We got home late last night, and as a result I sleep past my alarm this morning. We turn up an hour late for day three - it seems insignificant at the time, but we will pay for it later, (bear in mind our 50 matches goal). We start our day with Sergiy Stakhovsky and Kevin Anderson, our favourite Rhino helping South African. It’s exactly what you’d expect; big serves, short rallies, and not a whole lot of rhythm. We leave after a set; there’s an Argentinian I have to watch.
If I’ve known absolute joy as a Roger Federer fan, I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak with Juan Martin del Potro. Thankfully, today isn’t one of those days. Del Potro is never in danger of losing to Blaz Kavcic, despite being broken in each set and falling behind 0-3 in the first. He plays in patches, some brilliant, some far from it. Kavcic never really goes away, although he matches del Potro in unforced errors and throws in more than a few double faults. Del Potro says after the match that he’s happy with his level, and on later reflection, so am I. At the time though, I’m clutching my hands in a prayer position, dangling on the edge of my seat. I’m fairly sure the girl beside me has decided I’m nuts, but then she thinks the best thing Francesca Schiavone’s done is beat Sam Stosur in Brisbane, and is wearing shorts that resemble a denim bikini (these shorts that don’t cover your bottom need to go. Mothers of teenage daughters worldwide- get onto that). Del Potro takes his sweet time winning in straight sets, and by late afternoon we have seen only two matches.