Maria Sharapova, Anna Kournikova. Ultimate tennis Hot Babes. Rafael Nadal. Hot Boy Babe. Yes, boys are babes too in this sport that flashes a goodly amount of sun-tanned shapely limbs. I never quite realized this looking at television until I chanced to visit the US Open in 2001 and was amazed by how gorgeous all the players look in their shorts. And we’re talking not even shorter shorts here in the men’s case, just those baggy things. Even so. No one told me this before. Their physicality is quite stunning. I am convinced this is the best kept secret in all of tennis, for some reason.

The tennis player as Hot Babe is not a recent concept. It all goes back to that first Hot Babe in the game, Bjorn Borg, Mr. Iceman Cometh himself. The first time I ever saw Bjorn Borg was around 1972, and he was nowhere near a tennis court. He probably wished he were at the time, it might have offered him some protection. The photo that appeared in the San Francisco newspaper showed the rising young Swedish star lying on the ground, near Wimbledon, being pawed and otherwise manhandled by hordes of screaming British girls, eager to snag some part of him or his clothes as a memento. It looked rough. When did tennis turn into a rugby scrum, I wondered. It was too hard to tell if the kid even looked like he was worth mauling. But I trusted the hormones of those schoolgirls. They were clearly on to something.

His arrival would certainly change the game of tennis and the way it was played. Suddenly everyone discovered topspin, as if we’d never heard the term before. Strong aggressive shots from the baseline became the new order of things. But Mr. Borg brought along a hefty dose of sex appeal too, and this was new.

Not long after his first Wimbledon, Tennis Magazine did a story on Bjorn Borg. Complete with a pin-up photo. Yes, you heard right, it must have been the first full page pin-up photo ever of a tennis player. Bjorn was lying on his side on the grass, he only had shorts on. His grin was a little sheepish, but the effect was charming. Mentally we women were already taking trips to Sweden to see if there were more at home like him.

His physical beauty seemed heightened almost by the fact he was such a cool customer on court. When John McEnroe first saw Borg, at Wimbledon, he recalls thinking, there must be something wrong with the guy. Nothing seemed to faze him on the court. Is he crazy or what? Not only did players have to contend with a powerful forehand shot and a two-handed backhand up the line that became arguably the best backhand shot ever in men’s tennis, they had to face this wall of attitude that no one could budge. Borg was completely imperturbable. Behind those ever so cool blue eyes, he could be planning his next shot, or your death and destruction. It was disarming because you never knew how to go about getting under Borg’s skin.

It seems great tennis players invariably evolve their own personal auras; McEnroe gave us a lot of you’ll-never-know-what-to-expect from him on the court; Federer has this kind of calm happiness about him as he tends to business. Part of their greatness is that each can carve out this kind of mental space around himself and his game. Borg really was all about aura.

This carried over into the style of the man and the way he went about his life. He seemed not to care about the money, preferring to spend his new-found money on a modest Saab instead of a sportier car. “It goes forward,” Borg said, and that was what mattered. It did what it was supposed to do without muss or fuss. In this time of overextended tennis schedules on the tour, Borg was a bit of an anomaly, a man who cherished his winter break from tennis and stretched it often up to four months long. And on one occasion he used the time to build up his upper body by playing ice hockey.

His oddly checkered love life has ebbed and flowed over the years. Your love life of course is the number one thing that goes into defining you as a Tennis Babe. Borg’s first marriage in 1980 to former tennis pro Mariana Simionescu was held on an island in the Baltic. It was probably the wedding of the year, and ended up in the pages of People Magazine. A divorce followed later, then other women came and went. His second marriage was to the Italian singer, Loredana Berte, a woman a good ten years older. This continued a long and noble tradition of Swedes and Italians boffing each other, but the differences were harder than geographical boundaries to transcend. The tabloids recounted the ending of that relationship with Borg in the hospital having his stomach pumped in what sounded like a suicide attempt.

The dust has settled in recent years, the Iceman has found a healthy dose of happiness with his marriage to a fellow Swede and the birth of a daughter.

And as we all know, once the stork visits, your babe days are over. Now you have to mind the real ones.

