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RUSSIAN BEATS DI PASQUALE IN
FOUR SETS
Safin: A strange mix of temperment
and talent
By
Alix Ramsay
Special to tennisreporters.net
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Susan
Mullane
Camerawork USA, Inc.
Marat Safin
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FROM ROLAND GARROS –
And then there were two. In a tournament
that has struggled to raise so much as a whiff of smoke much less
catch light, there are two names left in the men's draw that are
guaranteed to raise the temperature: Marat Safin and Andre Agassi.
Alas, they cannot meet in the final and even the prospect of reaching
their appointed slot in the semifinal looks no better than an each
way bet. Agassi you would put money on but Safin - with Russia's
most engaging tennis export, you can never tell.
As only he can, Safin played
well, he played brilliantly and he played like a complete nincompoop
to beat Arnaud Di Pasquale 3-6, 6-4, 6-3, 6-2 in one of those performances
that has the marketing men chewing their fingernails down to the
elbows.
Safin has the potential to
be the best thing to happen to tennis since the tiebreak. He is
good looking; he is funny; he is a showman. And, just for good measure,
he has the potential to win on any surface at any time. Unfortunately
these talents are only put on display when Safin feels like it –
and that does not happen very often.
Since that remarkable September afternoon in 2000 when he frightened
the life out of Pete Sampras in Flushing Meadows, Safin has never
quite been the same again. It had been an unbelievable year, beginning
with a fine for tanking at the Australian Open and ending with the
U.S. Open title, a spell as world No. 1 and a shot at ending the
year in pole position. The tall and unpredictable Russian had been
reborn, or so it seemed.
It was not to last. The following
February he hurt his back during the Dubai tournament and, at the
same time, pulled something between his ears. He was hamstrung by
a severe case of brain strain. The back injury was easy, if time
consuming, to treat but the total lack of confidence and direction
left him in serious trouble.
Just when he needed someone
to take him in hand, he was moving from advisor to friend to coach
to mentor, tying himself up in knots in the process. He had all
the talent in the world but not a clue as to what to do with it.
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Fred
Mullane
Camerawork USA, Inc.
Arnaud Di Pasquale
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It was ever thus. He learned
his trade in Spain, moving there when he was just 14. Living and
working in a country that was raising battalions of dogged counter-punchers,
each one prepared to run until dawn and dig in for the fight, Safin
was a popular lad. Everyone loved him, everyone recognized his obvious
talents but no one knew where it would lead. "He's Russian,"
his friends would shrug. If he got out bed feeling cheery and chipper,
he knock seven bells out of anyone. If the mood so took him, he
could lose to his own shadow. Not much has changed.
The Australian Open at the
start of this year was both the high point and the low point of
his career since becoming a grand slam champion. Surrounded by a
bevy of blondes – his "family" as he called them,
even though he had only met some of them that morning – he
battered his way through the draw until the semifinals. Once there,
for no apparent reason, he played as if stuck to the court. Only
a rain delay saved him that day against Tommy Haas but he was completely
undone by Thomas Johansson in the final.
The popular theory was that
Safin was the experienced man in the fight. He knew what it took
to win a grand slam title. Johansson, nice chap that he was, was
out of his depth. The Swede would choke, Safin would win and all
would be well with the world. Except that Safin did not seem that
bothered. Johansson did not take too long to settle his nerves and
Safin played at half pace. He did not appear to be worried by it,
he was certainly not concerned by it and, even though he had let
a perfect opportunity pass him by, he was happy with his lot. It
was not the usual response of a beaten finalist.
Now there is only the diminutive
figure of Sebastien Grosjean standing between him and a place in
the semi finals. Then again, there is the face staring back from
the shaving mirror on Wednesday to contend with. Or perhaps a taxi
driver looking at him sideways. Anyone and anything can distract
him, depress him or upset him. Or maybe a pretty blonde will smile
in his direction as he makes his way into Roland Garros and the
title will be his for the taking. With Safin, who can tell.
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