When Rafael Nadal Almost Made History, Part 2

Just about the only thing that the men's and women's finals at this year's Wimbledon Championships had in common was that one of the players wept at the end of each match. And oddly, the two weeping players did not share the same result; while Marion Bartoli was distraught and disheartened after being overpowered and outplayed by that wonder-woman Venus Williams, Roger Federer's tears were a little more complicated. He did not lose the final against Rafael Nadal, no, but it is not hard to imagine how relieved and ecstatic, not to mention physically and emotionally drained, he would have been at the end. Bjorn Borg watched from the stands as Federer scrapped and battled his way to equaling his record of winning five consecutive Wimbledon titles, but I'm sure he was sorry, as were most people who watched the match, that there could only be one winner.

To say that Nadal is adjusting well to playing on grass, his least favourite surface, would be a gross understatement, and also a little dismissive of the man's amazing fortitude. Nadal didn't just match Federer shot for shot today; on many occasions, it was he who looked like the one at home with the conditions rather than the King of Grass Federer. He served well, played well from the baseline, charged to the net more often that is customary for him and hit some amazing passing shots when Federer came to the net. Basically, he did just about everything that you need to do to win a match against a grass court dab hand. This was his second consecutive Wimbledon final, and he seemed passionately determined this time to create his own bit of history by becoming the first man since Borg to win the French and Wimbledon back-to-back. Is it just me, or does Nadal raise his game several notches higher when playing against Federer? The trouble for him, however, is that Federer is not just a grass curt dab hand - he is an artist, an almost flawless genius. He played the big points exceptionally well (how does he manage to come up with all those aces on break points?), and in the end, he managed to wear Nadal down (surprise, surprise!). Maybe the five matches in a week that Nadal had to play finally took a toll on him. Maybe his knee (for which he took a medical time-out in the 4th set) really did hamper his movement. Or maybe, Federer simply refused to lose to his nemesis on the surface that is so dear to him and his playing style. Whatever be the reason, tennis fans got to witness a classic encounter (it certainly was the best match that I've ever seen live) between the two players who are disturbingly too far ahead of their peers. Nadal gave us enough evidence to emphatically dispel the notion that he's "only a claycourt specialist", and Federer finally showed us that he is willing to be a scrapper and dig deep to win his matches against never-say-die players like Nadal, in the process accomplishing one more thing that Pete Sampras never did - winning five Wimbledons in a row. Bjorn Borg would be proud. Of both of these fantastic champions.

In the women's section, Venus Williams showed us yet again that it's never safe to pass over the name 'Williams' when talking about the potential winner of a Grand Slam event. If Serena Williams was all fire-in-the-belly and fight-till-the-last-breath at this year's Australian Open, Venus was a ruthlessness-and-invincibility act here, at least from the fourth round onwards. Honestly, did any of her opponents stand a chance against her inch-perfect, fearsome serves and crunching groundstrokes? Sharapova was bounced out mercilessly, Kuznetsova was handled with ease, Ivanovic was never really in the game and the surprise finalist Marion Bartoli was taken care of with clinical finesse. And all this after coming into the tournament ranked 31st in the world, a comeback from injury that had been heading nowhere in particular and a solitary title in the bag for the last one year or so. It's things like these that make one agree with repeated assertions by the Williams family that there's no player in the world who can defeat a fully-fit Williams (and that refers to both the sisters). What a pity that Serena couldn't make it an all-Williams final; she certainly seemed the only player who could have given a contest to the rampaging Venus.

So at the end of yet another Wimbledon tournament, let's just congratulate the players who produced dazzling tennis and took the game to another lever to emerge champions. Take a bow, Roger Federer, Venus Williams, and bravo to you too, Rafael Nadal! Your time will come, surely.