– – – – – – – –

When Czech player Robin Vik finally succumbed in five sets at the Australian Open this year, his opponent, Aussie star Lleyton Hewitt, could raise his hands in triumph after barely escaping a difficult round. He had spent over three hours on court in his opening match, but the applause from the crowd at Rod Laver Arena seemed rather muted. They were certainly pleased to see one of their own win the match and advance into the second round. They just weren’t so sure if they wanted it to be Lleyton Hewitt.

We know the feeling. Hewitt has always been a tough tinnie to swallow. Maybe it’s due to his style of play, which we could term your basic Street Brawler. If you like seeing lots of fur fly, then you like Hewitt’s playing style. Steady as she goes, from the baseline, a lot of grinding guys down with his ground strokes. Pretty? Well, no, but does he care? It’s a rough and abrasive style of playing, and if we get our way past that, then we have Hewitt’s personality that catches up to us. Also rough and abrasive. It’s not enough that Hewitt wins the match; he seems to need to diminish his opponents as well.

When Hewitt’s antics and verbal “come-awns” got to be a bit much, I started to curse the TV set when he played. I would say to myself, “Remember, Kim Clijsters loves him.” This got me through a good several years of the animated Aussie lad. But then the pair broke up. Even Kim didn’t love him in the end, said I. So now what do we do to get past the Hewitt personality? We want to like this man, there are things to admire about him, but how do we get there?

Unfortunately for Lleyton Hewitt, he emerged into tennis fame as one of the greatest Aussie players, Patrick Rafter, was edging into retirement. Alongside Rafter, probably even a nice guy like Roger Federer would seem just an ordinary bloke. Put Hewitt alongside Rafter and you get a sense of the Aussies’ dilemma. They are day and night. It’s more than just the looks: the smaller, wirier blond Hewitt juxtaposed against the dark, dashing good looks of Rafter is a strong contrast right there. But we remember the graceful athleticism of Rafter, and the fact that he was one of the last of a dying breed, a great serve and volley player. For a long time, Australian tennis was all about guys who played serve and volley. Rafter is a natural continuation of this line. His court manners were always impeccable, and that’s a lot of what we remember of Rafter. Whenever a player tosses his service ball away and has to catch it and start again, I think of Patrick Rafter, and his cordial “sorry mate,” to whoever he was playing against.

No one says such things these days. Certainly not a guy like Hewitt.

He has a lot going for him, though. He possesses the most ferociously competitive spirit in all of tennis by a country mile. His feistiness will never let him abandon a match. Quitting a match like Justine Henin-Hardenne did in the women’s final? Not a chance in hell, baby, that’s pussy stuff. We can almost hear Hewitt saying that. Just as he said after his match at the US Open with Dominic Hrbaty, “I could never lose to a bloke wearing a shirt like that.” The man has his own idea of a standard he will not slip below. Kudos to him for that.

No kudos though for the fact that Hewitt seems to get personal in his matches; he wants to grind his opponents’ games down and then he wants to grind them down. This is what ticks people off about Hewitt, the way he makes things so personal. When you watch Roger Federer beating up guys galore, you see his game as one that offers us something; there is generosity being displayed towards his opponents. You get none of that with Hewitt. He’s had to fight for every point and you the audience should too. Considering how Justine Henin-Hardenne’s lack of generosity played out recently at the Open, you’d think Hewitt would not want to go down that route too. Unfortunately the guy seems headed there.

This contrariness may motivate Hewitt, but it is going to ruin him for the history books. Until he addresses what we shall term his lack of generosity towards his opponents, Hewitt is not going to be well-regarded when he retires from the game. People will feel relieved to see him go, not terribly sorry as we were when Patrick Rafter retired.

Part of me likes to see Hewitt play and win; we like to see “little guys” do well in this sport of increasingly bigger male specimens. He doesn’t have big weapons, he has to put it together and hope it holds with the glue of that combative personality. At times I’ve nearly felt sorry for him on court. He has to work a ton out there just to stay even sometimes. To his credit also, he comes out each year with new things to try and bother a guy like Roger Federer. Adding more pop to his serves, getting more stick on his ground strokes, working on his net game, bulking up a bit more in the gym. The man has a serious work ethic, and when he works, he works very very hard. Roger simply tosses it back to him. Hewitt has to swallow it and try something else next year. This could get under the skin of a guy. It takes a considerable amount of mental fortitude to go back and face the wall you’ve never been able to budge before.

