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The tragedy of Gaël Monfils

Close to a breakthrough, La Monf remains a tease

Before all else, my tennis fandom can be described as fiercely nationalistic. But as Chanhong noted last week, long gone are the days when American men were serious contenders at major tournaments. While personal man-crush Mardy Fish appeared to be, for a few fleeting years, a genuine, technically-balanced complement to the ace-happy Andy Roddick, I now have only who can be described as Roddick-lite — John Isner — to receive my telepathic support.

My fandom, however, is not so much about appreciating top-five talent as it is about recognizing effective outsiders who have “done it their own way.” I lend my emotional devotion to competitive players not named Roger, Andy, Rafael or Novak, who achieve genuine success while maintaining a unique, if sometimes detrimental, distinction. Whether such players possess an unusual playing style or a peculiar personal quality, it is those who can effortlessly blend personal flair with feats on the court who capture my admiration.

Janko Tipsarevic, for example — unfortunately under the shadow of fellow Serb Djokovic — has twice reached the U.S. Open quarterfinals and peaked as world No. 8. But he also enjoyed a casual DJ career under the moniker “DJ Tipsy” and sported a simultaneously puzzling and majestic Oakley-headband combo, regardless of weather conditions. The greatest possible thrill in tennis is seeing these types topple the greats and mute their critics.

Enter our hero: Gaël Monfils, 28-year-old frenchman of Caribbean decent, current world No. 18. While arguably the most dazzlingly athletic player to ever grace the ATP Tour, Gaël — or “La Monf” as he is affectionately known — has never quite reached the pinnacle of his potential. A penchant for risky shots, a continual swagger-overload and a plague of injuries — a result of his jaw-dropping on-court maneuvers — have kept the former youth track champion from consistent success at the Slams.

That is, until last Friday — when at the U.S. Open Quarters, Gaël’s long-awaited breakthrough seemed imminent. After not dropping a single set all tournament, Gaël cruised ahead to take a two-set lead against the now 33-year-old Roger Federer, who ousted him from the 2008 French Open Semis. Yelling angrily in French between points and projecting a menacing glare toward anyone who dared make eye-contact, Gaël inspired full confidence that this time, he wouldn’t disappoint.

“FINISH HIM GAËL,” I tweeted, sure of sweet, elusive victory.

After dropping the third set, Gaël finally held a double-match point in the fourth; two opportunities to put his demons behind him — to prove he is more than a freak of nature with far above-average hand-eye coordination. Even Roger thought the game was over.

“Down two match points I wasn’t feeling so great anymore,” Federer told ESPN. “I thought ‘This is it, last point man, just go down fighting.‘”

But both chances came and went for La Monf. TWO CONSECUTIVE MATCH POINTS… evaporated.

I complacently forgot that the most successful male tennis player of all time stood across the court — and so, apparently, did Gaël.

After that crucial juncture, Roger and Gaël slowly began to reverse not only their quality of play, but also their on-court mannerisms. After conceding consecutive double-faults in the following game, Monfils’ fiery shouts faded to silent, frustrated submission in the fifth set. Roger, normally reserved, displayed the glares, hollers and fist-pumps often flaunted by his opponent. This identity crisis was perhaps more perplexing than the actual result.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so emotionally invested in a player who was drinking Coke during changeovers, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t add to his mystique.

By the beginning of the fifth set, the fate of the match seemed as good as written. A deflated, run-down Monfils, feeling the weight of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity passing by, seemed little more than a practice partner for a now red-hot and smooth-serving Fed.

Turning off the TV before the match’s conclusion to avoid crying the actual tears of a dream dashed, I wondered what Gaël would do. As he is an avid fan of R&B, I settled upon “Cruisin” by D’Angelo — an ode to what could have been, and yet still could be.

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