Since ’68 and the dawning of the Open era, it’s been rather simple. You could divide American men’s tennis into four comfy eras. First there were the dignified pioneers like Arthur Ashe and Stan Smith. Then came the raucous (wake ’em up at the country club”) bad boys Jimmy Connors and Johhny Mac, followed by the bounty of America’s Greatest Tennis Generation – Sampras, Agassi, Courier and Chang.
Then – even before Agassi’s retirement in ’06 – it’s essentially been The Andy Roddick Show. Our thunderous, sometimes plodding, warts ‘n all, hero has (except for a few tantalizing breakouts by James Blake, Mardy Fish, Robby Ginepri, Sam Querrey and John Isner,) been the prime meat for American tennis fans to chew on. And many times Roddick served up tasty morsels – especially when he won the U.S. Open in ’03 and became No. 1 and when he led the U.S. to Davis Cup glory in Portland in ’07. But more often than not, Andy’s tale has been one of power and consistency, more than grace and triumph. In an era dominated by Roger and Rafa, A-Rod has repeatedly showed up as the best man at the wedding, who time and again (well eight times to be brutally honest) faltered in the finals or semis of Slams.
Yet, for all of those oceanic opportunities that evaporated, it’s still pretty easy to heap plenty of kudos onto Austin Andy. After all, aside from Federer, who has been a more consistent performer over the past 10 years? Incredibly, Roddick has finished in the top 10 for eight straight years and has often been a factor at Melbourne, Wimbledon and at the U.S. Open. Plus, he’s arguably the best Davis Cup singles player of the past decade.
Still, Roddick consistently drew critics who dismissed his boom and blast game as boorish and eagerly noted that he played with a certain muscle-and-might ferocity that was infused more with suspect mechanics than graceful art. Big serve (up to 155 MPH), monster forehand and ample fight – yes. But where was the variety, the subtlety, the craftsmanship, the point constuction. Plus, there were all those charge-of-the-light brigade rushes to net. And once he was there, he was not exactly the re-incarnation of Stefan Edberg.
Ultimately, if Federer was tennis’ answer to Picasso, A-Rod was reduced to being somewhere between a house painter and Andy Warhol. One critic gave the comparison an automotive twist, saying “Federer made Roddick seem look a Buick.” Ouch! Worse yet, one-time Wimbledon semifinalist Sandy Mayer claimed that Andy was “probably the worst ball striker of a great player.”
There is just something about our beloved, full-speed-ahead, one-Slam wonder that invites criticism. At times even Andy himself seemed eager to join the pile-on. He’s dismissed himself as “the biggest dork” that has ever played and “the best bad player of all-time.” As for the required comparison of himself and Federer, Andy was unsparing, saying, “Federer has flash, feel artistry. The advantage I have is just hitting the crap out of the ball.” Ever the self-critic, Andy un-ashamedly dissed all aspects of his game. As for his on-court demeanor, he joked that he went from going Kamikze to “achieving a Gandhi-like peace of mind.” He said that changing his game would be like home run artist Barry Bonds “laying down sac bunts.” As for his early career work ethic, he joked, I used to hit for half an hour and then go eat Cheetos the rest of the day, [then] come out and drill forehands. Now I’m really trying to make it happen [by] being professional … [but] I miss my Cheetos.”
Yet, truth be told, few have tried harder than eager-Andy. Few have tweaked their games more assiduously. Unlike Blake, who, until recently, stuck with one coach, Andy has roamed from one sage to sage (Tarik Benhabiles, Brad Gilbert, Dean Goldfine, Jimmy Connors, John Roddick, Pat McEnroe very briefly and in December 2008, Larry Stefanki.)
After his brief run with Connors, (which more than anything was like a sugar high in which he got off to a fast start and then faded,) Roddick immediately got himself into buffed shape with Stefanki, shedding some 15 pounds. Reinvigorated by his marriage to Brooklyn Decker, who encouraged him to get beyond a (“what’s it all about?”) mid-career funk, Roddick labored long with Stefanki to re-tool his game. His labor was on full display at last year’s classic Wimbledon final. He may have lost, but he captured our hearts. Not since ’93 when Jana Novotna wept on a Duchess’ shoulder after choking the Wimbledon final, had defeat in a tennis match engendered such sympathy.
Roddick’s hard hat grit struck a chord. “I’ve been portrayed as every single type of person,” Andy explained. “Good, bad, ugly, rude, nice. [But] this is the first time it’s been presented in a light that I’m a hard-working, everyday-Joe-type trying to make good.”
But after his glorious London loss came a came a ho-hum summer, a devastating, smack down by John Isner at the U.S. Open, in which he dropped the fifth-set tiebreak, and then an almost fluke knee injury at the Shanghai Masters, that sidelined him for the very last stretch of the year. But some, viewed the injury as a kind of blessing. It put last year’s long campaign to rest and gave him an opportunity to reflect, work hard and once again tweak his rather ever-evolving game.
Now at the Aussie Open, we see a new, new Andy Roddick. It’s not only that he adeptly conceded that he might have been wrong in his on-court temper tantrum. Rather we see a Texan who’s a bit more of a grinder, who actually hits a few (not exactly Federerian) backhand slices, instead of his constant and more-than-limited two-handed backhand blasts.
Now we see a new Andy, who can shift to his lower (semi-dirtmeister) gears and, according to Mary Carillo, “seems to understand the value of the application of patience,” a guy who is far more aware of his positioning, who looks smart out there.
When Roddick first broke in, Rolling Stone magazine said he was “half-wizard and half-boy.” That is still pretty much the case. Andy’s hard-wired frat-boy sense of humor is still in place. (A couple of years ago, he told an official, “You’re an idiot! Stay in school kids, or you’ll end up being an umpire.”) and the 6′ 2″ slugger retains his “big-man-tennis” swagger. But he no longer hurries to finish every point, and almost seems to be a new, far more concious player who actually enjoys crafting points.
Now more than ever, Sandra Harwitt’s classic defense of A-Rod rings true.”Why does Roddick get a bum rap when he has proved to be a hard-working, dedicated player who readily accepts challenges?,” she asked. “If Roddick didn’t give his best effort every time he stepped on the court, he would deserve to be criticized. Yet he is always seeking to improve; it would not be inaccurate to say he’s the classic overachiever.”
So all hail our wisecracking hero.
God bless the man who’s mojo may have been repeatedly been bashed and battered on the unforgiving rocks of defeat, but never really went away. After all, who else in the history of this game has been more adept at coming off the mat. For this kid from Omaha – half wizard, half boy – both adores the battle and embraces the enduring value of tweaking and evolving his more-than-impressive, always brave, game.
