Bleacher Report - Articles by Emma

On Sacrifice and Honour: This Is Why We Remember

Emma — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 08:29:49 -0500

Often—too often, perhaps—is the sports field compared to the battlefield.

To a certain extent, the analogy is accurate. Soldiers and football players alike operate largely on adrenaline; blood, sweat, and tears have their places on each field; immense pressure is placed on both sets of men to win—the thought of losing dare not enter their minds; and intense physical training is undertaken to become fit for either.

However, that is where the similarities end, for the two differ greatly in their general purpose: that is to say, murder has no place in sport.

Today—the 91st anniversary of the end of World War I—this article does not intend to debate the right or wrong of war, nor even the morality of such; rather, simply to remember, honour, and respect the sacrifices of athletes past and present who have given their lives, limbs, and careers for their countries.

The list that follows is by no means complete; indeed, it barely scratches the surface. Any who have been missed may be added in the comment section.

Jack Lummus: Awarded a Medal of Honor for his actions on Iwo Jima in 1945.

Joe Pinder: Minor League pitcher. Killed on D-Day; awarded Medal of Honor.

Eddie LeBaron: Earned the Silver Star for heroism during the Korean War.

Nestor Chylak: An injury sustained in the Battle of the Bulge nearly cost him his sight, and for his service he was awarded the Silver Star and the Purple Heart.

James Hoyt Wilhelm : Awarded a Purple Heart for injuries he received in the Battle of the Bulge.

Rocky Bleier: Sustained severe leg wounds in Vietnam, but persevered, recovered, and went on to successful NFL career. Awarded the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart for his actions in battle.

Bob Feller: Enlisted two days after the Pearl Harbor attack; served for four years. Earned five campaign ribbons and eight battle stars, and went on to an impressive MLB career.

Warren Spahn: Combat engineer in WWII. Received battlefield commission in 1943, along with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart.

Elmer Gedeon: Awarded Soldiers' Medal for heroic rescue of a fellow crew member from the burning wreckage of a plane crash. Later killed in action.

Danielle Green: Women's basketball player; lost her left arm to rocket fire in Iraq in 2004.

Billy Southworth Jr.: Recognized as the first professional baseball player to voluntarily enlist in the armed forces in WWII. Awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal. Died when the plane he was piloting crashed.

Al Bumbry: Led an infantry platoon in Vietnam; all his men made it home alive.

Fred Price: One of the longest-serving professional baseball players during WWII, staying in the forces for over five years. Earned three battle stars and a Purple Heart after receiving wounds to his knee at Bougainville.

Roy Gleason: The only major league baseball player to be wounded in Vietnam, he never returned to baseball. He earned a Purple Heart.

Tony Lema: Fought in the Korean War. Later died in a civilian plane crash.

Gene Tunney: Served WWI as a marine officer, WWII as a Navy Officer.

Yogi Berra: Stationed on a rocket boat operating a machine gun on D-Day.

Ken Norton: Served in the US Marine Corps for four years (1963-1967) before his successful boxing career.

Art Donovan: Enlisted in Marines and fought WWII in the Pacific.

Alastair Heathcote: Commanded 30 infantry soldiers in Iraq in 2004. Served for five years.

Robin Bourne-Taylor: Second Lieutenant in the British Army. Began tour of duty in Afghanistan shortly after the 2008 Olympics.

Tom Landry: Flew 30 missions in Europe in WWII; survived a crash in Belgium when his bomber ran out of fuel.

Tom Harmon: Fighter pilot; survived plane crash and being shot down over China.

Chad Hennings: Flew 45 missions over Iraq during Operation Provide Comfort.

Ted Williams: Flew 37 combat missions in Korea between 1952 and 1953.

Pat Tillman: Killed by 'friendly fire' in Afghanistan. Posthumously awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action.

Hobey Baker: Died on what should have been his last flight in the Air Forces, testing a repaired aircraft in WWI. The Hobey Baker Memorial Award is each year presented to the outstanding U.S. collegiate hockey player.

Christy Mathewson: Killed by tuberculosis contracted from an accidental inhalation of poison mustard gas in WWI.

Alfred Blozis: Killed on his first patrol during an encounter related to the Battle of the Bulge.

Tommy Hitchcock: Killed on test flight in WWII.

Bob Kalsu: Killed in Vietnam in July 1970.

Forrest 'Lefty' Brewer: Paratroopers. Killed in action under intense fire from German troops in WWII.

Harry O'Neill: First Lieutenant. Killed in action on Iwo Jima in WWII.

Billy Fiske: First American pilot killed in WWII. Shot down in 1940 during the Battle of Britain.

Honourable mentions: Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays, David Robinson.

***

Sources:

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9B06E6DD1039E13ABC4B51DFB7668382609EDE

http://baseballinwartime.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-to-go-into-military-service.html

http://www.baseballinwartime.com/index.htm

http://www.leatherneck.com/forums/archive/index.php/t-14571.html

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=4630129

http://espn.go.com/espn/thelife/gallery/?id=4638245&image=13

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/othersports/rowing/2319080/Captain-Heathcote-in-full-stroke-after-Iraq.html

Untrained and Unqualified: Scotland's Youth Football Coaches

Emma — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 11:57:40 -0400

European football has its very own career ladder.

Right at the top—at the very pinnacle of success—we have World football, followed by International football, after which comes (in no particular order), La Liga, Serie A, and the English Premier League. Scotland's Premier League is a number of rungs below the elite—but that's a matter for a different day.

We've then got the second, third, and fourth leagues of each country—but as they are not the focus of this article, you'll understand if I skim past.

I recently discovered that, somewhat bizarrely (to my mind), junior football ranks above that at amateur level; but again, neither are what I am talking about today.

No, this is about shedding a light on the building blocks of football. The stages of the game right through from the under-five's to the under-15's—or more specifically, the problems and dangers which could and are befalling Scotland's youth (and quite possibly the youth of other countries as well).

There are issues which need addressing throughout the entire culture of youth football; they are present and noticeable in much of boys', but shamefully bad in that of girls'.

It's all very well for a father to want to be involved in his child's footballing career, particularly at such a young age; heck, it's admirable. But does this inclination qualify the man for the job of coaching a football team?

Without appropriate training, the answer is no. Plain and simple.

At the very early stages—under-seven's and younger—proper training is not so incredibly vital because, at that point, the idea is mainly to learn ball control, and to encourage as full an enjoyment of the sport as possible.

However, any older than that, and the quality and suitability of the coaching becomes an issue.

In my own experience, the improperly qualified coaches are generally football fanatics: They know the rules, they know how the game works, and they are aware of some accepted training techniques through their own experiences of playing, and through watching their favoured professional teams practice. If they're really into it, they might even brush up on their tactical knowledge.

That isn't the main problem.

For the country's footballing prospects of the future, it may not be such a good thing; but even if the team doesn't play particularly well, the children will—at the very least—learn something about winning and losing. And that is definitely a good thing, as it prepares them psychologically for later life.

This does not give poor coaches an advantage over good ones; rather, it is a vague justification in that the kids would—in the long run—gain something out of frequent defeats.

Of course, if each team in whichever league had a qualified coach, the contest would (a) be fairer, and (b) there would be a more pleasant ratio of win-loss-draw—but let's not get carried away with what could be, because nothing looks like changing in the near future.

The health element of youth football is the most concerning aspect of the coaching trend.

Having a physiotherapist tell you, four months after the event, that four doctors had failed to diagnose ligament damage in your knees, is quite something; I wouldn't mention it, but for the fact that such injuries are more regular a by-product of poor coaching than one would like to believe.

Standards as to the stretching of muscles prior to and after exercise are lax. Hamstring injuries are among the most common footballers will suffer; as such, it makes sense to take all and any precautions against such injuries.

However, I have come across a number of coaches who tell their youngsters that, in order to stretch out their hamstrings, they do the following: Place one leg in front of the other, with the front leg bent, and lean on the back leg.

Contrary to the belief of those coaches—and consequently the concerned youngsters—this stretches the calf muscles. Not the hamstrings.