To his credit, Hewitt seems capable of offering genuine congratulations when he loses to his peers. It shows in his face and in his handshake at the net. For the most part. When he loses to Federer, Hewitt is positively cordial. Hewitt does not regard Juan Ignacio Chela as one of his peers, obviously, even though Chela beat Hewitt this year in the second round. Their meeting at the net was bare bones: a spare handshake and a cool look. Considering the history between these two, that was probably effusive.

To his credit too, Hewitt can acknowledge when he’s been whipped good. “This will hurt for a few days,” he said after the loss to Chela. His ranking has slipped to eleventh. To compound his recent woes, he also decided this week not to play Davis Cup for Australia against Switzerland in February. “He has made himself unavailable” is how they put it. It seems Hewitt is still teed off by the Open’s choice of court surface, which is way too slow in Hewitt’s book. The rancor there has spilled over into his Davis Cup participation. It seems Hewitt is going to take a bit of time off to himself.

This is probably a good thing, as the media circus surrounding Hewitt now in Australia is intense and likely to get even more so. “The Brad Pitt of Australia,” chirps one tabloid headline. Well, a small resemblance perhaps. His soap star wife uncannily recalls Angelina Jolie. Who could ask for more? It’s almost akin to what soccer star David Beckham had to endure for some years in England, until he finally got traded away to a country that wouldn’t care quite so dearly for him and his wife.

The Aussies are probably a bit weary of all the publicity too. The crowd’s tepid reaction after the match with Robin Vik is probably due to this fact. We’re all worn out one way or another with Hewitt. Will Lleyton Hewitt ever feel worn out by this publicity onslaught? My sense is that he is going to arrive at this same point too. What will happen to the marriage? A friend of mine says to me the other week, “I give them three years.”

Should tennis players get married? At the height of their careers? And have a kid so soon? This may sound somewhat uncharitable, it is not intended that way, but this is a very difficult row to hoe. As a top-flight athlete, there are some things that have to be put on hold while you gallivant about the globe, following the tournaments, leading a kind of vagabond existence from one strange hotel to an even stranger one. Pete Sampras recognized this years ago when he moved himself to Florida to focus more on his tennis. It was also closer to Europe and a state with friendly tax laws, but the point is he was ready to do whatever it took. Several girlfriends came and went, but never a trip down the aisle until the very end of his career, and certainly no trips to the nursery. You have to maintain your focus on your game, no matter what.

Whether Lleyton Hewitt can keep all these elements together, keep his game on track and continue to develop, remains to be seen. His decision to marry and father a child at such a turning point in his career suggests to me that Hewitt has already given up on trying to overtake Roger Federer. When you’ve played the world’s number one several times in big matches and he’s rung your bell decisively, then perhaps you decide to get on with your private life.

Maybe this is the choice Lleyton Hewitt has made. Privately though, I hope the Aussie in him reasserts itself, and that he fights his way back into the fray of men’s tennis. My hunch is that somewhere inside this brash and often rude young man lurks an Aussie sporting heart. It is going to reassert itself. It is going to want to play the game the way the Aussie greats of yore played it, in attitude if not in actual playing style. Kiss the publicity goodbye then, wave off the hangers-on and get back to the business of grinding out tennis balls. Hewitt is going to reach his fill of this jet-set life.

And then the guys on tour should look out.

– – – – – – –

The Australian Open concluded today with the men’s final, this guy named Federer won the cookie in four sets. But does it really matter what name we affix on that fine-looking piece of silverware? Baghdatis, Federer, Federer, Baghdatis. What really counted was that these two great guys went out and put on a good show, and right when we needed it the most. After the abominable play yesterday of Justine Henin-Hardenne in the women’s final, it would have been horrific if the men had left us with a less than stellar match. We needed cleansing, baby, and today we got cleansed. We won’t have to adjourn with our morose selves to the local pub after all, and drown the sorrows with one slab of tinnies after another. A modest cocktail would do just fine though, thanks. We can savor it as we can look back and savor this match.

