Double Fault at Roland Garros

by Jim Plautz

Pete felt like a Roman Gladiator, or a sacrificial lamb, he wasn’t sure. He was a bundle of nerves as he walked out of the locker room into the new Suzanne Lenglen stadium. The forecast was for temperatures to stay in the low 60s and the court would play slow. The domed roof was open, and clouds covered the morning sun, but Pete was sweating. He had dreamed the stands would be full and was disappointed that the stands were still half empty, as fans arrived late for the 11 AM match. No matter, he was about to play his first grand slam tournament against Andre Agassi, the best American clay court player of all time. He saw the cameras and realized his match would be televised worldwide to over 60 countries. What pressure?

  Pete dropped his tennis bag next to his chair and took a moment to focus on the task at hand. Agassi wouldn’t give him the opportunity to play his way into the match. He had a well-deserved reputation as a great front-runner, once he got out in front he could steamroll his opponent. There would be no room for nerves once the match started. He needed to get off to a fast start.

  Mary and I watched Pete from the friends-of-players box and couldn’t help notice the little signs that told us he was nervous. “He better stop looking around and start concentrating or this will be a quick match,” Mary commented. I could tell that she was nervous too. I know I was.

  “He’ll be okay,” I said, more from hope than conviction. “Didn’t we tell him to enjoy the moment?” Last night we took Pete and Lisa to dinner and spent a couple hours pretending that today was just another match. “Just play your own game, Pete. Move him side to side and get to the net whenever you can. Don’t let him dictate play.” Mary was doing her best to keep Pete focused on his game plan and not think about the magnitude of the event. In retrospect, we were probably making Pete more nervous by talking about it. I’m sure he wished we would give it a rest.

  Lisa did everything she could to pump him up. “All the pressure is on him, Pete. You have nothing to lose. Just go out there and kick the old guy’s butt. Anybody that walks like a penguin can’t be that tough, can they?” Even Pete laughed at Lisa’s irreverence.

  Ambre called while we were having dessert and wished him luck. “Just play your own game, Pete. Your nerves will settle down after a couple points.” This was her third French Open and knew the pressure Pete was feeling. “Remember, I’ll be there for you, cheering you on.”

  Pete had never met Agassi until they were introduced in the locker room a few minutes before the match. Agassi was polite, but all business. He had been receiving a back massage from his personal trainer and looked a little stiff, but who knows; maybe that’s how he always looks before a match. Pete watched Agassi walk to the baseline and smiled to himself as he thought back to Lisa’s comment.

  Pete won the toss and elected to serve and won the first game easily thanks to three unforced errors from Agassi. The errors continued and Pete quickly found himself up 4-1 and went on to win the first set 6-3. He was playing good tennis but knew that Agassi was making an uncharacteristic number of errors. He still looked a little stiff.

  Agassi turned it around in the 2nd set and began moving the ball around. Pete felt he was on a string, being jerked side to side. Agassi’s famed service return made an appearance as he jumped on Pete’s second serve for an up-the-line winner to close out the set, 6-1.

  Pete felt good physically, but knew he had to change the pace of the match. He was hitting too many short balls and was letting Agassi stand at the baseline and dictate play with his punishing groundstrokes. The third set was even at 2-2 when Pete got a short ball to his backhand and responded with a one handed, sliced drop shot. Agassi was caught completely off guard and never made a move for the ball. Pete used the drop shot four more times that set and won all but one point. Twice Agassi reached the ball and bunted it deep to Pete’s forehand, only to watch a topspin lob go over his head. It was a tactic that might work.

  Pete broke Agassi at five games all and was serving for the set at 6-5 when the nerves caught up to him. He realized that he was about to go up two sets to one against the greatest American tennis player of our time. The stands were filling up and getting behind Agassi. Pete opened the game with a double fault and followed this inauspicious start with two unforced errors. An Agassi winner evened the set at six all and forced a tiebreaker. Pete’s nerves got worse and Agassi made quick work of him in the tiebreaker; 7-1.

  Pete was down a set and the momentum was with Agassi. Pete knew he had to turn his game around quickly or he would get steamrolled in the fourth. Smartly, Pete asked the chair umpire permission to go to the locker. WTF rules allowed ten minutes to go to the bathroom and change clothes. An official accompanied him to make sure he would not receive any coaching which is illegal in professional tennis events. Interestingly, coaching is allowed in college tennis because of the team concept.

  Tennis players seldom need a bathroom break because of the amount of sweating they did. The trick was to drink enough fluids to stay hydrated. Pete was just trying to calm down and change the momentum of the match. He used the time to change into dry clothes and, surprisingly, found a note taped to the inside of his locker. Stay calm and move him side to side. His back is hurting. Pete smiled as he wondered how Ambre managed to get into the men’s locker room

  Pete started serving the 4th set and it was soon apparent that the break had not done Agassi any good. His movement was limited and it did appear that his back was bothering him. The weather was still chilly and the courts were slow, conditions not conducive to working through a tight muscle or a bad back. Pete broke Agassi at love and jumped out to a 3-0 lead. By then it was clear to everyone that Agassi was hurt and he was just playing out the string. Thirty minutes later it was over and Pete had advanced to the 2nd round of the French Open by upsetting the great Andre Agassi; 6-3, 1-6, 6-7(1), 6-0, 6-0.