Even if it were a hamstring stretch, there is absolutely no way that a single 10-second-long (if you're lucky) stretch will do much good at all, when you consider that physiotherapists recommend at least 20 seconds, three times, on each leg.

Each muscle is connected to the others. If one muscle is tight, the others have to compensate; each leg muscle—major or minor—is massively important, and any one not working properly can throw everything out of sync.

In footballers, the problematic muscle will generally be the hamstring—no guesses as to why the issue is so big, when you consider the stretching methods ingrained in the minds of the players at youth level.

It's a domino effect. One tight muscle leads to the others being less able to do the jobs they ought to be doing, which means everything is more vulnerable to strains and other injuries.

This problem could be vastly reduced if there were legislation in place to ensure every football coach, at any level, in any walk of life, received proper and appropriate training before taking on the task of shaping a football team.

Of course, this would mean input from the Scottish government, which is unlikely to happen—they are happy to pronounce their wish for a better future in football, yet apparently unwilling to do anything about it.

Muscle strains are the among the less severe injuries likely to occur, as with time they will heal and the player can return to the field. Those who tear their ligaments are not always so lucky.

But we'd better get used to it, because nothing looks like changing in the near future.

I am in no way attempting to imply that all Scottish coaches are poor, nor that all poor coaches are Scottish, nor that all unqualified coaches are poor, nor that all poor coaches are unqualified; each does, of course, have its opposite...

Sports and Chocolate: Guilty Pleasures All Round?

Emma — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:10:35 -0400

Pain and pleasure are two of the most basic sensations known to man; but as with so many other things, humans have managed to make them massively more complicated than at first they would appear.

Pleasure itself takes many forms, most of which are exceedingly simple (contrary to the ethos of the consumer-based society we live in).

There is that fondness and affection for young children, usually accompanied by the pure, unadulterated joy of hearing a child's laughter.

The satisfaction of a job well-done, particularly when pain was endured to get it to that state of perfection; the sheer relief of a successful endeavour; that enveloping moment of bliss when you drag your weary body into bed; a cold drink on a hot summer's day, quenching thirst and cooling temperature simultaneously.

A solitary walk in a beautiful area, during which one may find peace within oneself (if only for a few minutes); perhaps the most serene type of pleasure.

The sweet delight of striking a golf ball cleanly; the release of tension after sinking a five-yard putt (the most dangerous type) to win the match. The absolute exhilaration of a down-the-line curve-ball winner on a tennis court; the type of beautiful, unexpected drop shot guaranteed to take a fan's breath away.

The unrivaled thrill of a personal sporting victory; the astonishing wonder of watching the unheralded underdog topple the favourite.

And then we move to the murkier waters of the countless forms of pain: from the emotional agony of losing a loved one, to the physical pain of cuts and bruises, broken bones, and torn ligaments.

Broken friendships deafening with their silence; heated arguments causing more hurt than that old saying, "Sticks and stones...", would allow for.

The massive disappointment of a missed penalty—whether by goalkeeper or striker, the feeling is alike. Recently-healed injuries, and subsequently out-of-rhythm play, the reason for many a frustrated sportsperson; hostile thoughts the product of an unjust result.

Then there is that never-ending torment of what could have been, if only you had done one small thing differently; the refusal to believe that you had done your best, and were just outplayed.

There are uncountable variations of the ways in which humans experience two simple sensations; but with our race, nothing is ever simple. We add into the mix complex emotions and circumstantial arguments, until we forget that everything is easier when we view things in their simplest forms.

Guilt, however, is a difficult word to classify. It is an emotion, but one brought about by our reactions to situations and circumstances; often it is irrational—but then so is a large portion of what humans think and feel.

The combination of guilt and pleasure is an increasingly common one.

There are the stolen moments between close friends, talking over an evening which should be spent studying, late into a night which ought to be spent sleeping; skipping meals just so you can have greater enjoyment of your favourite later in the day; reading just that one extra chapter of your book before turning your light out (which, inevitably, will turn into four or five or six).

And let's not forget that fatal, irresistible enemy of every woman's tastebuds: the bar of chocolate...

Then there are the times we call in sick to work, just so we can watch that big game; or the times we watch the game instead of doing our work, and give feeble excuses the next day for the lack of completion.

Flicking between tabs on the computer—one of the live scores and one of the report you ought to be writing—just so you can appease that esurient need for connection to the world with which you ought to have severed all contact for the day; until eventually, you give in and switch the TV on.

After the match ends, allowing the creative section of your mind to focus on it, rather than that increasingly urgent report.

In each scenario, we attempt to justify to ourselves the action, usually without realising that the justification lies within the action itself. In the words of Bernard Russell, "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time."

Nor should we feel guilty for taking time out for pleasure, even when we have responsibilities; for perhaps it is the guilty pleasures, after all, which make everything we do worthwhile...

Fabrice Santoro: The Magician's Final Flourish

Emma — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 15:43:29 -0400

Of all the players I have ever seen play tennis, Fabrice Santoro's game is surely one of the most pleasurable to watch.

The 5'10" Frenchman is known throughout the tennis world as The Magician; rightly so, for some of the shots he can pull off are nothing short of magical.

His net game is the most beautiful you could ask to see. Yes, beautiful—for beauty is the only way to describe his movement around the court, his delicate touches of the ball at the net.

With deft hands, he will indulge his opponent in a game of volleys; with disguised genius, he will unleash a ferocious forehand, punishing any mistake of the man on the other side of the net.

That's not to say he is without error himself; 36-years-old, and pushing 37, his game has declined with his advancing years. Despite this, he is still a joy to watch; still the player I will forfeit any other match to see—and that includes the top four in the world.

He takes the sport as it is intended for the fans: As a game.

For him, it is not just a job, nor is it a matter of life and death: It is something he loves to do, evident in every match he plays. He plays to—and indeed, for—the crowd, with his entertaining rallies and exhibitionist shots.

Perhaps the perspective comes with age; perhaps it comes with the knowledge that his time left on the Tour is limited. For these are to be Santoro's last months playing with the ATP—he hangs up his rackets later this year.

Having him enter this final section of his career with a smile was not something his fans ever had to worry about; always good-natured and charming, this year was no different.

On drawing Rafael Nadal, then the unbeatable World No. 1, in the one of the first tournaments of the year—the Qatar Open, Doha—he responded (somewhat dryly):

"Happy New Year!"

This year, his calender has been somewhat reduced; he has played fewer tournaments and subsequently fewer matches.

However, he is here at the US Open this week: He opens his final campaign with a first-round match against former World No. 1, Juan Carlos Ferrero.

I hope to see him do well at the final Grand Slam of the year; it is the last time we shall see him in a major tournament.

But regardless of the result, I wish Fabrice Santoro the very best of after-tennis lives; with a full 20 years of playing professional tennis, he deserves it.

Farewell, our good magician; and may we see one last trick, one final flourish, before you fade away.

From Depression to Gang Culture: A Universal Aid

Emma — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 13:47:25 -0400

I, you, me, he, she, it, they, we, us.

The English language is littered with pronouns. They are a necessary compartment to everything we say, everything we write.

Except in science.

Perhaps it is not the same everywhere—but when reporting on an experiment at my school, one must refrain from using personal pronouns.

For example, one would say, "The water was poured" rather than "I poured the water," or risk losing a mark.

Very occasionally, I wonder if the same system should apply to sportswriting. Or is the personal aspect what sets it apart from other forms of journalism?

Globalization, and the loss of the personal touch, is just one of the massive problems the world faces today.

Walk into a Starbucks or a Costa, and nine times out of ten, the service will be sub-standard, the tables sticky, the queues long.

Walk into a cafe owned locally and, nine times out of ten, you will find the servers chatty and helpful, the tables immaculate, and the queues bearable because everything else is high-quality.

The same goes for bookshops. In Waterstones and Borders, the people who work there only view it as a job, as a way to earn a bit of cash. In any locally owned bookstore, the employees are usually the owners; they care about the business, they want to make it succeed.

Each customer is valued and because they care, they are able to recommend books, which is more than can be said for any international bookshop I've ever been to.

