Match #50: Fandom Defined

by Kait O'Callahan

My brother looks over at me, his face forlorn, his hands clutching at his hair.  “Why do we watch sport?” Novak Djokovic, a player he has been supporting long before he ever laid his hands on a Grand Slam trophy, has just failed to serve out his semi-final match against Andy Murray at 5-3 in the fifth.  Minutes later, my brother gets his answer.  As Djokovic falls to the ground in victory, we leap into the air to celebrate.  Such is the elation, the screaming and the joy, I move a little quickly and pull a muscle in my bottom.  That feeling, that high, is why we watch sport.

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Video: Amazing Catch by Ball Boy at the Australian Open

Talk about quick reflexes!  Check out the amazing catch a ball boy made during the FEDAL semifinal last night at the Australian Open.  With that kind of hand-eye coordination, I think that kiddo might have a future in sports.  He should at least get ball boy of the year, if there is such a thing.  Enjoy!

FEDAL: Fantasy or Reality?

by Kait O'Callahan

With any match - big or small - there are always crowd members that call out loudly in support of one player. Sometimes, it’s a desperate cry of support when a player needs it most, but more often than not, it’s a brash man who has had too much beer.  These people, with their face paint and loud hollering, often take the title ‘fan of the day’. However, they’re not.  Next time you’re at a sporting event, take a careful look around.  If you spot someone with their brow furrowed, their hands clenched, and a trickle of sweat dripping down their neck, you’ve found a passionate fan.  These people won’t shout in important moments, they’re too busy praying.  They’re so superstitious they’ll hold the same position point by point, but when finally they let it all out, you won’t hear a louder yell.  These are the real fans, and most of you can probably claim to be one.

I was one for the first set of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal’s semi-final.  I was that silent Roger fan, making all sorts of deals with Gods in my head in return for a Federer win.  I’m not religious or even superstitious, but when I’m behind a player I really like, I’m suddenly all these things.  Thankfully the foggy fandom clouding my head began to clear in the second set.  I began to see the match for what it was.

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Australian Open Day 10: Cruise Control

Don't worry, you'll be backby Kait O'Callahan

A fiery ‘c’mon’ disrupts my reading.  I look up, and refocus on the match in front of me. The yell has come from a dimunitive Italian player, who had been chasing down balls with an unrivaled passion.  I concentrate on her for the next rally.  Her feet move quickly, her grunts are short and sharp, and she works away around the court like a seasoned quarter-finalist.  But she isn’t; she’s Sara Errani, a player that would have won a pre tournament ‘least likely to’ poll.  She’s giving it her all against Petra Kvitova, the 21 year old Wimbledon champion with a game that can be both very on and horribly off.  Today is a mix of the two.  Whilst she’s certainly not playing clean tennis, she’s never really in danger of losing.  Errani may be leaving everything on the court, but it’s never going to be enough.  I return to my newspaper.

Maria Sharapova flicks her head and glares at a line judge.  He’s made a bad call, and Maria has had to stop play to contest it.  It’s about the only challenge she’s faced today; she’s completely dominating Ekaterina Makarova, the other surprise quarter-finalist in the women’s draw.  Her first serves are finding the mark 80% of the time, and her groundstrokes are winning her most of the points.  She not entirely sharp; she does get broken, and there are unforced errors, but she’s looking better than most.  Makarova has nothing to hurt Sharapova with, and doesn’t get in the match.  It’s all on Maria’s racket; just the way she likes it.

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Australian Open Day 9: Pushers, Painters, and Raging Bulls

Didn't you get the memo? It's 2006.by Kait O'Callahan

A dandelion is floats towards me in the humid Melbourne air.  There's barely a breeze, but it drifts softly, never threatening to fall.  I carefully pluck it out and cradle it in my hands.  Between its soft, white hairs lie tangled green fibres.  I make a wish and let it drift away.

Agnieska Radwanska moves well, defends well, and counter-punches with the best of them.  But until she develops a serve and an ability to follow balls in, she'll always run into a player having a better day than her.  That player today is Victoria Azarenka, although the first set doesn't fall that way.  Azarenka's forehand is errant, and her serve is exposed as a real weakness as she collapses in the first set tiebreak.  It's her only real lapse of the tournament so far.  Yet as she's now famed for, she recovers mentally between sets superbly.  She dictates play the rest of the match, doesn't allow herself to get too far behind the baseline, and hits her forehand with authority.  She looks positively thrilled to be in the semi-finals.

The seats in Rod Laver begin to fill.  Spoiled for choice corporates trickle in for a glimpse of Kim Clijsters. She's doing what everyone expected her to do against Caroline Wozniacki: win.  The first set is wrapped up in no time, despite Clijsters getting tight near the end.  Wozniacki's forehand, which has been much improved this fortnight, has reverted back to its loopy self.  She misses uncharacteristic backhands, and comes to net on seemingly arbitrary shots.  If Wozniacki is to win a Slam, not only does she need to become less of a pusher and more of a counter-puncher, but her shot selection also requires much work.  She makes more of a match of it in the second, and forces a tiebreak, but comes up short. Clijsters pumps her fist as she dethrones the world number one.  It never felt like it was going to be any other way.

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