In the run-up to the match however, some prognosticators were suggesting it might be a blow-out. That did not happen, although clearly Marcos Baghdatis went away in those last two sets. No one is going to hold that against him, because he went out there and for the first two sets he kept Roger in a tight little box. Think Houdini, clamped in chains, in the box, and into the water went he. The fun became in seeing whether Baghdatis could keep him there. Baghdatis has been his own Houdini figure in this tournament too, having escaped from several near debacles in reaching the final. He simply ran into a master magician today.

Federer has beaten Baghdatis several times in the past year, you would think the guy might have the Cypriot’s number. But a different Baghdatis showed up today from what Federer had seen before. His serve for one thing has really increased in power and speed. His first serves were going in today at ten miles faster than they were a year ago. His confidence too, which allowed him to hang in long rallies with the world’s number one.

It took Federer nearly two full sets to get his game on track. He may have been a little surprised Baghdatis came out firing like he did. The occasion did not phase Marcos at all, he was serving big, he looked relaxed, his shots were sticking, and his backhand down the line gave Roger Federer a taste of his own medicine. When Roger Federer loses, he loses to the guys with great backhands down the line, like Rafael Nadal, Richard Gasquet and David Nalbandian.

Federer piled up 16 errors in the first set alone. And Rod Laver was watching from the stands. Gulp. Was there a Laver factor in this match? Yes, in that Fed clearly wanted to play well in front of one of his idols. No way was Roger going to lose. Maybe Coach Roche could persuade Mr. Laver to attend more Roger matches. The guy could bring a bit of luck.

I love watching this man win. He leaps in delight with the joy of a little kid who’s been locked up in the pastry shop overnight. And he overflows in tearful emotion when he hugs Rod Laver during the trophy presentation. Thanks loads to ESPN2 for not even bothering to show the ceremony. They also knocked several games off the third set. It took me a bit to realize they’d flash forwarded, but at first you think your mind is going. It may be, this tournament was long and exhausting to cover. Then they changed the match time. It was scheduled for 12 noon pacific time, but for some reason it got moved up to 9 a.m. I just happened onto it as I was trolling the airways. Thanks guys.

After the first two sets were split, 5-7 Baghdatis, then 7-5 to Federer, you could feel it coming. “The sleeper hold” as Brad Gilbert termed it. Roger started to build confidence, he started coming forward more. Errors crept into the Baghdatis game. Then the ESPN2 guys spin us forward to 5-0. A crucial but correct overrule at the end of the third set goes against Baghdatis. He loses it 6-0, but that call seems to nearly gut the poor man completely.

In the fourth set, Baghdatis has flashes of energy, but Roger keeps shutting the door on him. Marcos begins cramping in one calf and we can see the writing on the wall now. Roger is feeling good enough that he starts in with those drop shots, three of them in one game. It’s like “fooling around,” says Federer. He maintains he doesn’t like to use them all that much because of that. Guy, it’s OK. Come on over and we’ll fool around, we want to tell the man.

Roger breaks Baghdatis to win the final set, 6-2. But no one really lost today in the big view of things. We got the clean taste we were hoping for.

This was an interesting Grand Slam to cover, lots of stuff happened. We saw the arrival of a spectacular new talent, Marcos Baghdatis. A whole new chapter starts for him.

We saw Martina Hingis, losing finally in her dramatic run but really a big winner overall in the singles just by her being here and playing well. A whole new chapter begins for her. Today she notched up a mixed doubles, so welcome to the Dollhouse, baby face.

Tommy Haas will hopefully go on to a great resurgent year. He showed us some good stuff here. His countryman Nicolas Kiefer did too, but unfortunately he had to remind us of what a pain in the ass he really is as well.

And Justine Henin-Hardenne. Should we hope that she might show some sort of contrition in the days ahead? Don’t hold your breath, she never acknowledged what happened with Serena Williams at Roland Garros two years ago. Why start now?