From suicide and depression, to alcohol, drugs and gangs, the difficulties faced by children and teenagers today are vast.

More so than in any previous generation: We have constant images of stick-thin models telling us that is how we "should" look, pressure to have the latest model of the latest phone, designer clothes becoming a virtual necessity to survive in the consumer-based culture of high school, cigarettes and alcohol being the "cool" choices.

And that's without even mentioning that the onus is on us to solve the various crises of the age, most prominently that of fuel—a daunting prospect if ever there was one.

And yet people wonder as to the root cause for the sharp spike in teen suicide rates in the year '03-'04. (In '04-'05, the rates came down slightly, but were still much higher than during the steady decline mid-1990s.)

A few months ago, I heard a news report of a Chelsea fan who committed suicide after his team lost. At that moment it struck me—sports are a lifeline for many people, worldwide.

When we have nothing else left, we take comfort in the constants of life. Win or lose, sports provide an escape.

For this man, the loss proved too much to bear.

The sentiments of escape have been echoed by a man named Willie McNab. As a boy growing up in Glasgow, he couldn't understand the gang culture of violence and arson, when all he wanted to do was play football.

Today, he travels with a team of people to venues all over Glasgow. They carry with them a mobile football pitch, so that kids can play without fear of crossing gang boundaries.

The pitch is set up in particularly troubled areas, and at times when the local police say are most conflict-ridden. It is a four-a-side pitch, and so jackets and bags are used to create goals for other pitches—"old school" street football.

And it works. Kids come from all over to play football, and there are marked improvements in the level of disorder.

At the same time, the honing of young talent on these small pitches provides a glimmer of hope for the future of Scottish football—but that's a different matter.

As ever, money is the issue. If the funding becomes available, for such a project as this to go global is, on paper, a marvellous idea. But in practice? Not so much.

It takes a rare type of person to be willing to do what McNab has done, and I don't see the right people being found in countries and cities across the world. Kids are smarter than they are often given credit for—they can tell when somebody is in something for the wrong reasons, i.e. money.

Perhaps I will be proved wrong—in fact, I hope I will, because all over the world there are problems with gangs which need to be tackled.

Gang culture and depression are two very different issues, with two very similar treatments (counselling and antidepressant drugs notwithstanding).

Many treatment courses for depression have regular exercise as a basis. The "runner's high" is no myth—certain chemicals usually associated with pleasure and pain-killing are produced in larger quantities, both during and after exercise.

It is the general consensus that exercise must be taken regularly to maintain the effects, however. In the same way, the football programme in Glasgow must be maintained to prevent the youngsters returning to the lifestyle of drink, drugs, and violence.

Our world is far from a pretty one, yet sports somehow give the children of the future, not to mention the adults of the moment—heck, they give everybody—a fighting chance.

For in sport we may seek refuge. Always.

Sporting Greats: Rays of Hope

Emma — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 06:23:21 -0400

I would like to thank Blaine Spence, Rocky Getters, and Leroy Watson for helping me with this article.

I doubt there are many people who would disagree with this statement: The world is in a gloomy state.

Dishonest, sleazy politicians left, right, and centre; news stations constantly screaming at us to PANIIIIIIIIIIC!!!, and it doesn't matter what about—be it the economic recession (which will recover), the swine flu pandemic (which is relatively mild, all things considered), or the number of lost puppies on the streets, it is an insignificant detail—just so long as we continue watching that particular station.

Nothing like a bit of drama to rack up the viewer count.

Issues with privacy, with governments going too far to "protect" their countries from terrorism; proposed schemes which will "cut costs" but will eventually cause enormous problems for the younger generations; the madness of "political correctness" making it impossible to say anything without it being taken offensively by somebody, somewhere; the people of the world paying dearly for the arguments of their governments, through war; I could go on and on, but I imagine most people get the idea.

Is it really any wonder that such a huge number of people are turning to sport more readily and more enthusiastically than ever before?

In a world where it is difficult to know whom to trust, sports serve as escapes from reality. Whether we are watching them or playing them; writing, reading, or talking about them, sports allow us to forget the troubles of the world, and the troubles of our own individual lives, for a few precious hours each day.

And occasionally—just occasionally—they afford us glimpses of the true human spirit. Of people standing up for what they believe in, despite the entire world telling them not to bother; of people overcoming adversity so strong, other people would have broken long before.

So I give you this list, of sportsmen and sportswomen who deserve recognition for what they have given this world—hope.

Andy Roddick

Andy Roddick is best known for his achievements in the tennis world—U.S. Open champion in 2003, three-time Wimbledon finalist, and holder of the fastest recorded serve at 155 mph.

What is less well-known is his incredible sense of morality, and determination to do what he feels is right—regardless of the circumstances.

The defending champion of the 2009 Dubai Open publicly announced his disapproval of Dubai's refusal to allow female player Shahar Peer into the country by boycotting the tournament.

In doing this—in standing up for the Israeli player when her fellow competitors in the WTA failed to do so—he lost the chance to defend his rankings points from the previous year.

He also provided a display of goodwill and selfless action the likes of which is increasingly rare.

Billie Jean King

This incredible woman paved the way for women in all walks of life to be respected in the workplace.

Her historic defeat of Bobby Riggs in the Battle of the Sexes is undoubtedly her most-remembered match—despite her astounding 39 singles, doubles, and mixed doubles Grand Slam titles.

King did more than anybody else in the fight for equality between men and women. In 1971, she became the first female athlete to earn over $100,000 in a year; in 1973, she became the first president of the Women's Tennis Association; she founded WomanSports magazine; and she started the Women's Sports Foundation, which is an organisation dedicated to furthering athletic opportunities for women.

In 1981, Billie Jean King came out about her sexuality, at a time when having a partner of the same sex was viewed very unkindly.

King was a pioneer for the rights of women and homosexuals everywhere, and has long been appreciated as one of the most influential figures in the world.

Jim Abbott

Jim Abbott is a legendary Major League pitcher, best known for pitching with only one hand.

He was born without a right hand, and as a youngster practised throwing balls against a wall to develop his fielding skills, as well as his pitching.

He fulfilled his dream of pitching for Michigan, after impressing the team's coaching staff; he was given the opportunity of pitching their first spring game. He didn't focus on convincing the sceptics, only on the fact that he was living his dream.

He became the first baseball player to win the Sullivan Award as the nation's top amateur athlete. In 1989, Jim Abbott went straight from college to the Major Leagues.

His achievements as a baseball player were numerous; he now works as a motivational speaker.

Jim Abbott has proved himself time and again capable of overcoming adversity; he never backed down, and refused to even think of himself as handicapped.

Lance Armstrong

The Lance Armstrong story is one which is relatively well-known.

In 1996, he was diagnosed with testicular cancer. By this time, he had made a huge name for himself in the cycling world—winning the 1991 U.S. Amateur Championships; the U.S. National Cycling Title and the World Cycling Championships in 1993; 10 one-day and stage races, also in 1993; and the Thrift Drug Triple Crown, still in 1993.

In 1994 and 1995, his results were less spectacular, possibly as a result of the undiagnosed cancer: Of the Triple Crown races, he won only one in 1994, the Thrift Drug Classic; and other than that, only a small number of minor European races.

In 1995, he did manage to acquire the prestigious Tour de Pont in the U.S., as well as the Spanish Classica San Sebastian.

In 1996, the cancer was discovered.

Originally, the prognosis was poor. After having surgery, Lance's doctor told him he had less than a 50-per cent survival chance.

Undeterred, Lance Armstrong had treatment between 1996 and 1998, and was cleared to begin training again by the start of 1999.

His comeback was incredible.

He won seven consecutive Tour de France titles—breaking the previous record of five which was held by Miguel Indurain, Bernard Hinault, Eddy Merckx, and Jaques Anquetil—between 1999 and 2005.

Over his career, he won 22 Tour de France stages—two of them coming before his cancer treatment.

In 1999 he was named the ABC Wide World of Sports Athlete of the Year. In 2000 he won the Prince of Asturias award. In 2002, Sports Illustrated magazine named him Sportsman of the Year.

