Too Much Blahmos
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Too Much Blahmos -My (Mostly) Tennis Takeaways From The ‘24 French Open
NEW YORK CITY—First, let me apologize for my tardiness with the newsletter. Last week I felt like shit. The puny muscles in my shoulders—the trapezoids, I think—were so tight I couldn't keep my headache-filled head still. I’d sort of twist it and tilt it around in a figure eight, like Stevie Wonder when he sings. After 32 days or so overseas, three countries, two tennis tournaments, four hotels, two Airbnbs, and way too many meals in restaurants and on site at tournaments, I was back home, but in tatters. Jetlag, and what I felt at the time was a truly unremarkable French Open, truly got the best of me, I’m afraid. As Carlos was rope-a-doping Sascha into submission in a really odd final, I did NOT find the joy in suffering as I struggled to collect my thoughts.
But on this Tuesday morning, as I’ve mostly come back to life, after I’ve read every article, newsletter, and post explaining everything we are supposed to think, feel, and remember about this tournament, I realized that I don’t subscribe to a lot of what’s been written. This tournament was a true saga, with twists and turns worthy of a Cicero verse. Or Homer. You pick.
Alas, as we say so long to the 2024 clay season and in particular the 2024 French Open, for what it’s worth…
~Odd tournament, to say the least. The FFT de-automated the net cord detection apparatus (#28). The best player ever and the best player now both complained on court about the quality of the center court, and this all happened after the Game of Thrones–esque long winter that befell the tournament upon The Defeat of Rafa at the hands of Sascha The Miserable. Nine straight days of cold and rain kneecapped this tournament, players went into a weeklong spirit-breaking rain delay, and across the pond the screams of misery related to the television schedule could be heard all the way to Boulogne-Billancourt. Additionally, the FFT banned drinking in the seats, was roundly criticized for its treatment of the scheduling and court assignments of the women’s tournament, and, as I mentioned in my previous newsletter, bobbled the Rafa post-match order of events like no other. Blahmos.
~Throw everything I thought a couple weeks ago about men’s tennis out the window. All that talk about parity and flux etc., etc., was patently off base. Carlitos with a sleeve on his arm and his coach audibly pulling his (puppet) strings to orchestrate the act won the French despite barely playing any clay court tennis in the lead up. The players who were the healthiest, in the best form for whatever reason, did not have the gumption to do the time required to win the seven matches. The one-handed-backhand guys lost in the quarters, Cerundolo and the bad court TKO’d the Joker, Casper got sick for the semi, and the least sympathetic character in the history of tennis thankfully lost to what I thought was a softened-up opponent who made 56 unforced errors. There is a reason these majors, especially the French, are so tough to win.
~People have short, selective memories as they complain about Iga being boring, uncharismatic, and too dominant. As it pertains to the French, Rafa gave a similar performance to packed crowds for almost two decades, albeit with way more bizarre, borderline-concerning obsessive-compulsive tics built in. In Paris he played three five-setters his entire career. Three With his shoulders hunched and his head hanging, Pete Sampras took the energy out of a room like no other, but somehow people don’t remember how boring the majority of his matches were, and it wasn’t until the back end of his career that he was heralded. My sense is that the same will happen to Iga as she piles up the hardware. That said, as a colleague said to me the other day, women’s tennis would really benefit from an in-form Naomi Osaka competing at the back end of tournaments.
~Not sure what happened to Rybakina and Sabalenka in their semis, but I am hearing rumblings that Rybakina, with Vukov at her side, has cut her family off, and the reason for the myriad late pullouts from tournaments has been family drama—induced. Sabalenka, as ill as she purported to be last Thursday, is cold chilling in the Greek islands with her new guy, who not so coincidentally is the principal of Oakberry.
~The smoke hasn’t totally settled with regards to the TV rights switcheroo, but I am looking forward to seeing what the TNT/TBS/Tru/Bleacher Report quartet does personnel-wise, telecast-wise. My experience is that the majority of the hardened production vets will be hired by the new outfit, and to some degree the bloodshed will be minimal. I will be hunting around in the coming days to see how this will affect Tennis Channel, which I thought did an admirable job broadcasting the tournament since 2007. Its flaws notwithstanding, it showed a remarkable amount of tennis and I want the channel to thrive.
