A Song for Tsonga

I showed praise for Jo-Willie (no disrespect at all – he has a killer first name) in my article Da Huh in Doha (Can I get a Mop Please?), regarding a match between him and Gael Monfils.

I believe we are giving audience to some of the best men’s tennis we have seen since the 70’s or early 90’s – just an opinion. The matches in the first decade of the new millennium were becoming too predictable. I don’t know how many tennis parties I threw or attended during this time when most guests were grabbing their tennis bags and saying “Who’s up for a match?” because most already knew the outcome of the match we were watching late into the second set.

We now know who to expect to see in the top 10 or 20, but we never know who is going to knock the door down and un-seed someone. I was growing weary of watching the top three in the world play King of the Mountain.

Back to Tsonga. I had the opportunity to watch his match against Rafa in the quarters at the Sony Ericsson Open and this guy simply impresses me. He possesses no quirks (Djokovic couldn’t impersonate him on his best day) and personality wise you may call him no more than stoic. But, this would be a poor description - More on this in a minute.

Tsonga is playing pure tennis. He doesn’t take three and a half minutes to serve and he doesn’t wait six to eight strokes for the point to develop (I hate that phrase). He looks for the opportunity and when it arises, he goes for it. There is nothing more boring than seeing two pro’s trade predictable baseline strokes from here to eternity. Thank God for TV coverage of doubles events.

In mention of developing a point, I played soccer for many years as a center midfielder and I saw it all. Developing a point on a field so large, a much heavier ball and with eleven opponents, is developing a point. I used to grimace when my forwards would want to paddle the ball around within 20 yards of the goal, allowing the defenses to organize, taking some forced shot due to hesitation. It’s like calling a bank and telling them you are thinking about robbing them.

Tsonga doesn’t call the bank. He finds the opportunity and goes for it. This may not get him to number one in the world, but as long as he is getting TV coverage, I’ll be watching – Just hang out in the top 20 or so and I’ll be glad to spectate (Yes, I just made this a verb).

As for his demeanor, and I know there was some contention about line calls and the Sony Ericsson Open umpire (I don’t live in the pro tennis world), but you do know when Tsonga is pleased with his play and when he is not, but he keeps moving on toward the next point – no drama, and when he is victorious, his fist pump is not directed toward the crowd. It’s his own little celebration and you feel good for him, not opposed to him.

Rafa, as skilled and aggressive a player as he is, looks like he is in sheer agony and pain during most any stroke. I give his career at best, three more years. I simply don’t know if he enjoys playing tennis – only he knows. He is going to be mentally and emotionally void if he continues to play in the fashion he does.

I would rather be a Tsonga, playing uninhibited tennis and smiling along the way while making some damn good money. These are the guys who keep the contention for the top interesting.

Take Andy Roddick for example: He continues to compete with the upper echelon (in most cases), shows up for most tournaments and will do all he can to compete for his country in the Davis Cup. I’m not a big fan of his tennis game, but I am of him – he loves playing tennis. I had the good fortune of meeting him in Time Square after he won the U.S. Open (a very boring match – all big serves) and he was so pleasant to speak to, with his raked up hair and holey jeans.

Tsonga may perhaps be France’s Andy Roddick, but more entertaining to watch (no offense Andy) play the game.

I will always play tennis, but give me Tsonga, Roddick or Sharapova (and others like Mac or Martina) and I will continue to watch the pro’s as long as they are playing the game.

I don’t want to read one more book about a wonderful tennis player who doesn’t love the game but has done so well at doing so. Take your millions and head for the hills.

After awhile, you know who are simply playing the game and those who love the game. Thank you to those whom do. Thanks Jo-Wilfried. Don’t prove me wrong.