He received the award for the Associated Press Male Athlete of the Year in 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2005. ESPN gave him their ESPY Award for Best Male Athlete in 2003, 2004, 2005, and 2006.

He also won the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Overseas Personality award in 2003.

Armstrong retired from racing at the end of the 2005 Tour de France, but in January ‘09 he made his return to competitive cycling.

Ultimately, he is the King of Comebacks.

Boomer and Gunner Esiason

Boomer Esiason had an illustrious career as an NFL quarterback. He set a number of records for left-handed quarterbacks, including most touchdown passes (247), passing yards (37, 920), and completions (2, 969). He was also selected to the Pro Bowl game four times, in 1986, 1988, 1989, and 1993.

Multiple awards were heaped upon him—he was named the NFL's Most Valuable Player in 1988; he won the Walter Payton Man of the Year award in 1995 for his charitable work; and in 2004, he was inducted into the Nassau County Sports Hall of Fame.

However, in 1993, Esiason had to deal with the news that his two-year-old son, Gunnar, had cystic fibrosis—a disease of the respiratory and digestive systems. He had been taken to hospital with breathing difficulties, and was soon after diagnosed with the disease.

Crushed by the news, Esiason formed the Boomer Esiason Foundation, a charity which aims to develop a cure for cystic fibrosis, to raise awareness of the disease through education, and to provide a higher quality of life for those suffering with it.

Not long after starting the foundation, he formed a company with John Sawyer to sell Boomer's Products to Fight Cystic Fibrosis. The top-selling item is Boomer's BBQ Sauce, with all proceeds going to cystic fibrosis research.

Now 17 years old, Gunner Esiason is an active teen-ager, who takes medications and has treatments daily. He is a quarterback on his school football team.

Doug Flutie

Doug Flutie was one of the most under-rated quarterbacks the world has ever seen.

America as a nation fell in love with him after the "Miracle in Miami." The one where, in the final seconds of the game, he threw the football some 60 yards against a 30 mph wind; it sailed over the heads of the opposing defense, into the waiting arms of Gerard Phelan in the end zone—and gave Boston College a 47-45 win over the Miami Hurricanes.

He won many awards and broke many records throughout his career.

The Heisman Memorial Trophy Award, considered the most prestigious prize honouring the best player in collegiate football, was awarded to Flutie in 1984.

He holds the professional football record of 6,619 yards passing in a single season. His college football career was exceptional, but he was told by many that because of his height—5'10"—he would never play in the NFL.

The United States Football Association, where he made his professional football debut, folded after his first season. He then entered the NFL with the Chicago Bears in 1986; in 1987, after signing with the New England Patriots, he crossed the picket lines of a strike-ridden NFL to participate with his team.

Thereafter, he was labeled a scab.

In 1990, he made his way to the league where he would become revered as the greatest quarterback ever to play there—the Canadian Football League. He spent eight seasons in the CFL, making a name for himself as a passing threat.

His 48 touchdowns in 1994 remains a CFL record, as do his 6,619 yards in 1991.

In his return to the NFL in 1998, with the Buffalo Bills, Flutie won the Comeback Player of the Year award.

He had a career most footballers would dream of, yet rarely gets the recognition he deserves for it.

In 2006, Doug Flutie said goodbye to his professional football career.

His son, Doug Jr., has autism, and the Fluties established a foundation in honour of him. The foundation's goal is to raise awareness of autism, and to support families affected by it.

Flutie created a cereal, Flutie Flakes, with the benefits and proceeds going towards the foundation.

Doug Flutie silenced his critics, the people who doubted his ability to compete in football, in an extraordinary manner; and he overcame every difficulty presented to him, always living by his motto: "Never Say Never."

Paolo Maldini

Paolo Maldini is a rare breed of footballer. His passion for the game was always evident, and his leadership abilities on and off the court are well-documented, being able to inspire and organise his teammates. He has been heralded many times as "the best defender of all time," and with just cause.

During his 16 years as an international player, Maldini became Italy's most capped player, with 126 appearances. He has won the Serie A seven times; the Italian Super Cup five times; and jointly holds the record for appearances in Champion's League finals with Francesco Gento.

Maldini scored the fastest ever goal in a European Cup final against Liverpool F.C. in 2005, at 51 seconds. He also became the oldest player ever to score in a final.

He was the first defender ever to win the prestigious World Soccer Player of the Year award, which is a huge achievement—defenders are often overlooked when compared to goal-scorers.

The honours he received during his career were numerous; the records he set were plenty.

But what puts him aside from other players of the sport, is his remarkable show of loyalty in staying with the one club—A.C. Milan—for his entire 25-year career. He is one of few players to refrain from selling out his integrity, remaining with one club regardless of other offers.

The sportspeople mentioned in this article are only a few examples of the type of thing this world needs more of—I daresay there are many others, some of whom include Dave Dravecky, Rick Ankiel, Martel Van Zandt, Tim Broschi, Dustin Podroia, Kevin Garnett, and Earvin "Magic" Johnson.

In this time of darkness, people like those above shine brightly—flashes of light in the dark sky; rays of brilliance on the dull, monotonous canvas of life.

Rays of hope, that the world will again become a decent place to live.

The Voice: Subtle and Silent

Emma — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 09:03:27 -0400

The voice.

The voice is the drive behind the most basic of our actions; it dictates all that we do, though oft goes undetected. It quells the deepest of ambitions; brings to the surface our darkest hopes.

The voice...The voice is unwelcome, calling out at our every failure. Calling, calling...yet when we expect to hear it, we hear nothing.

It attacks us; leaves nothing unsaid; after any triumph, brings us crashing back down to earth. The voice...The voice is a test, a test of character. Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we slip into the darkness, the void of defeat—defeated by the voice.

Sometimes, in a glorious moment, we defeat the voice, and the voice sinks back into silence. Yet the silence deafens, and allows for the building of egos; allows for the mistakes of human nature; allows for us to ultimately destroy ourselves.

The voice...The voice is the roaring engine, the fast-flowing current; destroying everything in its path.

The voice is our identity; our definition.

Without it, we are nothing.

The 2009 British Open's Giant Killer: Tom Watson Vs "The Young Guns"

Emma — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 18:01:12 -0400

Tom Watson—59 years of age, and nearing his 60th birthday.

He is an eight-time major championship winner, five of these victories coming at The Open.

The rivalry between two of the greatest players of all time, Tom Watson and Jack Nicklaus, was legendary—and a number of Watson's triumphs at the majors actually came at the expense of his friend.

Watson's love for the game of golf is evident to this day. He wears a smile on his face for the majority of his rounds—a feature many others could take note of. Good-natured and charming, he is a favourite with the fans, his ovations louder than many others.

More importantly? The guy has class, a quality which has largely gone astray in today's sporting world.

In 1991, Watson took issue with the Kansas City Country Club's exclusion of people of Jewish ethnicity, and resigned; upon the club's acceptance of Jewish and minority members, he rejoined.

Another example: Earlier today, on the 18th green, his putt came within two feet of the hole, a distance at which—usually—it would be acceptable to simply tap the ball into the hole, regardless of the position of one's opponent.

On this day, Watson's opponent was Steve Marino. Marino had played a rough few holes—but he was ready to putt for a birdie, to bring his score back to one over par for the tournament, when Watson's putt came so close to the hole.

Aware that once he put the ball in the hole to finish his round, the cheering and ovations would severely damage Marino's ability to concentrate at such a crucial time, Watson marked his ball. No fuss. He just marked it, as though every other player would have done the same thing in his position.

Except—call me cynical—I don't believe they would have. I believe that level of graciousness, that level of class, has—for the most part—been lost with the younger generations coming through.

Tomorrow, the final day of the 2009 Open Championships, has all the makings for an unprecedented victory on Watson's part.

Currently, he is the oldest player ever to lead the scoreboard going into the final day of play. He aims to equal Harry Vardon's six Open Championship titles, and become the oldest ever player to win the tournament.

If he does, it will be a monumentous victory.

Tom—go out there tomorrow, and kill the giants. For all our sakes.

Wimbledon 2009: On a Musical Note!

