Tuesday, May 11, 2004 Italian Open 2004 Moya is a Good-Time Charlie, Ruling Rome. Taking Giant Spanish Steps Amid the Pines. For the last 32 years the arrival of May has meant the pines of Rome to me, and reminds me how much I’ve missed them. Of course Oterino Respighi’s beautiful composition, “The Pines of Rome,” is music to anybody’s ears, evoking the majestic old trees that are principal figures on the ancient scene. To me, the delicate green balloons atop slender trunks that appeal most are those decorating Il Foro Italico, the distinctive tennis parlor built by the dictator Mussolini 70 years ago. Marching down Monte Mario, the backdrop of the Italian Open, they lean against the stadium, Campo Centrale, seeming to press closer for a better view. Another group encircles the sunken, terraced outside courts, wearing roses as garlands. Still others gaze at the towering statues of athletes ringing the secondary court, the Pallacorda. A handsome marble ampitheatre, it was the original showplace until more seats were needed and the wooden stadium, resembling a Viking ship, was added. All in all the setting and the joyful crowds make the Foro my favorite place to watch tennis. Usually the weather of “sunny Italy,” as 19th century wintertime tourists, mostly English, raved, is comforting. Not this cool, rainy year. Though the plumbing goes haywire maybe once a decade (1995 was the last such), it can’t diminish the magnetism of Rome. Perhaps the foremost male names – Roger Federer, Andy Roddick, Lleyton Hewitt – wouldn’t agree. They were outa here faster than Julius Caesar muttered, “Et tu, Brutus!” Cut down by Albert Costa, Guillermo Canas and Andrei Pavel respectively, only Federer and Hewitt made it as far as the second round. Nevertheless, Roddick, the “Meteor Man,” distinguished himself more than even winning the U.S. Open. His was an unflinching role as a rescuer, possibly life-saving, in the tragic fire at a players hotel, the Parco delle Principi, three nights before the tournament began, Three hotel guests died in the 5 AM blaze. “Adrenaline took over,” said Roddick about his terrific fielding. Awaking, he smelled smoke. Finding the hallway outside his 6th floor room clogged with fumes and smoke, he retreated to the balcony. Above on the 7th floor balcony, too high for firemen’s ladders to reach, were Dutch Davis Cupper Sjeng Schalken, his wife and five other transients. Roddick told them to jump to him, and “I sort of caught them.” It was an act worthy of a Golden Glove if there were such an award in tennis. The firemen then took over. Vinny Spadea, the longest standing American, losing in the quarter-finals to David Nalbandian, felt, “that experience could have traumatized Andy for a while and may explain why he played so badly in the first round.” [Roddick, however, is not copping a plea.] “I got lucky. I was booked into that hotel, but I screwed up my plane reservation. I arrived after the fire and stayed somewhere else.” The 74-year-old Italian Open, a two-week event, the women occupying the second, has had its ups and downs, and recent financial failings. It seems to be making a comeback, while regaining stature as a clay court conclave second to the French Open that begins May 24. Cino Marchese, an astute local observer, and longtime presence in tennis, reminds us adamantly, reassuringly: “Rome is Rome! This is the tournament of the Eternal City, and it will be eternal despite sometimes questionable management.” Marc Antony couldn’t have said it better. Charlie Moya, taking giant Spanish steps as impressive to tennis buffs as the concrete stairway called the Spanish Steps is to sightseers, made himself a favorite for the upcoming French title that he won in 1998. “Rome is one of my favorites, but strangely I’d never played well in eight years here,” says Moya, only once making it to the quarter-finals. But he was devastating, losing but one set on the way to blasting Nalbandian in the final, 6-3, 6-3, 6-1. That one set, in the third round, 6-4, 3-6, 6-4 – “a very hard match for me because of his serve” said Charlie – went to an unlikely character, the “Leaning Tower of Zagreb,” 6-foot-10 Ivo Karlovic, ranked No. 70. As the game’s loftiest, Karlovic scored an all-time upset as a qualifier, No. 203, by knocking out defending champion Hewitt in Wimbledon’s first round last year. Not much was expected of him on sluggish clay, but it didn’t de-fuse his huge serve: 50 aces in three matches, 43 serving games. Moya said, “When I won that and had to play a second match that same day [because