Hey, let’s all give little Justine a leg up as she attempts a recovery from her…ah…stomach whatever. Can someone find her address at home in Belgium? Because I think we should all buy her lots and lots of Tums. And send them to her with all dispatch. God forbid she should be caught Tum-less in future events.

We could at least tie up the mail carriers in Belgium for a month or two.

– – – – – – –

No, those aren’t flames we’re seeing from the summer wild fires that often plague Australia at this time of year. They’re flames of wrath and rebuke, aimed this morning at Justine Henin-Hardenne for her dismal performance last night in the Australian Open Women’s Final. She’s getting it up one side of Australia and down the other, probably in a lot of other places too. Wherever people still love and follow tennis. And deservedly so. Last night was one of the more shocking incidents to occur in a while in a major final. And sickening.

For those of you recently returned from living in a yurt in outer Mongolia, here’s what happened. The women’s final was in the second set. Amelie Mauresmo had won the first with a powerful display of shot making and steady serving. She outplayed Justine Henin-Hardenne every which way, and every sign indicated there was plenty more to come. Henin-Hardenne was on her way to becoming the proverbial deer in the headlights.

Why, it’s enough to make a girl sick right there. Amazingly, that’s what happened. Justine summoned the trainer AND the doctor when she was trailing 2-0. Gee, this must be serious. Both of them are out there. This must be major major. But they didn’t ice her, they didn’t wrap her. Not even a Tums changed hands. And that’s all it took. A Tums. Justine claimed she had an upset stomach. No way could she continue.

The crowd was stunned. Amelie looked perplexed. She should have felt victorious, but instead it was rudely snatched away from her. We all felt, along with Mauresmo, that we had collectively been kicked in the stomach. So call the trainer for us, for God’s sake.

Mauresmo, concerned and gracious as always, walked over to console Henin-Hardenne, who sat there toweling herself. It was nasty to see how HH didn’t even seem interested in acknowledging her, or even making eye contact.

Does this woman have manners or what?

The guys and girls in the commentary booths landed on HH en masse. Brad Gilbert: “I feel robbed.”
Mary Carillo: “Such a sullen way to end it.”

Suddenly, Nicolas Kiefer is starting to look like one of the Good Guys. Eecch, what a mouse!

The internet is humming today with a steady wave of criticism. People from Belgium are chiming in, remembering how Henin-Hardenne has shown herself even at home to be less than charming on many occasions.

There is talk about a fine being levied, why not think about yanking that rather large purse Justine received, of around $600,000, for basically not even throwing up on court. Take that money and refund the people who paid over a hundred bucks easily to see this can of worms. In Italy the fans would probably have rioted by now.

Too bad the Baghdatis contingent wasn’t there, they could have given a massive raspberry to HH. They’ve been witness to one of the most amazing male runs ever at this year’s Open by Marcos Baghdatis of Cyprus. This guy has summoned up every resource he has, and we presume all those within fifty miles of him. He’s fought his way back from everything. Would he cave for a prissy stomach? Hell, a broken leg probably wouldn’t stop him. Henin-Hardenne’s big dive makes her appear pretty despicable alongside his fighting spirit.

Other unfortunate comparisons spring to mind. Of Pete Sampras hurling his stomach contents in the ’96 US Open, and going on to win the match. Of Andre Agassi getting whipped by Jarkko Nieminen in a match last year, but not caving and hanging on to let his opponent win fairly and squarely. Justine Henin-Hardenne refused to give Amelie Mauresmo that chance.

Already the chorus is adding this refrain to the fray: why should women get equal prize money when clinkers like this occur? Why should they indeed. Thanks, Justine, for such a lovely ripple effect you’ve created.

Well, now that some of this bile is out of our systems, let’s talk about what was great in this match. Amelie was great. Amelie delivered, and the luster of her achievement will not be diminished by the stupidity of HH. Of course she was lucky, I said that in the earlier column. But she was ready to seize upon her good fortune and make the match hers.

She played the match perfectly, and followed some advice Brad Gilbert suggested at the start: Keep the ball high around Justine’s shoulders, throw her off and force her to take risks, then get ready for the backhand up the line when she saw her chances. Amelie worked this perfectly in the first set.

