Post by Xtina on Feb 2, 2005 15:30:14 GMT 3
Dunno if you guys have already seen and read all there is to read bout Marat's win at the AO, but I just found an article bout the match which I thought was really well written. Take note of the second sentence 
Safin a spoilsport but a good sport
By Emma Quayle
Marat Safin has charm, and he knows how to use it. Never one to snub a blonde, the Russian smiled invitingly at Olivia Newton-John after the singer tossed the coin at the start of last night's final and insisted that she stand between he and Lleyton Hewitt and pose for a pre-match photograph.
Having watched a Hewitt forehand fly wide and raised his hands in almost subdued celebration of his second grand slam title, Safin then used the first part of his thank-you speech to praise his opponent's support crew, before thinking to speak of his own.
Striding onto centre court almost three hours earlier, Safin's head had been filled with two simple, if entirely opposite, strategies. To beat the local hope, he needed to be patient; equally, when opportunity arrived, he had to play with risk.
That happened. There was a confidence and calm in Safin's banishing of his Australian Open demons, like he really did know that this was how it would happen for him. He started slowly, he got a little bit better, he got lots better, and then he got to hold up a big trophy.
But this win was not as simple as it might have been. Runner-up in Melbourne twice before, and with those losses running like repeats through his mind, Safin made a tired and nervous, almost shy start.
From the first ball, he was sluggish, almost a half-second behind Hewitt, as if playing on delay. "I thought the first set wasn't really tennis," Safin said later, and he was right. Often, the ball reached his racquet before he had seemed to see it coming, and he could not even run or hit himself into rhythm.
Rallies ran, but the longer they went, the more inevitable it was that Safin would smack a forehand long, or roll a half-paced backhand into the bottom half of the net. The first three games were gone in nine minutes, although Safin found time to make at least five big mistakes; the opening set lasted only 14 more minutes and was lost 6-1.
This was not something the Hewitt camp seemed keen to celebrate, though, and with reason, because while things started to turn for Safin almost before he seemed ready for it, the swing gained quick speed once he saw it, and he had climbed aboard.
It was as if Safin started to make moments his, rather than wait for the match to happen. Having raced to a 40-0 lead at the start of the second set, he looked grateful that life was finally letting him breathe easy. Then Hewitt made him scramble some more. Then he pushed another easy shot wide.
Back at deuce, Safin's match might have been lost here. Instead, he found a way out, broke Hewitt in the next game and, before he had completely found range or got his legs moving like they should, served the set out and levelled things.
Safin next let Hewitt get away to a three-game lead at the start of the third set, but it was when he was trailing that the Russian began to play like a leader, to take the risks he had promised to and to guide points rather than just tag along.
The first serves fell in, more regularly and much faster. Safin's eyes opened wider, and his legs woke up with them. The forehands began to fall in, the backhands tore over the net instead of into it, and having come back to standard size, Safin's court shrunk even smaller, and turned into his toy.
This time, Safin had worked it out. Mind you, half an hour after the match he still felt he would somehow lose it. "It is really difficult to believe this," Safin said.
Safin a spoilsport but a good sport
By Emma Quayle
Marat Safin has charm, and he knows how to use it. Never one to snub a blonde, the Russian smiled invitingly at Olivia Newton-John after the singer tossed the coin at the start of last night's final and insisted that she stand between he and Lleyton Hewitt and pose for a pre-match photograph.
Having watched a Hewitt forehand fly wide and raised his hands in almost subdued celebration of his second grand slam title, Safin then used the first part of his thank-you speech to praise his opponent's support crew, before thinking to speak of his own.
Striding onto centre court almost three hours earlier, Safin's head had been filled with two simple, if entirely opposite, strategies. To beat the local hope, he needed to be patient; equally, when opportunity arrived, he had to play with risk.
That happened. There was a confidence and calm in Safin's banishing of his Australian Open demons, like he really did know that this was how it would happen for him. He started slowly, he got a little bit better, he got lots better, and then he got to hold up a big trophy.
But this win was not as simple as it might have been. Runner-up in Melbourne twice before, and with those losses running like repeats through his mind, Safin made a tired and nervous, almost shy start.
From the first ball, he was sluggish, almost a half-second behind Hewitt, as if playing on delay. "I thought the first set wasn't really tennis," Safin said later, and he was right. Often, the ball reached his racquet before he had seemed to see it coming, and he could not even run or hit himself into rhythm.
Rallies ran, but the longer they went, the more inevitable it was that Safin would smack a forehand long, or roll a half-paced backhand into the bottom half of the net. The first three games were gone in nine minutes, although Safin found time to make at least five big mistakes; the opening set lasted only 14 more minutes and was lost 6-1.
This was not something the Hewitt camp seemed keen to celebrate, though, and with reason, because while things started to turn for Safin almost before he seemed ready for it, the swing gained quick speed once he saw it, and he had climbed aboard.
It was as if Safin started to make moments his, rather than wait for the match to happen. Having raced to a 40-0 lead at the start of the second set, he looked grateful that life was finally letting him breathe easy. Then Hewitt made him scramble some more. Then he pushed another easy shot wide.
Back at deuce, Safin's match might have been lost here. Instead, he found a way out, broke Hewitt in the next game and, before he had completely found range or got his legs moving like they should, served the set out and levelled things.
Safin next let Hewitt get away to a three-game lead at the start of the third set, but it was when he was trailing that the Russian began to play like a leader, to take the risks he had promised to and to guide points rather than just tag along.
The first serves fell in, more regularly and much faster. Safin's eyes opened wider, and his legs woke up with them. The forehands began to fall in, the backhands tore over the net instead of into it, and having come back to standard size, Safin's court shrunk even smaller, and turned into his toy.
This time, Safin had worked it out. Mind you, half an hour after the match he still felt he would somehow lose it. "It is really difficult to believe this," Safin said.