For Once, Stephen King Is Not Awfully Unreadable

I don't quite feel up to writing much today, but I did stumble upon a fantastic column written by the oft-unreadable Stephen King. The column is about, you guessed it, Harry Potter, and I don't think anyone could've put into words the feelings of us Potter fans as July 21 approaches any better than how King has. Click on the link and be overwhelmed, just as I was:

http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20044270_20044274_20044682,00.html

When Rain Makes Folklore

Fortune favours the brave, they say. To that I must add that it also favours the insanely determined. If you watched Serena Williams battle on in a seemingly hopeless situation against Daniela Hantuchova in her 4th round match at Wimbledon today, you'd know exactly what the hype surrounding her is all about. The woman was so badly injured that she could barely stand, let alone walk (and I mean this very literally), yet she simply refused to surrender the match, limping from one side of the court to the other, trying to finish points with a maximum of two strokes. It was a sight so unforgettable that it seemed ridiculous that anyone could possibly have had any thoughts of writing her off as a 'has-been' just six months ago. "Folklore awaits if she wins this one", one of the commentators piped up rather unassumingly during Serena's Herculean struggle, and Serena promptly went ahead and belted an ace. Not that she could hear him, of course. But nature, it seems, heard her despairing grunts loud and clear, and the rains came pouring down with Serena hanging on in the second set by her very last nerve, down 4-2 in the tie-breaker. That one moment of respite was all that Serena needed, and though she went on to lose the second set when play resumed, she won the third with consummate ease, all power and glory. Poor Hantuchova never really had a chance, and this day was never really about her. Serena Williams may not get past Justine Henin in the quarterfinals considering how much this match must have drained her of her energy, but she did more than enough today to ensure that she'll forever be remembered as one of the most brilliant of tennis champions. Like she needed to, after all those Grand Slam trophies and periods of invincibility.

Meanwhile, Rafael Nadal is locked in a marathon struggle with Sweden's Robin Soderling, and if there's one player who isn't thanking the rains that have so gleefully ransacked the schedule at this year's Championships, it's got to be Nadal. Thanks to the disturbingly inflexible adherence to tradition of the tournament organisers, his 3rd round match that was suspended on Saturday will now take 3 days to be completed, because Wimbledon's middle Sunday, according to the great traditions of yore, must necessarily be an off-day. This also means that many players in the bottom half of the draw (including Lleyton Hewitt - why don't my favourite players ever find favour with fortune? It's not like Hewitt's not brave!) will have to play 5 matches in 7 days if they aspire to take home the trophy this year. And what about the players in the top half of the draw? Roger Federer, for one, has to play just one game in the next 4 days, thanks to Tommy Haas pulling out of his 4th round clash with the World No. 1. Looks like Federer's inherent advantages over Nadal on the green grass of Wimbledon just got plenty stronger.

It is precisely at times such as these that calls for Wimbledon to shed it's lofty traditions and move forward with the times seem perfectly justified. Wimbledon is trying to adjust, certainly - the roof that will presumably be functional by 2009 will definitely ease a lot of the tournament's struggles with the weather - but perhaps what is needed for Wimbledon to keep pace with today's expressly fast game is not a cursory architectural venture, but an unrestrained willingness to adapt to the moment. If Saturday was rained out, there should have been someone among the organizers go, "We've got to react to the situation and keep up with our schedule. The forecast is for wet weather the whole of next week, so let's dump tradition and have play on Sunday for a change". I know, I know, wishful thinking never really does anyone any good.

Rain, Suspension of Disbelief and Monotony

So the rains have well and truly started in Pune. And, to borrow a quote from Fred Weasley (or George, can't remember which one of the twins said it), I haven't been properly dry since Monday. And just to set things straight, I am not still in the innocent, wondrous phase of adolescence when getting wet in the rain seems to be the most thrilling thing imaginable. Yes, I know, I should've used some common sense and stayed indoors or travelled by a bus, but strange beings that we humans are, I refused all thoughts of obeying the little sensible voice in my head and kept hopping around the city on my bike, getting ridiculously drenched all along. I guess my sense of reason, the one superpower that I like to attribute to myself, has seen better days.

