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2010-03-03 21:38:04
The above title details some of the email content sent to my inbox two days ago, in response to the following question-
(Me) "How would you describe life lived on the ATP World Tour compared with the Challenger circuit?"
(Him) "We (referring to fellow Challenger Tour players) are always broke and we can’t get laid."
The "Him" is currently inactive on both the World and Challenger Tours. I promised to safeguard his anonymity- and his pride- in exchange for permission to reprint the email in order to address a far more pressing issue than going solo night after night.
Hypothetical hotel room sex-for-one aside, my "friend" touched on something I found deeply disturbing. What he alluded to was a condition of relative poverty. Many- check that, too many- tennis players work year-round in a vain attempt to procure a respectable living. Those who spend the majority of their time contesting Challengers, and to a larger degree, Futures and Satellites, cannot collect sufficient prize money to pay their bills.
Take for example, Algerian-born Lamine Ouahab, who is presently ranked World No. 161. The 25-year-old won two Futures events and reached a couple of Challenger finals in 2009, finishing the season- give or take, with the rate of exchange- having amassed just about $82,000 in prize money. With personal expenses to settle, a support team to fund, tournament travel and accommodations to attend to, as well as taxes to tender, I’d hazard a guess that Ouahab might net approximately 50% of his gross earnings once all respective hands have been greased.
More dire is the plight of the tennis professional who cannot gain regular entry into the Challenger circuit. A player like Michael Rubin would know, as the American began this first week of March outside the top 1000. The 28-year-old took home $2476 in 2009, raising his career total to $5577.
On the other side of the poverty line, we have tennis icon Roger Federer, who carted off almost 6 million in Tour loot last year. The Swiss superstar’s smallest payday in 2009 came at the Masters 1000 Paris, where he succumbed to an elated Julien Benneteau in the second round. Federer’s reward for another disappointing trip to Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy? A check inked in the amount of €15,200.
With respect to athletes from other sports, however, even the mighty Federer looks like a pauper. As the premiere cash cow in tennis, the World No. 1 lags far behind the likes of football stars Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Ricardo dos Santos Leite, aka Kaká, who both pocketed more than 9 million in salary from their former clubs in 2009.
All the same, any one of the three aforementioned professionals is fashioned into a veritable charity case, once we discuss the outrageous fiscal adventures inside the ranks of the NFL and the NBA. Eli Manning and Kevin Garnett, for instance, commanded more than 15 and 25 million last season respectively, with extravagant endorsement deals further padding their individual net worth.
Something is wrong with this picture. Does anyone remember Jesse Witten? The Florida native was responsible for the feel-good story at the 2009 US Open. The American gave World No.2 Novak Djokovic fits when they met in the third round. Today he’s ranked 170th, which means only 169 players on the planet are ranked higher than he, but the 27-year-old has yet to crack the $300,000 mark in career earnings since his Tour debut in 2005. I’ll say it again- something is wrong with this picture.
While reexamining the underemployed Rubin’s fact sheet, I’m reminded of a particularly lucrative Christmas season when I worked as a promotional model (or "shill" for you politically correct Ebenezer Scrooge-types) for Sidney Frank Importing, a New York-based company that distributes cordials and liqueurs such as the world-famous Jägermeister and the lesser-known, but delightfully honey-accented Bärenjäger. In a six-week period, dating from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Eve, I cleared twice more than Rubin has during his entire documented history as a tennis professional.
The inequities threatened to make my head explode. Sure, I take great pride in shimmying into a regulation Jager skirt and lacing up the accompanying pair of black vinyl boots, but let’s be fair. Selling liquor to bar patrons isn’t brain surgery. It doesn’t require effort. Tennis does. What gives?
I needed a cool head to weigh in and lend a hand. When in doubt, ask Cheryl. So I did.
(CM) "It's funny that you should ask, Kelli. As it happens, I have indeed noticed a bit of a...shall we say disparity in the treatment of players at the tournaments I've attended. If your name happens to be "Roger" or "Rafa", the world is your oyster. You prefer fresh trout to turkey chili? No problem. "Maurice, grab your pole, we need to go fishing". Now, I'm not necessarily saying that certain players take advantage of their...shall we call it royal status. But I have heard on more than one occasion the frantic whisperings from the transportation department 2-way radios "Monsieur F- is getting ready to leave! We need a CAR!" as though something HORRIBLE would happen if the Mercedes did not pull up to the curb in 12.3 seconds or less. Actually, when I was in Montreal last year, there were tournament drivers parked outside Roger and Rafa's hotel for HOURS. Just in case.