Emma — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 08:30:43 -0400

Wimbledon 2009 provided us with some fantastic highs and mighty lows; unpredicted successes and unexpected losses. The greatest tennis players in the world battled for the Wimbledon crown; the eventual champions were crowned. A number of worthy tributes will be created to the many fantastic matches gifted to us during the tournament; but this, my friends, is not one of them! Disclaimer: The following slideshow is intended for humorous purposes only. It is not intended to hurt, offend, belittle or disrespect anybody mentioned, directly or indirectly. [Inspired by, dedicated to, and created with the help of...Rocky Getters! ]

Begin Slideshow

One Moment In Time: Reliving The Greatest Match in Tennis' History

Emma — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 07:56:43 -0400

Each day I live, I want to be

A day to give the best of me...

Federer and Nadal give their all in every match they play. They don't slack; they play each opponent with the same passion, the same heart, the same conviction of winning. The Wimbledon final was no different.

I'm only one—but not alone...

Tennis is a one-man sport—your toughest rival is yourself, and overcoming your doubts and fears. But both players had their teams, their families, their friends, sitting in the player's box. With them, always.

My finest day is yet unknown...

Rafael Nadal had yet to win a major outside of Roland Garros.

I broke my heart for every gain. To taste the sweet, I faced the pain...

Nadal had been to the previous two Wimbledon finals, and lost them both. Those losses would make a first title at the All England Club all the more treasured, all the more precious.

I rise and fall...

Roger Federer had suffered a lapse in form due to a bout of mononucleosis, seeing him—at the Australian Open that year—miss out on a Grand Slam final for the first time since Wimbledon 2005.

Yet through it all, this much remains...

Despite this, he came into the final believing with all his heart that he was capable of winning.

I want one moment in time, when I'm more than I thought I could be...

Neither man's wildest dreams could have envisioned moments and oppurtunities like these.

When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away, and the answers are all up to me...

It was just them and their tennis; that dream was very near, yet at the same time so far away. So much had to happen before either man could take the title.

Give me one moment in time, when I'm racing with destiny...

Fans on both sides were arguing that it was "fate", "destiny", and "the right time" for their man to win. It was the fiercest of competitions; the closest of races.

Then in that one moment of time, I will feel...I will feel...eternity...

The winner's name would be firmly entrenched in the history books—Federer with a record-breaking six consecutive Wimbledon titles, Nadal with the first ever French Open-Queens' Club-Wimbledon triple title run. Yet neither man would ever be forgotten.

I've lived to be the very best...

Neither man is ever satisfied with a satisfactory performance; they both strive for perfection with every match, every game, every point.

I want it all, no time for less...

Both were impatient for victories at every tournament. They entered each match with the certainty that only champions have of winning; they would allow the thought of losing to enter their minds.

I've laid the plans—now lay the chance here in my hands...

Nadal won the first two sets. He just needed chances—and an opponent whose name was not Roger Federer.

Give me one moment in time, when I'm more than I thought I could be...

He got closer to that moment with every point played.

When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away, and the answers are all up to me...

Nadal held two match points in the fourth set tiebreak—but Federer was just too good, and saved them both to take the match into a fifth and final set. That time, it was not all up to Nadal—the skill of his opponent took it far out of his control.

Give me one moment in time, when I'm racing with destiny...

The match heated up, with both players playing tennis that was beyond belief. Tennis in its very purest form; destiny said this match would go down as one of the best ever.

Then in that one moment of time, I will feel...I will feel eternity!

Oh!

You're a winner for a lifetime, if you seize that one moment in time—make it shine!

A third rain delay caused an anti-climax much like this one. It prevented either man gaining momentum, and did nothing but heighten the tension and drama.

Give me one moment in time, when I'm more than I thought I could be...

The players walked back on court with not so much as a point between them. They were equal to each other, in both score and ability. Each was determined to make this day his own.

When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away, and the answers are all up to me...

Federer gained a break point at 3-4, and had he won it he would have served for the championship.

Give me one moment in time! When I'm racing with destiny...

The fading light caused uncertainty as to whether or not the match would finish that day. It was a race against time to crown a champion.

Then in that one moment of time...

Nadal broke in the fifteenth game of the fifth set to lead 8-7.

I will be...I will be!

Oh I will be free!

Oh!

I will be...oh I will be free!

In near darkness, Rafael Nadal collapsed to the ground in victory.

Two men; one surface; one match; one moment.

It will never be forgotten.

NB: Acknowledgements go to Whitney Houston for her song One Moment In Time, and to my wonderful Claire for the video :D

The Mechanisms Of a Warped World

Emma — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 09:03:31 -0400

The recent news of Cristiano Ronaldo's transfer—indicating he is 'worth' £80 million—has brought me abruptly to a conclusion which has been dawning on me for some time.

We live in a twisted world.

Those in the entertainment industry—sports, music, film-making and acting—get paid obscene amounts of money, yet the people without whom the world simply wouldn't work—cleaners, janitors, lorry drivers—get paid pittance.

Doctors—people who save lives on a daily basis—earn in a year what many of the most famous sportsmen of this time get paid in a week.

In this time of economic crisis, it is the weak who suffer. Charitable organizations—the ones who actually do good in this world—are the first to have their government funding cut, while ticket sales for music concerts go through the roof.

"Aid Fatigue" is a huge problem.

The first time we saw the images of thin, malnourished African children scavenging for their dinners, we reached into our pockets, purses and wallets and gave generously.

But the images kept coming. News of famines, droughts, floods and too many horrific occurrences reached our ears day in, day out.

It got to the point that when adverts came on the TV, asking for donations to allow these people fresh water to drink, we would change the channel. We'd roll our eyes and discard the pamphlets asking for the same thing as 'junk'.

Comic relief is an incredible thing. But over the years, a larger proportion of the money raised has gone to charities helping people in the UK. While there are problems here, they are not even on the same scale as the problems many Africans face.

The Western World is shallow. We pay more attention than we ought to our favorite sports players, watch more movies than reasonable, and when that fails we go shopping.

We put up barriers against the onslaught of pleas from the people who desperately need help. Who deserve the chance to exercise their human rights.

But they don't get this chance, because our money goes more often to football matches and music concerts.

And we end up with filthy-rich people dominating our news pages, flashing their sickening amounts of money.

When will this monstrous cycle end?

That One Moment of Victory

Emma — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 07:41:15 -0400

I am a mountain; both the foot and the summit.

I am a tiger, prowling my territory, ready to pounce as a predator.

I am the untamed wind, who blows down trees and howls through the night.

I am the sea—dangerous, mysterious, symbolic.

I am the most powerful man in the world, the one with control over the Big Red Button. Indeed, I am the Big Red Button, who can destroy the world with one yielding fall.

I am a pile of treasure, waiting to be claimed; I am the treasure hunter, waiting to claim.

I am the sun, the moon, the stars, giving light to those who seek it.

I am the one who preaches, and the one who is preached to.

I am both vision and reality, both metaphoric and literal.

I am the untouchable one; invincible; indomitable; all from that one moment of victory.

Then the illusion passes, and I am once again just a person.

Roger Federer vs. Rafael Nadal: Another Helping, Anyone?

Emma — Fri, 29 May 2009 15:05:08 -0400

Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer have provided us with some of the greatest—and most historic—tennis matches of all time.

Matches like the 2008 Wimbledon final and the 2009 Australian Open final provided supreme quality, high drama, and a contrast of styles—what more could the world want?

The answer to that question is records. It seems that every time these two champions play, they are playing not only for that one particular match or tournament, but for the history books as well.

2008 French Open final—Nadal was aiming to equal Bjorn Borg's record of four consecutive titles at Roland Garros, and Federer looked to complete his "career slam."

2008 Wimbledon final—Nadal was trying to become the first man since Borg to win the French Open-Wimbledon double, and the first man ever to win the French Open, Queen's Club, and Wimbledon all in one calendar year; Federer was aiming to surpass Borg's record of five consecutive titles at the All England Club.

2009 Australian Open final—Nadal's goal was to join the elite group of men who have won majors on all three surfaces; Federer's was to equal Pete Sampras' record 14 Grand Slam titles.

