essay ‘Tennis Player Michael Joyce’s Professional Artistry as a Paradigm of Certain Stuff about Choice, Freedom, Discipline, Joy, Grotesquerie, and Human Completeness’ (which was originally an Esquire article called ‘The String Theory’), which became the best essay on tennis I’d ever read, despite his lack of affection for Andre Agassi.(1) I read Infinite Jest, which gave me a whole new appreciation for junior tennis, and made me wonder, whilst watching Wimbledon whether the likes of Murray, Monfils, Federer and those other former junior stars were ever as loopy as Hal, Pemulis, John-no-relation-Wayne, et al.


So, in order to Get It Read, I packed David Foster Wallace’s Monumentally Huge Novel Infinite Jest in my bag for Tanzania. And now I find that bunches of other people are also reading it this summer, and blogging about it. For example – here at Infinite Summer, or here at A Supposedly Fun Thing. Matt Yglesias, of Think Progess is reading it too. There’s also an Infinite Jest wiki, and a guide to reading Infinite Jest that I really wish I’d seen in advance – although I would have skipped to page 223, because I am that person.

A little bit of me is doing the dance of ‘I read it first’. Because I have now finished Infinite Jest, so clearly I am ahead of the pack, making me cooler than cool. But a little bit of me is sad, because it is an amazing idea to read Infinite Jest at the same time as a bunch of other people, and share the experience with them. I keep wanting to talk to people about it, and no-one I know has read it. I think I have Eleanor convinced to read it now, because I kept telling her about it whilst we were away. And I know Joe wants to read it, he just needs to find the time. And time is the issue – I wouldn’t have had time to read Infinite Jest over the summer, because I am embarking on the final editing process of my thesis, and Big Fat Absorbing Books are a big no-no. So I’m just going to enjoy watching other people enjoy it. It’s an amazing piece of literature, though, and I’m going to read it again just as soon as I can find the time because I still need to puzzle out the ending a little. I know I love it, even without entirely getting it, but I want to try and get it a little better.

Sitting in front of the tennis watching Federer and ignoring Robson (who isn’t doing herself any harm with her performance, even if she does go down to Hantuchova). I have seventy thousand photos to process still, but that’ll happen (slowly), and seventy thousand words to edit. I have a print out of the thesis-so-far and am wielding the pink muji pen over it to try and sort out the two problem chapters to the soothing sounds of tennis balls being hit too and fro (and this is why I won’t be watching much women’s tennis – the grunting, it is NOT soothing).

Tanzania ended in a Battle Royale with Kenedy (albeit with less blood) which we finally won. Fortunately, Zanzibar is such that it’s appeal can survive even his awfulness in the memory. Dar not so much – but then there is so little to do, and it’s horribly humid, so it’s not so appealing. We spent our last day on the Msasani Peninsula relaxing at Sea Cliff Village. I got very excited because there was a Spur, which I know from holidays in South Africa, and so we ate amazing steak, and waffles and ice cream, whcih meant there was no room for plane food at all, fortunately.