Watched two movies this week (and got drenched on the way to the theatre on both occasions). Ocean's Thirteen is everything that Ocean's Twelve was not - it's witty, easy to understand and entertaining. I know many people didn't like the idea of the gang hatching their elaborate plan for revenge as opposed to personal gain, but somehow I could identify with the plot of Thirteen more than that of Twelve or even Eleven. Ocean's men seem more human and not quite the royally pompous, conniving, swaggering thugs that they were in the first two, and that's all for the good. And besides, any movie that has Al Pacino in it has to be watched at least once, if not for anything else then for his sheer extravagant presence alone. Andy Garcia finally comes into his own in the final instalment of the series, and though the movie misses the star power of Julia Roberts, it is a fine conclusion to a merry, ridiculously unbelievable tale of a bunch of crooks with big ambitions and even bigger resources.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer is, like the first part, a perfect example of how to make a pure popcorn movie. The film's small length (it barely crosses the 90-minute mark), the likable stars (notwithstanding the fact that at times the movie seems, and annoyingly so, nothing more than a showcase of two of Hollywood's most good-looking actors, Jessica Alba and Chris Evans), the stunning visuals and the total lack of any complexities of plot all combine to make this one of the most enjoyable movies of the year, even if it is not the most thought-provoking one. And oh, that thing called 'suspension of disbelief' would come in really handy while watching this one (and while watching Ocean's Thirteen too, now that I think about it). Nevertheless, for once, a third instalment would actually be welcome.

Wimbledon begins tomorrow, and for the first time in 3 years tongues are wagging about Mr. I'd-like-to-see-anyone-try-to-beat-me-on-grass Roger Federer's ability to take home the most prestigious Slam of them all. Skipping the tournament in Halle, a tournament which he has owned for the past 4 years, may not have been ideal preparation, and after his latest attempt to make history at Roland Garros being thwarted in devastating fashion by Rafael Nadal he does seem to have lost a considerable amount of fire. But hey, he's not known as Mr. I'd-like-to-see-anyone-try-to-beat-me-on-grass for nothing. No one has won five Wimbledons in a row since Bjorn Borg, and if that doesn't bring back the fire in Federer's belly, I don't know what will, considering how little he has left to prove on grass. Justine Henin, meanwhile, is being talked up as the hot favourite among the women, and for some weird reason her victory over Serena Williams at the French has made most people comfortable enough to assume that the Williams sisters will not be major threats at the Championships this year. To these people all I've got to say is: Go fry yourselves. No one has performed as ferociously and as consistently as the Williams sisters on grass in this decade, and after Serena's victory at the Australian Open this year, I seriously can't understand why people like to write her off at every Grand Slam with so much imperiousness. And don't forget Maria Sharapova, Amelie Mauresmo or Jelena Jankovic either - boy, the women's draw seems incredibly competitive when compared with the men's draw. That's the Federer effect for you, French Open victory or no French Open victory. But maybe he'd like to be a little generous and give someone else a chance this year, yes? It's just that a little break in the monotony would suit everyone just fine.

If You're not Cool, You're Not Hot

'Disgusting' is a strong word. So is 'repulsive'. But to be strong is to be effective, as they say (Ok, that's not exactly an actual saying, but it puts my point across well enough). So as I was saying, 'disgusting' and 'repulsive' may be strong words, but it's not at all misplaced to use them to describe the tendency of college students these days to let their lives be wholly and purely dictated by fashion trends, social norms and popularity ratings. You can hardly walk a step in any of the swank, upmarket colleges of today without getting a glaring view of the sickening disease amongst students to entirely conceal their true selves in their ill-advised, and often horribly unsuccessful attempts to pass off as 'cool'. It's quite disturbing, actually. And entirely unnecessary, too. Not to mention astonishingly stupid. But then again, smartness is not something most people pride themselves on.