If you're Nikolay Davydenko, you're lucky if the people at the credentials desk know who you are. I'm fairly certain that if I were carrying a racket bag and had just the right person behind the desk, *I* could be Nikolay Davydenko for the week. And he's in the top 10. I can't imagine what it's like if you're ranked 47 in the world. Well actually, yes I can. "We GAVE you a ballboy AND water for your match. What more do you want?!"
Tennis as a sport is suffering because the Powers That Be funnel all of their money and energy into 4 or 5 guys that are already at the top of the sport, with very little attention given to future development."
There you have it. The Federers and Nadals of the world dine on surf n turf, while the rest of the players force down bowls of turkey chili. Roger and Rafa can toil around in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes, but Nikolay gets a bus ticket. Life isn’t fair.
None of Cheryl’s genius made me feel any better, although she raised a curious point. If the "Powers That Be" are unwilling to prepare the next generation for stardom, what do they plan to do once Federer and Nadal leave the sport? Federer will turn 29 this year. Time is not on his side. Nadal continues to wage a physical war with a body determined to quit on him. How long can he last? After the departure of one of the most prolific tennis duos in history, to whom will the torch be passed? Djokovic? Murray? Del Potro? Someone else?
Cheryl continued, describing the varying level of player support among certain nations-
(CM) "There are a handful of countries that take their tennis VERY seriously. A country like France has a well-organized system in which they support and develop young players and cultivate them into champions. The Lawn Tennis Association in Great Britain is also extremely supportive monetarily (though outside of Andy Murray and Laura Robson, the talent pool is a bit on the small side. Doesn't stop them from trying though). The USTA touts a comprehensive player development program, but it has failed miserably over the past decade by backing the wrong players and putting too many eggs in the Roddick basket.
The fact is that without significant support from a young player's nation (or unless you're independently wealthy like the Gulbis family), playing professional tennis for a living is nigh impossible. Forget the abysmally low prize money on the Futures and Challenger circuit - also remember that these guys have to TRAVEL to tournaments. How do you pay for hotels, flights and food when you earn $30,000/year?"
I read and reread that final sentence until double-vision set in. Short answer? You can’t. You can’t ensure success at anything without help. Why continue to throw money solely at an elite group of four or five players, when they no longer need it? Extend the necessary aid to those who do. Expand. I don’t know if Executive Chairman Adam Helfant is still basking in the glow of his Grupo Modelo coup as I type, but I hope he’ll listen. And act.
Comment | 87 comments
2010-02-24 21:21:50
It was business as usual on the ATP World Tour in 2010. Roger Federer bagged his 15th major title, a patient Novak Djokovic finally sealed the World No. 2, Andy Murray won over the hearts of many with a touching runner-up speech at the Australian Open and Rafael Nadal was... noticeably absent from the headlines.
Prior to commencing his title defense in Melbourne, Nadal had endured a trying nine months. Professionally, the Spanish superstar was at a crossroads- he lost in Paris, was unable to compete in London and fell out of the catbird’s seat atop the world rankings. Personally, the 23-year-old faced an extremely difficult situation, having to deal with the public scrutiny surrounding the break-up of his parents, Sebastian and Ana Maria.
Although he showed glimpses of promise at the tail end of the 2009 season, Nadal and his terminally wonky knees didn’t fare well at the Australian Open. Stricken with pain yet again, the Spaniard called it a day during his marquee quarterfinal showdown with Andy Murray. Since then, Nadal has fallen to World No. 4, clawed his way back to claim the third spot, taken some time off to heal and relax in his native Mallorca and, of course, had ample opportunity to parade around half-naked with Colombian popstar, Shakira.
A few weeks ago, the video trailer for Shakira’s upcoming single, “Gypsy,” hit the internet with the force of a sonic boom. In nanoseconds, every gossip-themed website was set ablaze with rumors that the two had embarked on a romantic relationship. In an ironic twist, news stalwart CNN.com ran the story as well, stopping short of calling the pair “an item.”
Post-view message board traffic threatened to grind the world wide web to a halt, as the flesh-flush clip sent the masses into a tizzy... Are they dating? Are they doing it? What does Rafa’s long-time girlfriend think? What does Shakira’s fiancee think? Do his parents approve? Will his fans approve?
Initially, I found myself puzzled by public reaction to the video. Some called Shakira’s character into question, labeling her everything from a “home-wrecker” to a “classless stripper,” and the like. The harsh words came as no surprise, seeing how many a similar provocative female performer is often the object of ridicule and scorn. What confused me far more than the skewering of Shakira, was the derision directed toward Nadal.