2009 Madrid Masters 1000 final—Nadal aspired to be the first man to win all three clay-court Masters 1000 events in one year; Federer looked to tie with Nadal in second place for total number of Masters titles and to snap Nadal's 33-match win streak on clay.

Nadal and Federer have played each other on 20 occasions thus far, and the world waits with bated breath for the 21st installment in this captivating rivalry.

Will it come at this year's French Open? Who knows—but if it does, it will be no less intense, no less entrancing, and no less worth watching than any of their previous encounters.

Whenever the 21st chapter is written, it will be an event to go down in history.

The Art Of Sport and Music

Emma — Sun, 24 May 2009 08:56:25 -0400

Sports, art and music; all have much in common.

The drum roll of anticipation as the players wait for their moment to shine. The crescendo of the crowd's roar as they enter into the full view of the stadium.

In tennis—the accented notes of winners, the articulated finesse of a drop shot, the jarring discordancy of an unforced error. The staccato of an overhead smash. The trill of suspense as the stadium holds its breath, waiting to see if the lob will land within the lines.

The ostinato of a basketballer's ball-bounces—rhythmic and constant. The accelerando of a sprinter's feet, moving faster and faster as the finish line approaches.

The cadenza of a concerto, embodied in the footballer's race up the wing, ball at his feet, showing his skill to the world.

The powerful legato of a swimmer's arms through water, propelling their body forward.

The angry shading of a revving car engine, geared up for a race like no other. A round of golf, encapsulated in the peaceful serenity of a watercolour.

Contemporary dance, the Picasso of the sporting world.

Intricately weaved are the links between sports, art and music, ever closely entwined together. If you listen, you hear; if you look, you see; if you watch, you understand.

Andy Murray: World No. 1 or British Obsession Gone Mad?

Emma — Sun, 17 May 2009 09:16:41 -0400

Andy Murray is a fantastic tennis player.

He plays with excellent variety, his serve has improved in leaps and bounds, he has become a master of the drop shot, and he can hold his own from the back of the court. When he is playing well, he can be an absolute joy to watch.

He started 2009 by saying he could be World No. 1 by the year's end. And yes, technically he could have. But realistically? Not a chance. Not with Rafael Nadal's iron grip over men's tennis.

Despite this, the British media all too happily jumped on the bandwagon, and ever since I have regularly heard Murray described as "the future World No. 1 hope"—by commentators, news reporters and fans alike.

Rafael Nadal has stated that he believes Andy Murray will, at some point become the World No. 1. He did not, however, specify when.

There is a high possibility that Murray will, at some point in the future, get to that coveted top position. Whether that future is near or distant, is difficult to say. Particularly with Murray's difficulties on clay, and Nadal's complete dominance on every surface.

Really. It's a tough one to call.

Murray has improved in ways I could never have predicted. There was a time when he was almost embarrassingly bad on the red dirt, and now he goes deeper into those clay court tournaments than he ever has before.

His prowess on hard courts has been incredible, and lifted him to No. 4 in the ATP World Tour rankings last year.

Now he sits on the position of No. 3. And if we're being honest—he got there by default.

His hard court points from the end of last season and the start of this season have carried him thus far. Despite being knocked out in his first match in Rome, because Novak Djokovic did not retain his title, the pair swapped ranks.

Novak Djokovic has reached the finals in Monte Carlo and Rome, he won Belgrade, and reached the semifinals in Madrid.

Andy Murray reached the semifinals in Monte Carlo, went out in R32 in Rome, and reached the quarterfinals of Madrid (He did not play in Belgrade)

Murray has never reached a clay court final. To be a World No.1, you must be versatile enough to win on all surfaces.

Had it not been for Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer would long have been the best clay court player in the world. Perhaps not the best ever, but the best of the generation.

Novak Djokovic is currently playing like the World No. 2, yet has been bumped down to fourth in the world because of Murray's previous successes on hard courts.

So yes—Murray may well become World No. 1 one day, but it will only happen when Rafael Nadal releases the world of men's tennis from this lockdown, and Murray improves his own game further on clay.

The British media, however, has different ideas.

Blinded by patriotism and the fallen dreams of previous tennis players from our country, they pile all the broken hopes and unfulfilled expectations of past generations onto the shoulders of whichever poor soul happens to be talented enough to make people outside of Britain see the potential they have.

Of course, because of this we get second-to-none tennis coverage on the TV, but that is not the point.

The obsession of the media in Britain extends far enough that they do not mention the epic encounters between two champions in their daily news reports—namely Nadal and Djokovic in their Madrid semifinal—preferring instead to talk about Murray's hopes for the French Open.

The way Andy Murray is talked about in Britain, you would think he already was the World No. 1. Higher even, if that is possible, because it would be insanely difficult for anybody to deserve the kind of praise he gets.

And this is without even winning a Grand Slam.

It's not fair on the British people who are loyal fans of other players, it's not fair on the people who have to play against Andy Murray in front of a home crowd—and it's not fair on Andy Murray, because that kind of pressure is not something anybody ever wants to have to deal with.

There is nothing wrong with a bit of patriotism. But to the exclusion of all else? It's madness.

What It Takes To Be A Tennis Player

Emma — Fri, 15 May 2009 16:02:24 -0400

Tennis players—I admire them hugely.

Day in, day out, they go out on that court and do what people like myself are simply unable to do; even if we were to try.

I'm not talking about talent; everybody has something they excel at. For some it's music, for others it's writing; for these guys it's tennis.

The incredible motivation, the willingness to go out there each day and lay everything they have in them on the tennis court in an effort to win—that's what truly strikes me as amazing.

Rafael Nadal is probably the most prominent example of this kind of strength. No matter if it's the first round of a tournament against somebody most people have never heard of, or if it's a final against Roger Federer, he treats them all the same, giving as near to 100 percent as he can get. His frustration at playing below par is evident in any match; again, regardless of the round or the opponent.

However, the guys who aren't winning a lot of tournaments, the ones who don't go deep in the Slams or the Masters 1000s, who play, lose, and try again the very next week—they are the ones who truly deserve kudos.

They keep our sport alive, because without the small-time players there would a) be no players for us to watch blossom into top players, b) be a number of the smaller 250 events suffering, as often the top players skip these to rest and c) Grand Slam and Masters1000 draws would struggle.

Take a scenario of Rafael Nadal playing the likes of Victor Troicki or Janko Tipsarevic. One wouldn't even entertain the idea of losing; the other could hardly dare to even hope for a win. Yet both would step on court and fight to the last ball as if their lives depended on it.

What I'm saying is, it takes a special kind of person to do what they do on a daily basis. Whether they are No. 1, No. 2, or No. 75, the sport couldn't survive without them.

Roger Federer Vs Roger Federer

Emma — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 05:51:38 -0400

Roger Federer is probably the best tennis player ever to take to the courts.

He has the most complete game, and is the most technically sound we have ever seen.

The problem? He knows it.

Combine this knowledge with the stubbornness of a champion, and a fierce denial that he is no longer the best, and the problem is bigger than it should be.

I think it is unanimous within the tennis community—Roger Federer needs a coach.

Lets face it—with the world's best ever player, there isn't really a whole lot of "coaching" as such that can be done.

As the saying goes, "a little goes a long way". A tweak here, a tweak there—it could be all it takes.

I never thought the following would be applicable to Roger Federer—but his current mental strength is probably one of the most fragile on tour.

He has become prone to final set meltdowns. He was reduced to tears by Rafael Nadal. He smashed a racket when playing against Novak Djokovic.

A coach would be able to share in these problems with him. Moral support, or something of the sort. A fresh pair of ears to run his strategies by, some new tactical suggestions.

A reinforcement of the obvious—like getting your first serves in.

Generally, just somebody to shoulder some of the burden of knowing that, while you may be the best ever, you aren't the best right now.

Okay—you can take the "Darren Cahill" episode as an admittance that he needs help. Whatever. It didn't happen.

And no matter what either of them says, I don't buy that Cahill's problem was the distance. He has already coached on tour—he knew the requirements.

