This article was originally to have been one of a pair, written in collaboration with Long John Silver. Instead, it is published alone. Long has bid farewell to B/R, and I therefore dedicate this article to him, with thanks for his support and friendship.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, and tennis has, appropriately, been giving pleasure to the world for centuries.
But what makes something as abstract as tennis such a thing of beauty? What are the splendid strands of colour that, when intertwined, produce the rich and complex embroidery which is, after all, just a sport?
The strongest and brightest threads, the essential fabric of the tapestry, are, of course, the glorious athletes who ply their trade in the tennis limelight: the players themselves.
Ever since the cultural flowering of classical Greece, the beauty of the human form in action has been celebrated. Statues chiseled to muscular perfection more than two millennia ago mirror today’s flesh and blood bodies, honed to the same perfection in the pursuit of peak fitness.
For admirers of the human form, tennis holds one particular advantage. The complexity of the skills and attributes required to perform at this sport’s highest level allows players of many shapes, builds, and styles to flourish. Which means that, for the fans, there is something for everyone.
For every woman who lusts after the muscular biceps of Rafael Nadal, there is another who favors the angled shoulders of Roger Federer, or the lean legs of Novak Djokovic.
For every man who is drawn to the statuesque, blond figure of Maria Sharapova, another is attracted to the softer brunette looks of Ana Ivanovic, or the legginess of Elena Dementieva.
Some prefer an in-your-face personality: Serena Williams, Robin Soderling, or Fernando Gonzalez. Others like their players serene and respectful: Bjorn Borg, Venus Williams, or James Blake.
But the appeal of tennis is far more than skin deep. It combines many finer strands from many art forms that, woven together, make it a uniquely strong, complex, and beautiful sport.
At the heart of great drama is individual conflict or quest, and the most compelling drama uses plot and character to advance an emotional or physical journey.
Imagine, then, the tennis court as the setting for a play or a film, and watch the players take to their stage for an opening performance.
Tennis is uniquely gladiatorial, one opponent against another, each entirely dependent on their own strengths. The story’s pace, too, is in the hands of the protagonists. Because of tennis’ special scoring system, there is no time limit, no draw, no “point of no return.”
The “dramatis personae” have to maintain concentration, focus, energy, and tactics in the face of constant challenge. They have to win the last point, regardless of the number of games, or sets, or hours that have passed. Then they have to repeat their all-out effort in every match, at every tournament. It’s like the labors of Hercules.
The results can be cruel and can be glorious.
Compare the downcast face of Andy Roddick after 77 games on the stage of Wimbledon with the roaring triumph of Federer at Roland Garros.
Watch the anguish on Dinara Safina’s face as she retires in pain from the biggest tournament of the year.
Look at the swaggering, aggressive strut of Nadal, and imagine the glower of Russell Crowe’s Maximus Decimus Meridius: both ready to take on the world at whatever cost.
Each is a mini drama unfolding before an audience of thousands.
From drama to another performing art: dance.
How many other sports require the constant movement, footwork, and balance of ballet? Which of them requires stillness one moment, explosive reaction, then precise poise the next?
One shot may demand a soaring reach, the next may force a deep bend. A sweeping off forehand pivots the body on a sixpence, a cross-court double-fister can twist the body like a spiral. A Sampras-type smash dunk is the equivalent of a Nureyev changement.
Quite simply, watch the counterbalancing arm of Federer or Amelie Mauresmo during a single-handed slice, and it could belong to Fred or Ginger.
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