of rain delays, a win over Pavel]. my confidence really went up.” Hearts leap whenever Charlie hits deep into the corners. Baring his biceps, he had the females in the final round audience of 7300, nearly filling the house, sighing and shrieking. “Charlie is so hot – and he can play, too,” enthused Brye Leary, a fan from San Francisco. Sitting next to her, compatriot Andrea Runge, agreed. “Yeah, he’s the only guy who belongs in those sleeveless shirts. They were made for him.” Moya, 6-3, 190 pounds, also bared an arsenal much broader than he displayed while winning the French as a 21-year-old. His powerful yet varied shotmaking over an hour-and-three-quarter span made the young Argentine, Nalbandian, feel bare and defenseless on the other side of the net as Charlie won going away. This was the second-most important of his 15 singles titles. As the sixth Spaniard to be crowned in Rome, Moya immediately succeeded the fifth, Felix Mantilla of a year ago. Nalbandian, who “prefers grass, hard courts and indoors” to his native clay, will be remembered as Wimbledon finalist to Hewitt, 2002, and U.S. Open semifinalist (holding a match point) to Roddick last September. He had hoped to be the first Argentine champ on this tawny earth since Alberto Mancini beat Andre Agassi in 1989. But as he put it so aptly, “Charlie had all his lights on” – and David was caught in the glare. This time around, the Foro beheld a mixmaster in Moya. His lusty forehand (17 winners) had differing trajectories – crosscourt, inside out, down the left line – spins and speeds, frequently punishing Nalbandian’s second serve. A lifelong baseliner, he didn’t hesitate to rush the net at opportune times, scoring with volleys. Deftly he produced points on all 7 drop shots. His varying backhand slice added to the pot. “I’m adapting now, looking for openings to attack. I’m not the same player that won the French. I’m playing with much confidence.” Serving for the opening set at 5-3, he knocked away a break point with a forehand. Then he took it to set point for himself with the heaviest serve of his life, a 130 MPH ace, closing on a forehand approach and volley. He broke Nalbandian with a drop shot winner to start the second set. A 7 game surge, lifting him to 5-0 in the third, was punctuated by a sensational “wicketing” that brought down the house. “It just happened, I don’t know how,” Charlie laughed. “The ball was coming at me. I didn’t have a chance to play a regular shot, so I swung behind my back, and...” Spinning and off balance during a furious exchange, Charlie pulled a seldom seen “wicket” shot out of his tennis bag. Nalbandian had struck the ball directly at Moya, appearing to freeze the Spaniard and end the point. But Charlie whippped his racket behind his back and half-volleyed the ball as it was zipping between his wicketed legs. Although the folks in the seats were gushing, and Nalbandian was thinking, “The way he’s playing he can do anything, even hit it with his hand”– the point wasn’t yet finished. Nalbandian responded by poking a lob over Moya’s head, another seeming winner. An extraordinary vertical leap was called for, and Charlie delivered it smashingly – an overhead that did complete the point in his favor. That’s the kind of Sunday matinee it was for leading man Moya, filled with his Sunday punches and appreciative hurrahs from would-be honeybunches. Lleyton Hewitt, who can’t seem to find the zone in which he flew as No. 1 in 2001 and 2002, had a bit of a hassle, complaining about scheduling. He didn’t like the time or the lessser court to which he was assigned, and sent representatives to protest to tournament director Sergio Palmieri. Lleyton was further miffed when Palmieri gave the brush to Hewitt’s coach, Roger Rasheed, then his father, Glynn Hewitt. Palmieri says he doesn ‘t talk to coaches or parents about such things. I said to Hewitt that in former, unlucrative days, players neither had traveling coaches nor could afford to bring the folks along. They took matters into their own hands with authority figures at this tournament. About 40 years ago an American named Billy Higgins didn’t like a ruling by referee Sergio Baruti and knocked him out with one punch. A few years later a Hall of Famer-to-be, Czech Jan Kodes, also had a disagreement with Baruti. Jan grabbed Baruti and shook him, and was disqualified. Reminded of the incident last September in Prague, a mellowed Kodes laughed, “If I’d known Baruti would disqualify me, I would have slugged him like Higgins.” The Italian Open is calmer these days. <<<Back