We shall never know if Cahill honestly hadn't thought it through with regards to the extent of his travelling, if it was just Fed saying "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm trying to do something," or if it was something else entirely.

Frankly it doesn't matter.

What matters is, Roger Federer is still without a coach, and that is something which needs to change.

When you are dominating the entire tennis world, when you rarely lose matches, when your mental strength is virtually indestructable—that is when you can say, there's no real point in paying a coach. (The fact that you shouldn't say that, because there are always ways to improve, is irrelevant.)

You do not say that when you have lost five consecutive times to Rafael Nadal, four consecutive times to Andy Murray, broken a winning streak against Novak Djokovic, and self-destructed in the final set of any tough match.

If that is what is happening, it's more than time you say enough's enough—I need help. I can't do this alone. Somebody needs to tell me what to do, so I can start winning again.

John McEnroe has offered his services to Roger Federer. So far, I've heard nothing as to what Roger's response has been.

I hope—for Roger's own sake, and for the sake of tennis—that he accepts the help.

Because the greatest player ever needs to prove that he can stand up to adversity, after five virtually unchallenged years at the top.

He needs to cement his status, and to do so, he will need a coach.

Marat Safin: The Enigma That Shall Cease To Be

Emma — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 11:59:15 -0400

Marat Safin.

Right from the word go, that name has attracted flocks of people to tennis tournaments.

From his on-court antics of smashing racquets and yelling at umpires and line judges, to his often bitter demeanor off-court, Safin is a man the world may never fully understand.

When he won the first of his Grand Slams at the U.S Open in 2000, he looked poised to take many more, to challenge at the top of men's tennis for some considerable time.

He certainly had the talent; there were few who could hit the ball more cleanly and precisely, or who had more variety to their games.

Yet, he waited five years for the second of his only two Slams, an Australian Open victory in 2005.

There are any number of excuses for Safin's fall from grace.

He struggled with injuries, a man named Roger Federer began to dominate the game. Perhaps Safin just didn't cope very well with the pressure.

Whatever the reason, I doubt there are many who, nine years ago, could have predicted Safin would end up with just two Grand Slam titles to his name.

He has had ups and downs all through his career, mostly due to injuries and a struggle to find his form. But to this day, Safin remains full of surprises.

In 2008, he seemed to be at the tail-end of his career. He was turning in few good matches anymore, and seemed to be struggling with motivation.

And then, bam! Out of nowhere, it seemed, a semifinal appearance at Wimbledon!

His route to the semis was somewhat illustrious—he took out Novak Djokovic in the second round, Stanislas Wawrinka in the fourth, and Feliciano Lopez in the quarterfinals.

Inevitably, he was ousted by Federer, which is nothing any player can be ashamed of.

Playing against the very talented Gael Monfils in Miami this year, Safin came within a point or so of beating the Frenchman several times.

He served for the match not once, but twice in the third set, and actually held two match points on Monfils' own serve.

My point? The man still has some of the sparkle that once caused Pete Sampras to praise him as "the future of tennis".

Safin's career has been by no means ideal, plagued by various injuries and loss of form—He himself said he would "prefer to have the career of Roger Federer". (Who wouldn't?)

But still, he's been hugely successful, winning two Grand Slams, appearing in five Masters Series, and gathering an immense fan base.

With Safin's impending retirement, we have to wonder who will fill the hole he will leave?

Every sport needs its resident bad-boy, and Safin certainly took that role to heart.

Marat, you will be sorely missed—by all.

Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal: A Rivalry For The Ages

Emma — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 16:11:11 -0400

How does one even begin to put into words a rivalry so immense it has inspired thousands, and captivated millions?

Grace meets power. Elegance meets rough and rugged.

Beauty meets beauty.

They could not be more different—and yet they remain the same.

Both produce breathtaking tennis. Their ground strokes, passing shots, volleys, and cross-court winners are some of the best ever seen.

They are of a class far above anybody else in the game. Try and find a time when Rafael Nadal has insulted another tennis player, or been in any way ungracious. You won't manage.

Find me a match where Roger Federer has not congratulated his victor, or given praise to the man he beat, and I will be beyond shocked.

To merely look at the head-to-head does not give an accurate picture of the rivalry. It stands at 13-6 in Rafa's favour—anyone who didn't know would imagine it to be a one-sided competition.

Many a time have I been told that, if we take away the surface of clay, Roger Federer would be winning out-and-out.

And once upon a time, that may have been true.

But not anymore.

9-1 on clay. 3-3 on hard courts. 1-2 on grass. Those are the current statistics for each surface, and grass is the only place Roger Federer has a winning record against Nadal.

So how can their rivalry be so incredible, so breathtaking, and so beautiful?

The supreme quality of their matches is a huge factor. Tennis is not about a "big three", or a "big four". It's all about the top two.

Separate, they are capable of out-playing and out-classing every other player out there. This is no slight to the rest of the tennis world—simply a fact. There are people who can beat them,but nobody who can do so regularly and consistently.

Not when faced down by Federer or Nadal on the other side of the net.

Together, they produce dynamic events—not just matches.

One will hit a shot that, against any other player, would have been an outright winner. The other will not only get there and put the ball back in play, but hit it with such precision and power that his opponent, along with the rest of the world, is left shaking his head in sheer disbelief.

They each believe that they should be able to win any match. During the times when it seemed Roger Federer was unbeatable, it appeared nobody could surpass him in terms of mental strength. One man has—his name is Rafael Nadal.

Nadal not only believes he can win every match—he expects to win every match.

Perhaps the reason we are so intensely drawn to this rivalry is that for so long, the tennis world was starved of anything remotely like it.

Roger Federer began his period of dominance just as Pete Sampras was reaching the tail-end of his career. Until the appearance of 17-year-old Rafa, there really wasn't anybody who was truly able to threaten Roger's reign.

And it took a long time for us to realise what we were witnessing. Roger Federer, revered by many—including Nadal and his Uncle Toni—as the best player ever to play the game, was being rivaled.

Certainly, it was not an immediate transition from boy, to challenger, to rival, for Rafa. He put in the hours on the court. He analysed his game, saw where he could improve, and worked until those improvements were made.

And today, that is still his mindset.

Roger Federer was on a winning streak unlike anything ever seen before, and the world was becoming so accustomed to his titles that it was his losses which made headlines, rather than his wins. While this happened, Rafael Nadal was being shaped into the tennis player who would become the ultimate challenge.

For any player—not just Federer.

2008 was the year in which the world witnessed the changing of the guard. It will not soon be forgotten.

It saw Nadal equal Bjorn Borg's record of four French Open titles in a row. It saw him break that habit of many Europeans of remaining no more than a clay-court specialist, by winning his first Wimbledon title—in doing so both changing history and creating it.

He stopped Roger Federer surpassing Bjorn Borg's record of five consecutive Wimbledon titles. He became the first man since Bjorn Borg to win the Roland Garros-Wimbledon double. And he became the first man ever to achieve the Roland Garros-Queen's Club-Wimbledon triple.

On top of this he took the Olympic Gold, on his first attempt—the very day before he took over the top ranking from Roger Federer.

Now the situation has been reversed somewhat. Roger Federer must try and catch up in the rankings, while Rafael Nadal must look over his shoulder.

It is an interesting scenario, and one nobody could have predicted as little as 18 months ago.

Now Rafael Nadal will be remembered for his achievements on all surfaces—not just clay, as was once presumed would be the case.

And Roger Federer will have to wait a little longer for that 14th Grand Slam. Chances are, he will have to go through Rafael Nadal to get it.

Just as it should be, in a rivalry that has enthralled us so.

Who Is Rafael Nadal's Kryptonite?

Emma — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 19:00:31 -0400

Many a time have I seen Rafael Nadal described as Roger Federer's Kryptonite.

Of course, most of these comparisons occurred a while ago, when Rafa was very much regarded as a clay-court specialist. Since then, as far as I can see, most have conceded that he is a second Superman, rather than Superman's Kryptonite.

And now we have entered the era of Rafa's rule over the tennis kingdom. And it brings about the question of: Who will be Nadal's Kryptonite?