A lot of the norm-conforming, popularity contest-playing madness amongst the college youth of our country takes inspiration from the not-so-rosy pictures presented in Western fiction, particularly movies like Mean Girls or American Pie. (On a side note, isn't it really really painful that the stuff that we are reduced to taking inspiration from is comprised of such horrors as American Pie?) Anyway, things in the West have reached a stunning extreme, or at least that's what the movies want to portray. Geekiness, gawkiness and gaudiness are unpardonable crimes, the hip American college dude shouts out loud (perhaps here lies the answer to America's befuddling mystery of school shootings?), and the ever-so-impressionable Indian rich brat is only too happy to take that as Law. Talk about naivete. Incredible naivete.

So here were are in the wonderfully happy 21st century, and all that is on an average teenager's mind is how to score points in the college popularity and coolness contests. Following the latest, most bizarre fashion trends, from wearing alarmingly low-waist jeans to sporting appallingly spiked hairstyles works well for most people most of the time. But that's only one area covered. To be well and truly on the path to coolness, one must necessarily talk in 'cool' lingo, never mind how incredibly inane it may sound. I don't know about you, but hearing words like 'dude', 'like', 'awesome', 'rocks', 'totally', 'sucks' or 'man' approximately 23,000 times in a day does drive me just a little crazy. I mean come on, how normal is it for a sentence like, "Dude that is like awesome, like totally awesome dude, seriously man" to be spoken aloud by a human, whose greatest advantage over animals is supposedly having good communication skills?

Swearing and using abusive words in perfectly normal conversations is a great hit too. People who stick to decent, doesn't-make-you-throw-up speech are sissies, apparently. Giving up on studies is another effective weapon in the battle against 'uncoolness'. So is splurging mammoth amounts of your parents' hard-earned money on horribly unhealthy junk food, or even making regular, and often unnecessary, visits to the next-door multiplex. All things traditional must of course be shunned as religiously as possible, and if you don't stock up millions of CDs of those awfully noisy rock bands then you're just not 'happening' enough. Talk about sex as frequently and as loudly as possible, and make dreadful comments about anyone even remotely nerd-looking. Shout a lot. Be as 'bold' (or indecent, depending on what you wish to call it) as you can. Forget your responsibilities. Forget your career. Ignore your parents. Lose your mind. Go down the gutter. Sounds like a nice journey, doesn't it?

Surely there must be a way to avoid all of this horridness? Wait a minute. Can it really be - 'good sense'? Wow, that's a revelation. (It's at times like these that I feel the written word isn't so effective at communication after all - how I regret I cannot let my readers know how fiercely I'm rolling my eyes right now!). It's only about being true to yourself after all. It's amazing how a simple thing like expressing yourself honestly can give you happiness the like of which can't possibly be found in trendy clothes and trashy pop culture. And that's not to mention how easy it becomes to make and keep a few but truly wonderful friends. Ah! The wonders of using good sense!

When Federer Almost Made History, Revisited

Does the No. 1 player in the world, possibly the best player in history, need an urgent lesson on how not to lose a match? Maybe Roger Federer doesn't, but he sure does need to be told by someone, anyone, that he isn't helping his cause towards being unanimously and unarguably hailed as the GOAT by repeatedly failing to mentally turn up for his matches against Rafael Nadal. I'm sorry, but when you convert just one break point out of 17 against a player of Nadal's calibre, and that too on clay, then you're clearly giving out the impression that you're not mentally prepared to win. Throw in 60 unforced errors, and the point is sealed. Quite frankly, and though this may sound a lot like one of Serena Williams's post-loss conferences, all that Nadal had to do today was show up for the match. Federer took care of the rest.

