February 24, 2010
Pete Sampras, the claycourt master who never was
By Douglas Perry
So, continuing with my recent series of posts on the claycourt world, let's now wander back into the past.
Yesterday I watched a Tennis Channel "Classic" --- the clinching match in the 1995 Davis Cup final between the U.S. and Russia. Quick takeaway: Yes, Virginia, Pete Sampras could play on clay.
In a dominating performance, and facing a highly partisan (but respectful) crowd in Russia, he bested Yevgeny Kafelnikov, the best claycourt player in the world, in straight sets.
In the first two sets, Sampras overwhelmed Kafelnikov --- and maybe surprised him, too --- by playing straightforward power claycourt tennis. He had no problem staying with the Russian from the backcourt and often outhit him, especially on the forehand side. His patience was impressive, dream-like. He moved toward the ball as if offering up a big shrug and swung seemingly at half-speed. The result was a boulder that Kafelnikov had to gird himself like a sumo wrestler to push back. The backhand side for Sampras was particularly interesting. Topping it kept the ball deep, though it had little penetration. But surprisingly, Kafelnikov couldn't seem to do much with it, and time and again the two would trade loopy shots until one of them ran around the backhand and tried to take control of the point. Sampras' backhand slice, meanwhile, was problematic. It had none of the bite that we see on Roger Federer's. Instead, it produced a weird sling-shot ball, whipping up and then back down sharply. It was an effective shot --- except that quite often he would slip when hitting it, sending the ball sailing long. That slippery front foot was proof that his movement, though good, didn't come naturally. He would begin each point like a baby taking its first step before relaxing a bit when he realized no one was going to pull a rug out from under him.
The most interesting aspect of the match was Sampras' mental state. Even when clearly in charge, he just as clearly never felt like he was in charge --- that it could all go to heck in a hurry. Up two sets and a break, Sampras let a few all-but-won points get away from him on serve --- he hit two overheads right up the middle of the court that Kafelnikov, leaping up, smacked for winners. (On a hard court, those overheads would have ended up in the third row behind the Russian.) Kafelnikov won the game to get back on serve. A drag, but not a huge deal, right? Back to even for the set. But from Sampras' body language, you'd think he was doomed. His shoulders slumped, his eyes glazed over. You could see him thinking: I'm going to have to go five sets against the guy.
The next two games were perilous for the American. His shorts itched, the overheard light got in his eye when he was serving. He died a million deaths when a Kafelnikov backhand going wide managed to kiss the line. Somehow, Sampras pulled himself together enough to keep the Russian contained, and he played an excellent tiebreaker to close out the match. It was an impressive show of fortitude, but at the same time it was a telling final set. Confidence is key in tennis --- we all know that. And Sampras just didn't have it. It's not a surprise that he had a lot of success on clay in Davis Cup but none at the French Open. For one or two matches on clay, he could hold his emotions together and fend off his frustration to beat anybody. But to not quite feel comfortable through seven best-of-five-set matches? He just couldn't do it. The psychic toll was too much.
When the French Open rolled around six months after that 1995 Davis Cup final, Sampras had his best result ever in the world's premier claycourt event, reaching the semifinals. The guy who beat him in the final four? That's right, Kafelnikov: 7-6, 6-0, 6-2.