Every so often, I suffer an annoying bout of insomnia. My cure? Internet-based research. When I can’t sleep, I’ll do my best impression of a trash compactor, acquiring and consuming all sorts of things I find on the net- information, hypotheses, facts, figures, psychotic rants on Twitter, what have you. The most reliable source of inspiration? Internet message boards. After the video leak, I perused some of the most famous, and infamous places. Here is a sample of what I uncovered-
I can’t deal with what I’m feeling right now. Rafa, I’m ashamed of you.
Another-
It is cheap, soft-core pornography. How could you do this to Xisca (Nadal’s girlfriend of four years), Rafa?
One more-
My image of Rafa is totally blown and I won’t be calling myself a fan any longer.
I came across countless others, echoing the same sentiment. Time and again, people expressed everything ranging from somewhat mild concern to outright disgust at Nadal’s choice to take part in the music video. Although I suspected some viewers may have solely objected to the sexual imagery contained in the piece, I wondered why so many of his fans had missed the bigger picture.
In a nutshell, Nadal was commissioned to play a role, just as an actor or a dancer might, if asked lend their talent to an artistic discipline. Shakira asked, and Nadal consented. Their respective legal representatives sat down and crafted a contract. A business contract. I thought it a rather illogical leap to venture from said business contract, into a full-blown, illicit sexual affair. Is that the norm for most actors and actresses cast opposite one another in a feature film? Surely not. For my purposes, I drew no distinction between what Nadal and Shakira had done, than what Oscar hopefuls Jeff Bridges and Maggie Gyllenhaal did in the movie “Crazy Heart.”
With respect to the ATP World Tour, a business seriously damaged by the economic downturn, and barely in a position to take its first wobbly steps toward financial security, Nadal did the right thing. He garnered the Tour precious publicity that permeated every media outlet around the globe. Controversial content, perhaps, but controversy often affords its creator sound fiscal rewards.
Promoting himself, as well as the company he works for, was the correct career move for the marketable man from Mallorca. Nadal went largely underutilized throughout his tenure as World No. 1, and if you ask me, where he has traveled in 2010 is exactly the direction in which his handlers should have pushed him from the get-go.
I have this vision of Executive Chairman Adam Helfant reclining in his onyx-leather Barca lounger, finally able to exhale after concluding an exhaustive search to replace outgoing Tour sponsor, Mercedes-Benz. The former Nike wunderkind recently convinced Mexican beer giant Grupo Modelo- the company that manufactures products like Corona, Estrella and Pacifico- to sign on the dotted line, inking an undisclosed five-and-a-half-year deal worth millions.
Helfant can rest a little easier tonight, knowing he’ll have help from the Spanish Armada’s top gun as well. Yes, the Harvard alum can hold his chilled, lime-squeezed long neck aloft, comforted in the knowledge that Rafael Nadal, too, will be doing his level best to keep the money machine rolling come February 26th.
Comment | 313 comments
2009-08-06 15:32:15
What a difference a couple of months can make. Around this time last year, Rafael Nadal had it all- his fourth French Open crown, his first-ever Wimbledon title and a solo seat atop the ATP World Tour rankings. He would follow that list of achievements winning an Olympic gold medal in Beijing, making his deepest run at the US Open and if that weren't enough, he concluded the calendar year ranked No. 1. His charmed life continued into 2009 as he lifted the Australian Open trophy and took home top prize at four additional tournaments, which included a trio of Masters Series shields.
Some of us were looking ahead- perhaps too far- to finals Sunday at the French Open. After the comprehensive ass-kicking he delivered to Roger Federer in the 2008 final, I struggled to imagine how the Mallorcan superstar would, or could, repeat such an astonishing performance. In case you have forgotten, Nadal handed Federer his first bagel in nearly a decade. When I think about the infamous lopsided scoreline, it's almost unfathomable. The Swiss Genius, at present the most decorated male Grand Slam competitor, lost the third set 0-6. So complete that defeat was for Federer, I couldn't help wonder if he'd ever have another chance to conquer his demons in Paris.
Before Nadal earned the right to give his fifth double-fisted, one-finger salute to the lion's share of the Parisian nay-sayers, he needed to dismiss Federer in the finals of the newly revamped Masters Series Madrid. Okay, no problem. The challenge of taking out Federer in a final was nothing new, as the Spaniard had defeated his main rival 11 times at the same stage. Better still, the championship match was to take place on a clay-court rather than a hard-court.