Federer's win over Nadal at Hamburg had caused many optimists to believe that this may be THE year for Federer, the unachievable Grand Slam year. The signs certainly were good. Federer did seem to have finally 'cracked the code' to defeating Nadal on clay, and his matches through the early rounds of the French Open seemed delightfully similar to his early-tournament breezes at the other 3 Slams. He was doing everything right most of the time, and even on the days that he wasn't doing everything right, his sheer determination made sure that he prevailed, most notably in the semi-final against Nikolay Davydenko. The trouble, however, was the fact that most people chose to ignore the assertions by the Nadal supporters that he only lost the Hamburg final because he was genuinely and undeniably fatigued. And today, Federer made sure that the Nadal supporters were well and truly vindicated. I guess we all were too caught up with the mouth-watering possibility that Federer would script an unforgettably historic tale by capturing the Holy Grail of tennis, the calendar Grand Slam. Perhaps we should have expected Federer to be human.

What irritates me most about Federer is his stubborn refusal to listen to tennis experts. Come to the net more often, they all keep saying. Play the slice backhand more frequently, they chant. Be more aggressive, they chorus. Each of these 3 perfectly well-intentioned pieces of advice paid handsome returns when he followed them sporadically in today's match, but the key word here is 'sporadically'. Perhaps it is unwise in any case to give advice to a man who has a habit of firing his coaches and then promptly rampaging around the world winning tournaments by the dozens. But on clay, against Nadal, Federer needs his advisors. And he needs his mental strength too. He needs all the weapons that he can gather to ensure that he doesn't again have as awful a first serve percentage or as regular a display of his characteristic wild shots that go sailing into the crowds off his backhand (and sometimes today, even off his forehand) against Nadal in a French Open final. Heck, at one point his 'audience' shots became so frequent that it seemed possible there was a spectator in the stands who he didn't like. It's just as well that the amiable French crowd found these shots highly entertaining.

The most that can be said about Federer's performance today was that it was better than his show in last year's final. And considering how absolutely horrendous his performance last year was, that isn't saying much. His supporters keep insisting that he's 'getting closer' to finding the formula to win the French, but the hard truth is that time is running out on him. He'll be 26 this year, and Nadal seems all gung-ho about winning the French Open for the next 6-7 years. If anything, today was sort of a regression for Federer. Nadal was clearly physically drained towards the end of the match, and yet he seemed to have no problems holding his serve or capitalising decisively on Federer's errors in the big points. As I said earlier, Federer just wasn't there mentally, and as much as this sounds like Serena Williams, it probably is the truth. And that's not very comforting.

Meanwhile, in an eerie parallel to Nadal's success story, Justine Henin-Hardenne coasted to a third successive Roland Garros triumph, proving once and for all that she IS the best women's player on clay by a long distance. Maria Sharapova did well to reach the semis, but once there she actually looked like a 'cow on ice', losing with astonishing ease to the new Serb sensation, Ana Ivanovic. Is women's tennis being taken over by eastern Europe and Russia? Ivanovic, Vaidisova, Kuznetsova, Jankovic, Dementieva, Hantuchova, even Sharapova (if you count the fact that she was born in Russia)...the list is almost endless. Where are the Americans and the western Europeans, you ask? I don't know about the western Europeans, but the Americans have precisely one player still competitive enough to pose a serious challenge in the Slams, and that player is Serena Williams. The rest, including Venus Williams and Andy Roddick, should probably look in their mirrors and ask themselves thousands of unanswerable questions.

Right then. So we now move to the green pastures of Wimbledon. Mauresmo, Serena and Sharapova should be the favourites in the women's draw. As for the men's, we should perhaps give Federer a breather and concede that he is human after all. I'm sorry, did I say human? I apologize. 4 complete years, not a single loss on grass. Forget everything that happened today, Federer is going to romp through the greatest Slam of them all. Seriously, God help anyone who comes in Federer's way. And I hope Nadal does come in Federer's way.

Movies, Work, etc. etc.