The rallies were long, deep and suspenseful, Amelie gave every sign of being very steady and consistent today. Justine was too, so it looked like a great match was shaping up. But then Justine seemed to grow antsy or impatient that she couldn’t dominate Mauresmo, and she started to pull the trigger a bit early on her shots. Balls started to fly, along with the score. Justine meekly netted a forehand service return and the first set was gone, 6-1.

Surely everyone expected Justine to fight her way back, as she has done many times in matches. But the Mauresmo power train continued, she was up 2-0 when Henin-Hardenne saw the writing on the wall and called for the medical time-out. She attempted to play the next two points, then called it quits.

It looked for all the world like Justine saw a bagel in her future, and she wasn’t going to let herself go there. So what if you deprive a worthy opponent of her finest moment ever in a tournament? It’s Justine against the world, that’s all that matters. It pretty much become her personal mantra in the press conference following the match. I have to think about myself, she kept saying.

Good for you, honey, it’s good you care about something in this world. Your victories in future – and yes, we know you’ll have them – will be looked at in a new light now. Your entire position within the tennis community is going to be looked at from now on in a new light.

You’re the Richard Nixon of the tennis world right now, lucky little girl. Yes yes, we know all about how you’ve had a tough life, but now I feel sorry for you for a new reason. Because we see now how it has made you parched and constricted and a far from gracious person. And worst of all, it has stripped your game of whatever generosity it may have had.

We’re onto you, babyface.

Go Amelie, this year will be your oyster.

– – – – – – –

We’re cooking down in Melbourne at the Australian Open now, on and off the court. The heat continued into last night, when the women duked it out in a wonderfully entertaining pair of semifinal matches. Thank them for restoring some semblance of order to the draw. At least the women’s draw. After nearly two weeks, the top women’s seeds all made it to the quarters, with the exception of Mary Pierce. The Number Five seed was replaced in the draw by Martina Hingis, and although she was unseeded we certainly know all about her; she’s no unknown from Pachooch. The women delivered.

The only blight on the evening occurred when Kim Clijsters rolled over on her ankle, spraining it badly enough that she could not continue, even with a tape job and after testing it with one further point. It is ironic that it was Clijsters who most severely injured herself on this surface, an odd mix of pulverized tires that heats up in warm weather and causes shoes to stick to it. Players have complained about this surface from Day One. The Australian Open is consistently regarded by players as their favorite Grand Slam event, but this court surface leaves something to be desired. The organizers of the event wouldn’t consider changing it for Lleyton Hewitt, they probably won’t for Kim Clijsters either.

They still regard Clijsters as one of their own. “Aussie Kim,” they call her, despite the end of her engagement to Lleyton Hewitt last year. So it is unfortunate that one of their favorites has gone down because of this surface. Is it really worth keeping just so you can say it’s a unique surface for a Grand Slam event? Is it cheaper, or what? They wanted something different from clay but not as fast as grass or hard courts, so they came up with…..tires. Hhhmm. If I were Clijsters I would feel a little bent out of shape by that. She was in a tough match that well could have turned her way in that third set. Now we’ll never know.

Apart from this unfortunate occurrence, we can say that the women acquitted themselves very very well. Almost brilliantly, in fact, if you compare them with some of the matches leading into the semis. Petrova-Sharapova in particular was an abominable match to watch, by all accounts.

But last night the women played their hearts out. Justine Henin-Hardenne, the Number Eight seed, defeated Number Four Maria Sharapova in three sets. This was just a great women’s match, featuring the best offensive and the best defensive players in the game today. Sharapova was pummelling winners and rocketing huge forehands at Henin-Hardenne throughout the match. She looked rather awesome at just the right time, having looked rather “scratchy” as Mary Carillo put it in her earlier matches. This is a woman with a lot of pride in her game, and the ability to pull herself up in a match and aggressively fight her way back in when she’s down. Does anyone else in the women’s game seem to love being down as much as Sharapova? She needs a target for all that aggression.