I think many would argue that for the moment, that man is Roger Federer.

But I disagree. Roger Federer is still Superman, and the Original Superman at that. So how can he be Kryptonite as well?

Plus, you need only look at his track record against Rafa to see that he just isn't capable of it. This is not a slight at Roger, but a compliment to Rafa and his current form.

He will not knock Rafa off his throne; of that I am certain. Rafa knows how to win against Roger.

Many a Brit will argue that Andy Murray is well on his way to becoming the bane of Rafa's career.

He's beaten him, what? Twice in seven career meetings? (And notice I say career meetings.)

Take the US Open semifinal. Rafa was coming in at the end of an incredible season. His body had taken a battering, and he was physically exhausted. He has never played particularly strongly at Flushing Meadows.

In the third set, Rafa gets that break. Momentum starts to swing his way. Cue match delay. It just wasn't meant to be.

Then take the Rotterdam final. Rafa was injured, badly. That's all I will say.

I say these things not to take away the merit of Andy Murray's wins over Nadal, all credit to him for playing well. But you cannot ignore these factors which, in my opinion, had a large impact on the matches.

Of course, Andy Murray has beaten Nadal when both were rested, fit and healthy. At the Abu Dhabi exhibition.

They both played well; Andy Murray just played better. No excuses. But that one win is not enough to gain him Kryptonite status in my eyes.

And then there is Novak Djokovic. He is capable of challenging Nadal, as are Murray and Federer. But far more often than not, Nadal will come out on top in these meetings. It's the way it is, and the way it shall be for some time yet.

I read an article once (I can't remember where, or I would give credit to the author). It compared Rafael Nadal's current form to the moment in Troy when Achilles turns to the army of Thessaly and yells "Is there no-one else? IS THERE NO-ONE ELSE?" And in my eyes it is an apt analogy.

Because there simply is no-one else. Nobody who can truly make a challenge to Rafael Nadal's throne.

So who is his Kryptonite? Well, it's easy.

He just doesn't have one.

Rafael Nadal: Mind Over Matter

Emma — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 14:40:13 -0400

Mind over matter.

There is not a single person on this entire planet who understands the meaning of this phrase better than Rafael Nadal.

Already this year, he has displayed this incredible character trait of his on several occasions: the Australian Open and the Rotterdam Open. There may have been others, but these are the two I shall focus on.

Two finals, two completely different situations.

Rafa's Australian Open semifinal lasted a record-breaking five hours, 14 minutes. He should have been—and probably was—physically exhausted.

Every article, every prediction I read, was writing him off. Federer would be the out-and-out winner, they said. No competition.

But they forgot just who they were talking about. The man with the impenetrable mental strength, the man who had transformed his entire career in four months.

They forgot.

And he came out that Sunday and reminded us all why he is the World No. 1, why he is the man nobody should ever write off.

His loyal fans (myself included) hoped he would win. Of course we did. But did we expect it? Is there really anyone out there who can honestly, genuinely say they expected Rafa to win that final?

Somehow, I doubt it. But win he did, despite everything that had been said to the contrary. Perhaps because of everything that had been said to the contrary.

His mind is a fortress. Tell him something is impossible, and he goes out of his way to make it possible, to achieve.

He truly used his mind to overcome his exhaustion and ignore his critics. And, in doing so, he cemented his place in tennis history.

Take the Rotterdam final. He started the first set not playing his best tennis, but came through looking like he still had a shot at the title.

Early in the second set, he got injured. Or, at least, made his injury one hell of a lot worse if it had been there all week.

He took time out, he got treatment. When he came back, he wasn't moving well. Struggling. Yet he still took the second set. "On one leg," as Andy Murray put it afterward.

His pain was obvious. Any other player would have retired. But, as always, Nadal's mental strength must be taken into account with any physical pain.

The man does not enjoy retiring. He has a lot of pride in himself, and that is by no means a bad thing. He likes to finish his matches, he doesn't like to quit, even with very good reason.

He is also too much of a sportsman. He didn't want to deny Andy Murray that victory. Nor did he want to take away from that victory after the match, refusing even to talk about the injury in his interviews.

It's just one more example of the kind of champion that is Rafael Nadal.

And now, there's a lot of talk of the calender slam for Rafa. Can he do it? Most would say not.

But then, I think we've all learned what happens when we tell the man he cannot do something.

Top 10 Ways For Novak Djokovic To Become a Man

Emma — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 13:34:51 -0400

Let me start by saying this: I like Novak Djokovic, I really do.

My only real problem with him lies in his extremely apparent immaturity. So without further ado, my Top 10 ways for him to become a man.

10) Stop the imitations. Yes, they're hilarious—but they do not give you any credibility whatsoever! Not with your fellow players, and not with the fans you tell you want to be No. 1.

9) Don't lash out at crowds—I very much doubt anyone will be forgetting U.S. Open '08 for a while.

8) If your popularity with fans comes largely from your making fun of the other top players—for goodness' sake, if someone dares do the same to you, be a good sport about it! (See No.9)

7) Don't make excuses. If you're not playing well, deal with it. Figure out what you're doing wrong and fix it, rather than saying you've got this injury here, that injury there, and you're struggling with your new racquet.

6) Don't bottle it in front of the "big guys" i.e. Andy Murray, Roger Federer, and Rafa Nadal. Although now, this list also appears to include Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. And as good as Tsonga is, he just doesn't compare to the quality of Rafa, Roger, Andy and Nole—so you shouldn't bottle.

5) Stop quitting. You are in big danger of becoming known for your retirements, rather than your tennis.
"Djokovic is one retirement away from the Retirement Slam."—Patrick McEnroe, pointing out that Novak has now retired in all slams except for one, the U.S. Open.

Please don't let it happen, Nole!

4) Keep your family in check, and don't allow your parents to destroy your reputation. To my knowledge, nothing of the sort has happened recently, but don't let it happen again. Please.

3) Finish a match that you aren't winning every now and then. You play, you lose, you get over it. It's life.

2) Don't bail out in the middle of your first major title defense. Or any major title defense. Or...just any title defense. Actually, scrap that. Just don't bail out.

And...

Drumroll please.....

1) Stop quitting.. Wait...have I mentioned this already? I wonder why.

Rafael Nadal could barely move against Andy Murray in the Rotterdam final, and he finished the match.

During his Austalian Open '09 match against Andy Roddick, Nole complained of heat exhaustion and retired. Forty-five minutes later he says he wants to get back on court.

Well, Djoker—you were on court. I guess it's just a pity you couldn't finish the match. I mean, it must have been real serious, given the supreme length of recovery time you needed. Seriously.

Roger Federer To Be a Dad?!

Emma — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 13:56:50 -0400

I've never been Roger Federer's biggest fan. In fact, I used to dislike him in the extremes—he has made some unsavoury comments about my beloved Rafa in the past, and THAT is generally unforgivable.

This year, however, I granted Roger a new leaf in my tennis book. Or is it a new page? I don't know...

However, regardless of whether he gets a leaf, a page or an entire book to himself, it would appear I was right to grant him so.

He has, in my opinion, done—or at least attempted to do—the one thing which could regain him credit with me. That is, he got a coach—or I should say, appears to be trying to find himself a coach.

And to that I say, about time. I abhor arrogance of any kind, and to say you don't need a coach when there are multiple players against whom you have a losing record...Well, need I say more?

Anyway. Back to the point. I am ill right now. And as I lay on my sickbed, desperately to distract myself from feeling lousy and miserable, I came across an article sent to my email inbox.

Telling me of Roger and Mirka's new cause for celebration (God knows they needed one, after Roger's last few months).

MIRKA IS PREGNANT!! Had I heard the news when I was healthy, I would have been happy for sure—but to hear it when I was really needing something to cheer me up and take my mind off things...Well, this more than did the job. The joy of a new baby...It is an incredible thing.

So, I guess all that is left to say is, congratulations Roger and Mirka! Anyone else hearing wedding bells ringing? There were definitely rumours of outings to ring shops last year...

But anyway, I hope the two of them have a happy life together, with the imminent addition to their family. Once again, congrats!!