Ahem. I never thought that the price of a professional job would be going blog-less for a month. And that's not the only handicap either; in fact, for some, that would actually rank among the least annoying of the miseries brought upon them by the headsore called work. Take, for instance, the fact that you are made to intermittently suffer positively awful spells of exhaustion, or that you are reduced to regularly having magnificently bland food disguised as lunch, or, the most painful misfortune of all - that you are forced to cut down on your sleep! So the real question at the end of the day is - is the money worth it? To be very truthful, no amount of money can ever be worth all that, but being truthful went out of fashion a century ago. So yes, the money's worth it. But it isn't really worth it. Okay, my rant is getting really incoherent now. I must move on to less muddled things.

Watched three movies in the last week. Cheeni Kum is surprisingly funny, it has no airy pretensions about it and succeeds at bringing out the innate humor in an unconventional love story. Amitabh Bachchan is in his element after a long time, and Paresh Rawal is dependably funny as always. But it is Tabu, that long-forgotten actress of sparkling caliber, who holds the film together with her wonderful naturalness. It's amazing how sometimes a simple role that doesn't require too many histrionics or intense emotions can make us appreciate the real quality of an actor. It happened with Kareena Kapoor in Omkara, with Rani Mukherjee in Bunty Aur Babli, with Akshaye Khanna in Dil Chahta Hai, and if I may dare to club him with Bollywood actors, with Al Pacino in the Godfather. I guess it's just one of the things that make movie-watching such a delightful experience.

Shrek The Third was probably my most anticipated movie of the year (well okay, my second most anticipated movie of the year - Harry Potter 5 grabs top spot without any kind of a fight). But the movie turned out just good - not outrageously funny, not amazingly pleasant, and not even completely devoid of boring moments. It would've been an exhilarating joy-ride if it weren't for the inescapable feeling of repetitiveness about the humour - there's only so many times you can roll on the floor with laughter at Eddie Murphy's Donkey jokes. And while I'm definitely not among those who hate Justin Timberlake with a passion, his Artie was downright uninteresting and even a little irritating. Mike Myers, Antonio Banderas and Cameron Diaz continue with their good work, but the whole film has a little staleness to it which not even the novel subplot involving the feelings of the perennially hated fairytale villains and the whole bit about how fairytale heroines can be anorexic party-loving bitches when away from the public glare can erase.

And that brings me to the movie that dwarfs all others in terms of scale, budget, length, box office returns and a whole lot of other things. The title of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End is not the only thing that is excessively long about it. The official runtime of the movie is 2 hours and 48 minutes, and that beats most of Bollywood's overlong melodramas by a distance. Everything about the movie is enormous - the star cast, the budget (it reportedly cost a whopping 300 million dollars to make), the action sequences, even the supernatural goddess Calypso. Personally, I enjoyed every single second of the movie - I'm a die-hard Pirates fan, I've been one ever since Captain Jack Sparrow said, "But why is the rum gone?". It's infinitely better than Dead Man's Chest, and comes very close to being as good as The Curse of The Black Pearl, which is saying quite something. I'm sure plenty of people hated the movie heartily, and perhaps even more were left thoroughly confused by the many twists, turns and double-crossings in it, but that is wholly understandable for a trilogy that evokes as sharply divided reactions as does Pirates. The film actually looks as expensive as 300 million dollars, and is a grand epic in every sense of the term. The added bonus is, of course, that it is a very funny epic. Johnny Depp, Bill Nighy and Geoffrey Rush are, expectedly, the stand-out performers, but the support cast does well too. The CGI is ridiculously breathtaking and the fight sequences are going to end up as the defining cinematographic achievements of the decade. Admittedly, the pointless Calypso sub-plot, the frustrating complexity of the Dutchman curse and, of course, the somewhat tiring length of the movie do sour things a bit. But otherwise, it is a very worthy finale to a fantastic series and is quite easily the best movie of the year. Yet. Harry Potter 5, remember?