Justine put on an awesome display of aggressive defense, running furiously from side to side after Maria’s missiles, retrieving shot after shot, always looking for chances herself to seize the advantage and come forward. Justine had her hands full from the outset. Some would say before the outset, since the Powers That Be turned an outdoor match into an indoor one by closing the roof when the heat inched over 96 degrees. This favored Sharapova, she had more trouble with the windy conditions and the heat in her previous matches. Justine was salivating at the prospect of playing in them. Score one for Sharapova on the roof factor. Some key line calls were muffed in Justine’s favor, however, and they most likely turned the match. ShotSpot is on its way, or whatever they want to call it. Not soon enough, for some of us.

Unfortunately, Sharapova could make the big shots only intermittently. The second game of the first set was a mini view into the match as a whole. Justine held, but with difficulty. She showed a lot of creativity in her defense, but Sharapova had too much power to overcome in the first set. You felt like it was just a matter of time before Maria dialed in her game and ran away with the match. But Justine promised aggression and in the second set she delivered, attacking Maria’s second serve to great effect, and coming out ahead more often than not in the long, intense rallies. She stepped it up as Maria slipped down a notch. Second set to Justine, 6-1.

The third set saw Sharapova struggling with fatigue, and Henin-Hardenne fighting to hold the momentum on her side. You could almost say that, at 2-2 with Justine serving, it felt like a match game. After a long struggle, Justine held serve. Sharapova had her moments, but she had worn herself out. The match concluded with Justine’s trademark shot, a clean backhand down the line that broke Sharapova’s serve and gave her the match, 4-6, 6-1, 6-4.

Number Three seed Amelie Mauresmo took on Number Two Kim Clijsters in the second women’s semifinal match. Clijsters’ physical condition has been in question since before the tournament started. She nearly did not show up, feeling her body was not fully ready to take two weeks of matches after her spate of injuries over the year.

Her body held up though, until the episode with the ankle occurred at 2-3 in the third set. More questionable was what occurred at the start of the second set, after Clijsters won the first, 7-5. What goes on in Kim Clijsters’ mind after she’s won a first set, and starts on the second? Whatever it is, it’s happened before, like in the second set in her match against Martina Hingis. She appears to go on a mental walkabout. Did something happen inside her to tweak what should have been a happy response to winning the first set? Does she feel a twinge of pity perhaps for the beating she’s usually giving her opponents? Questions have lingered about Kim being “too nice” to really win a lot of majors, so it should be raised again here.

“I felt empty out there,” said Clijsters when asked about this after the match. Suddenly she seemed to lose her power supply. An odd comment given how she started the match vigorously, perhaps she took a bit of grief for her hesitant play against Martina Hingis and resolved to play tougher against Amelie from the start.

In the second set, Amelie broke in the opening game, then struggled for her own serve. She got an insurance break on a poor game from Clijsters, who sprayed several shots. Amelie broke another time in the set and then served it out. 6-1, Mauresmo.

The third set did not improve for Clijsters. I realize now the moment when she signalled she was going to lose. She tossed her racquet. Not once. But twice. When have we ever known Kim Clijsters to do this? She knew at that point she was going to lose and there was no way around it. She was already down a break. The outburst seemed to focus her, she counter-attacked, and broke back herself. Suddenly another momentum shift took place. Numerous shifts took place throughout, adding nice little flecks of color to what was a very satisfying women’s match to watch.

How often do we get to say that about women’s matches? I know Mauresmo probably feels a bit neutralized emotionally because of the injury to Clijsters, but let’s hope she can easily accept that luck from whatever source is also a valuable tool for her repertoire. I think Amelie is going to win this tournament. I’m in league with Brad Gilbert here. It’s almost like the universe is looking down on Amelie and realizing now she may be needing a little nudge, so they start tossing the odd bit of luck her way. And you need luck to win a Grand Slam. Along with good health and good shotmaking.

Amelie did not have to test her nerves in a final moment against Clijsters. Will that prove a blessing or a hindrance? I say blessing. Perhaps that will free her up a bit inside, so she can go out and play the really brilliant match we’ve been waiting for from this woman. Her fluid and powerful game is lovely to watch. Clijsters is fun to watch too, but in a different way. Her forehand is a spectacularly blistering shot. But Clijsters is into grinding out matches too much, I like Amelie’s style of play better. She’s the artiste.

Allez, Amelie.

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