~Conversely, I will forever be epically disappointed with NBC’s final telecast. First, the omission of any mention of Sascha’s legal problems is irresponsible, as they played a role in the story of his tournament. The telecasts were just so bare bones, bordering on ridiculous. I wish we had learned more about Jasmine Paolini’s unique Italian, Polish, and Ghanian descent. I wish we had learned more about Andreeva’s (and Gracheva’s) journey to being a French resident, courtesy of Jean-René Lisnard. Tennis has no chance if we aren’t going to adequately explain the players and their paths. The French finals, since I was 11 years old, were on NBC. No mention or roll-ins of any sort. No Borg, Chrissie, Wilander, Noah, Andre, Seles, Hingis, or Steffi, and not a mention of the 40th anniversary of Lendl’s five-set victory over McEnroe in 1984, a loss that broke Mac in half. No tribute to Rafa. No credits. And Noah Eagle saying “goodbye for now” was the fucking lamest thing ever, on par with Rafa’s “half pregnant” on-court speech.
~I prefer to let the rest of the scribes and pundits whine about the schedule, but let me just add this—night after night the matches went past the time the metro ran; Novak’s last match, possibly ever, at Roland Garros ended at 3 a.m.; and it’s never going to change. Ever. Same thing for the decapitation of the women’s schedule. Corporate greed, as it pertains to television deals and corporate hospitality, has won. When you see empty seats in Chatrier, suffice to know that all those people are in hospitality venues eating and drinking and schmoozing. My only suggestion is to stop bitching, and depending on your moral compass, buy or steal whatever platform you need to watch, and embrace the chaos.
~Last Thursday, there was a chance that Italians could have won both the men’s and women’s singles and doubles. Pretty incredible.
~The winners of this tournament, now and forever, are those in attendance who have the opportunity to see the French crowd cheer on their countrymen and women. To be in Lenglen when a French player is playing, particularly in qualies, is one of the best atmospheres in all of sport. The French crowd browbeat Maria Sakkari and Nicolas Jarry into submission on Simonne-Mathieu, which, to me, after Pietrangeli, is the nicest clay court in the world.
~That said, with the exception of Corentin Moutet’s magnificent run to the quarters, it was a very poor showing from the French players, in particular Arthur Fils. Fils jettisoned coach Sergi Bruguera (who, I’m told, along with Sebastian Grosjean, was being paid a fortune) following a horrific clay court season.
~I read plenty of texts and tweets that thought the Sinner–Alcaraz and Alcaraz–Zverev matches weren’t compelling, and I couldn’t disagree more. They were both Hitchcockian psychothrillers of the highest pedigree. Sinner and Carlitos played transcendent tennis at times, they traded sets, they traded cramps, and Carlos reeled him in, and both were hitting the ball harder and earlier than what I and others thought was humanly possible.
~As for Sascha, his presence and run to the final caused a real ickiness that was palpable throughout the tournament. The lack of a domestic abuse policy across tennis allowed for this, and when his accuser settled her case after two-and-a-half hours on the witness stand, it all just felt worse. The fact that he will likely be the last to beat Rafa in Paris felt so wrong. He is a great player, but man is he tough to cheer for. Each and every time he plays, I think back to his dispute with Patricio Apey, his disrespectful comments toward Ivan Lendl and Juan Carlos Ferrero, and the horrifying Netflix hour dedicated to him, and think that this loss in particular was karma, or maybe a directive from the Tennis Gods.
~Finally, Carlos, oh Carlos. Despite pulling out of Australia with a hip injury and rolling his ankle in Rio, and in addition to his victory earlier this year at the Netflix Slam (remember that?), Carlitos has now won three majors on three different surfaces and is 21 years old. There is a relentlessness to the forehands, the serve and volleys, and even the droppers. He is an absolute destroyer of souls, and as it pertains to this year’s French, a Superman of sorts, fighting for Truth and Justice and The Spanish Way! Vamos! .
Next year I’ll do a proper guide to Rome and the French, but for now, In honor of the anniversary of chef Anthony Bourdain’s passing just a few days ago, I offer his parting words:
“Eat at a local restaurant tonight. Get the cream sauce. Have a cold pint at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the steak rare. Eat an oyster. Have a negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you, but have a drink with them anyways. Eat slowly. Tip your server. Check in on your friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride.”
That’s all for now, subscribe rate and review the podcast, and please share the newsletter with your people.
See everyone on the grass.
You are released.
Craig
Last Call For The Totes!
The limited edition totes we made for Rome are a runaway smash hit. If interested in ordering, shoot me a note, and if we get enough interest we’ll make another run. Consider it a contribution to the entire operation!
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