  Pete should have been ecstatic, but this wasn’t the way he wanted to win. He settled for a small fist pump before walking to the net to shake Agassi’s hand. It was the second consecutive year that Agassi had lost in the first round at Roland Garros and the crowd sensed that this might be the last time they would see him here in Paris. It was not the way a former champion should depart. They gave Agassi a huge ovation as he walked off the court together.

  Pete looked over at us in the friends’ box and waved. Mary and I were only slightly more proud than Lisa and Gregg. Like Gregg said, beating an injured player is a lot better than losing to an injured player. A win is a win. I turned to Lisa, “tomorrow it’s your turn.”

  There was cause for celebration. It had been a close call, but the first day of the French Open had gone smoothly. There were some delays due to false alarms from the sensor equipment, but this was to be expected. Everyone associated with the construction project needed to relax and let off steam. “Mary, where would you like to celebrate? Hunt and Clark invited us to a party for their management teams and Chris invited us to a party for the security people and counter terrorism group. She warned me that party might get a little rowdy. What do you prefer?”

  “Jim, I am so emotionally drained, there is no way I would be any fun at a big party. Do you realize how close we were to getting killed? You go if you like, but I vote for a private dinner with just the two of us and the kids if they are interested.”

  “Somehow I knew you would want a more quiet evening. I have 8 PM reservations for six at the Stella Maris on rue Arsene.

  “Six? Pete, Lisa and who else?” Mary hoped that Pete had not invited Ambre. That would not have gone over well with Lisa.

  “Ken and Chris asked if they could join us.”

  “That’s fine, Jim, but if reservations are at 8 PM I had better start getting ready.”

  Stella Maris featured French cuisine prepared by a Japanese chef, Taderu Yoshino. Located near the Arc de Triomphe. This upscale, Art Deco style restaurant caters to the wealthy French and tourists on expense accounts. The chef rewrites his menu four times a year and always includes hints of Japan in dishes made with organic ingredients, s
uch as eel blanquette (stew) with grilled cucumber, salmon prepared four ways (in salt, marinated with dill, smoked, and panfried), and a unique take on the French classic tête de veau, with a spice and turtle jus.

  “Well, what do you think?” I asked as we were waiting for the waiter to bring our wine. It was just the four of us. Pete and Lisa had begged off at the last minute. Pete decided a night out celebrating with a few of the other players would be more fun than dinner with his parents. I figured somehow Ambre entered into his plans. Lisa had a noon match the next day and wanted to get to bed early.

  “I love it,” Mary replied looking around at the other diners, seemingly split about 50-50 between tourists and French. The food must be pretty good if the locals keep coming back.”

  “At these prices, it better be more than good,” Chris murmured, wondering how her expense account would look to government auditors.

  “By the way, are you buying?” Ken asked. “I was thinking of ordering off the chef’s special of the day. Let me see. 110 Euros is about $140. If you’re not, I might have to settle for the tasting menu, that’s only 75 Euros.”

  Ken was kidding, but I wasn’t. “You order what you want,” I replied looking at Chris. “We owe Chris a lot more than an expensive dinner.”

  Chris blushed as we raised our water glasses and toasted her. “Here-here,” I said as we clinked glasses. Chris was smiling but I could see her eyes focus on a second waiter who brought us pastries. Her hand eased to her side within easy reach of her purse, which I noticed was open. I now realized why Ken had sat her in the corner chair that offered the best view of the room. We were celebrating, but Chris was on the job.

  Coincidentally, Mary chose this moment to ask why Chris had not joined her co-workers tonight. “I heard the French police rented a river boat to celebrate. You would have been the queen of the party.”

  “I’d rather spend the evening with friends. Besides, the tasting menu is looking pretty good,” she added trying to change the subject.

  I wouldn’t let her. “You’re not convinced it’s over, are you?” I asked softly.

  Chris hesitated before answering. “I would like to think so, Jim, but I have this feeling in my stomach that Agbu is still out there and will try again. I hope I’m wrong. The French police thought there were four people in the vehicle they chased, but only three bodies had been recovered from the wreckage, two in the back seat.”

  Mary sat back and looked at Chris. “You mean that you’re working tonight. This isn’t a celebration?”

  “I meant it when I said I would rather have dinner with my friends. It won’t hurt anything if I just keep an eye out for trouble, will it?”

  “We are pretty lucky to have friends like you,” Mary said, putting her hand on Chris’ arm. “Thank you.”

  “I guess that means there is more wine for the three of us,” Ken said as the waiter brought a bottle of 1998 French Chablis.

  The rest of Day 1 on the men’s side of the draw went pretty much according to form. All the top seeds got through. Carlos was on the opposite side of the draw and was not scheduled to play until tomorrow.

  Ambre was seeded #3 and appeared to be in top form as she beat a young Japanese girl, 6-1, 6-0. Davenport, the highest-ranking American in the draw, had a tough, three-set match but got through to the second round.

 

  Day 2 (Tuesday)

  Lisa vs Myskina