The likelihood of Nadal adding a clay-court title to his resume left us in about as much suspense as Cristiano Ronaldo potentially bedding a chick in a whorehouse. It was a lock, an iron-clad lock. For multiple seasons running, the Spaniard had come into every clay-court match as the overwhelming odds-on-favorite. Defeating Nadal in a clay-court championship match more or less existed in theory, not in practice. Save the lone 2007 Hamburg final where Federer bested a nearly immobile Nadal, nobody possessed the tools plus the ability to execute a game plan to knock him down for the count, provided he contested the match fully fit.
Speaking of fully fit....
Something went wrong during the Madrid final. Nadal, looking a little flat and more than a little irritable all week long, fought his way through a grueling 243-minute slugfest with familiar foe Novak Djokovic in the semifinals. Fair to say that nobody thought the World No. 1 would enter into the title match feeling fresh as a daisy, but his trademark movement seemed a bit hesitant and tentative. The partisan crowd could not save their hometown hero that day, and for the second time in a clay-court final, Nadal succumbed to Federer. The Spaniard took the defeat in stride- no sniffling, no crying, no grandiose expressions of emotion. Although he seemed to quickly recover mentally, he looked physically spent. Surely nothing to worry about....
When the French Open commenced, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something fairly serious might be troubling the Mallorcan. He seemed edgy and tense, and a nervous energy hung in the air like a thick cloud of Los Angeles smog. Fast on the heels of the Madrid loss, a seed of doubt had been planted- a tiny one perhaps, but most of us were keenly aware of its presence. Unfamiliar and vaguely unsettling, that tiny seed threatened to mangle the minds of many who expected him to win his fifth crown in Paris.
Nadal didn't look quite right in the opening round, dropping a dozen games to unheralded 31-year-old Brazilian Marcos Daniel. No stranger to early-round rust, however, the Spaniard appeared to collect himself during round two and especially round three, rolling over two-time Grand Slam champion and former World No. 1 Lleyton Hewitt, 6-1, 6-3, 6-1. Then came the dreaded round of 16 with "The Spoiler":
I'll eschew the rehash, the story having exploded through the sports world like a Napalm bomb. Collective jaw-dropping aside, I tried to wrap my brain around two points: 1) prior to his meeting with The Spoiler, Nadal had never been dragged into a fifth set at the French Open, nor lost a best-of-five-set match on clay, and 2) when The Spaniard and The Spoiler played their round of 16 match in Rome mere weeks before the Paris debacle, said Spoiler won just a single game. One game.
In my opinion, it's irrelevant how terrific The Spoiler played over the two-week period in Paris- he did, battling all the way into the finals- or how (maybe/possibly/supposedly) nearly 1/3 of the usual amount of clay mysteriously went AWOL, causing the surface to play more like a hard-court. When The Spoiler pink-slipped Nadal out of the French Open, everyone knew exactly how the rest of the tournament would play out. With the notable exception of Andy Murray, not yet known for his clay-court prowess, the remaining quarterfinalists had amassed a combined 1-50 lifetime record against Federer, leaving the probable title-winner's identity nothing short of a foregone conclusion. The Spoiler headed into finals Sunday 0-9. One minute shy of two hours later, he exited 0-10.
Business at the All-England Club would tell the same story. With a pair of disagreeable knees suffering from a contemptible case of tendinitis, an ailing Nadal withdrew before the tournament began, unable to defend his title. Two weeks later, Federer captured his sixth Wimbledon championship and record-breaking 15th Grand Slam.
In mid May, I attended a Challenger Event across the pond. Early in the week, I ran into a player who had cut his Tour teeth near the start of Federer's unadulterated domination. I sat at an outdoor table with him on an off-day, swapping boy-girl banter, talking about everything and nothing in particular. As many tennis-related conversations are apt to unfold, we started exchanging words about the Swiss. I asked him if he ever grew tired of watching Federer hoard Grand Slam trophies like a modern-day Ebenezer Scrooge. He chuckled softly and paused for awhile before responding-
"(Watching Federer win everything)...is the same as having sex (while) wearing a condom. It feels okay, but (it's) not even close to how you feel when you don't".
I nearly did a spit-take after I heard the analogy. Rarely moved into bursts of laughter, especially in public, I pride myself on being calm, cool and collected whether on company time or not, unaffected by the pressure of an off-color joke. His words struck a chord with me that afternoon though, and not just for their prurient nature. Somehow I felt like he had touched upon something that many felt about Federer's stranglehold on the Majors and why Nadal's presence was so critical to the Tour.
Federer straddles the line between fantasy and reality. He's the consummate tennis player: inordinately talented, pristine, surgically precise and nearly-flawless. At the same time, there exists an alien quality about Federer that renders him oddly unreachable, icy and detached. I'd compare him to a cherry exotic car manufactured by Lamborghini or Ferrari- one may look, but not touch. Nadal, on the other hand, resonates with fans for completely different reasons. The Mallorcan projects an accessible, engaging warmth. Nadal, for all his international notoriety, remains congenial and friendly, retaining a measure of approachability present long before his evolution into a household name.
Nadal is scheduled to return to competition in about a week, set to defend his Masters Series title in Montreal. The last few months without him have left a gaping hole on the Tour, leaving the ranks of professional tennis replete with pre-scripted outcomes and in want of more drama, fun and excitement.
At the end of July, tennis chatterbox John McEnroe bellyached about the "post-Wimbledon lull". Truth be told, the "lull" of recent weeks has more to do with the fallout of a Nadal-starved Tour and less to do with an under-attended US Open Series marred by a mediocre draw in Indianapolis or Los Angeles.
While I'm on the subject, the annual player commercials were released to signal the start of the US Open Series. At first I wasn't too keen about the "It Must Be Love" tag-line, but I changed my mind right around the 16-second mark during this video:
The above promo contains something informally referred to as the "X-factor," which loosely translated means: "a hard-to-define and/or inexplicable but invaluable special quality." You cannot buy it, develop it, nor teach it. You either have it or you don't. Nadal overflows with it, and in a nutshell, the Tour needs him.
In closing, and to further illustrate the scope of Nadal's X-Factor, consider the following personal account given by a most distinguished member of the media, Ms. Cheryl Murray. Tennistalk's very own had the pleasure of meeting the Mallorcan face-to-face during the Masters Series Monte Carlo:
I remember when I met Rafael Nadal. I was in Monte Carlo at my first ever on-site assignment trying to figure out where I was supposed to go, to whom I was supposed to address questions about dining options (apparently you can be bothersome quite easily in Monte Carlo) and the like. The announcements for press conferences come over loud speakers. "Nikolay Davydenko in the main conference room". Nobody moved. "Nicolas Kiefer in the small conference room". 2 German reporters partcipated in that one. "Rafael Nadal in the main conference room". At least 20 people made their way across the hall to watch the young Spaniard munch on potato chips (crisps to you British folks) and chat about his easy early-round match.
He flashed his impossibly white smile, yanked on his dreadful hair to keep it from falling in his eyes and charmed the entire room. I didn't ask any questions. Frankly there wasn't much to ask. His opponent had won just a couple of games in a largely uninteresting match - yet reporters peppered him with questions. I suppose they just wanted to talk to him. For myself, I was quite content to watch. After the English questions were done, He stayed to answer some questions in Spanish. As I filed out of the room with the other English-speaking reporters, I passed by Mr. Nadal (I think he'd finished his chips by then). There is...something about him. Maybe his old-fashioned politeness or just the fact that he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Whatever the case, I felt compelled to smile at him. I hadn't expected anything in return. I just...felt like smiling. And Rafael Nadal smiled right back at me and gave me his most delightful yiddish-sounding "hccchellllooooo".
I can't say why that moment sticks in my mind except that in a room full of reporters, he made me feel welcomed. A guy who is hounded by reporters when he walks on the beach took the time to be nice to a nervous, unknown journalist. Is it any wonder that we are all so looking forward to his return to competition?
Comment | 112 comments
Wed 03/03 21:38
Challenger Tour players can’t get laid
Wed 24/02 21:21
Naked ambition part 2: Nadal vs. Shakira
Thu 06/08 15:32
The X-Factor: Rafa in the raw
Thu 23/07 11:18
Federer still waiting on launch of ATP-TV
Wed 15/07 10:13
The Lost Boys: tennis talent gone AWOL
Tue 07/07 23:43
ATP dope and dollars (Part Two)
Wed 25/02 15:09
ATP dope and dollars (Part One)
Mon 16/02 11:01
The 21st century feminization of men's tennis
Fri 06/02 00:39
Safin's swan song
Sat 31/01 12:16
Does Djokovic owe the ATP?
Wed 21/01 23:20
"El Gato" Gaudio returns, ready to scratch your itch
Sun 18/01 03:40
Novak in no-man's land
Wed 14/01 00:00
Hello, Helfant, you're hired!
Fri 09/01 11:20
Nike vs. Nadal: blowing up a brand
Mon 05/01 16:51
Monday mailbox: Got Gulbis?
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