I tend to agree with this bloke
Explanatory note: Tony Leon is a local politician who is regarded a bit of a joke.
The author of this piece is Australian journo Neil Mcmahon
Tennis? Pass the pills, please
The Australian Open, the first tennis Grand Slam of the year, starts in Melbourne on Monday amid much talk about drugs and whether they are harming the sport.
The question is posed with regard to drug use by players, Greg Rusedski having tested positive to a banned substance, but perhaps we should be asking: isn't it time they administered some magic juice to the spectators? It might at least help to keep us awake.
That tennis has become a boring game played by boring people watched by bored spectators is evidenced in the following list of names: Roddick, Federer, Ferrero, Agassi, Coria, Schuettler, Moya, Nalbandian, Grosjean, Philippoussis, Henman, Massu, Srichaphan, Novak, Hewitt, Schalken, Verkerk, El Aynaoui, Kuerten, Robredo, Fish, Calleri, Mantilla, Mirnyi, Bjorkman, Costa, Dent, Lopez, Spadea, Clement, Ferreira, Ginepri.
Pass the pills, please. Anyone other than a dedicated tennis enthusiast who recognises more than a third of those 32 names wins a prize, for perseverence as much as anything, and we'll double the money if you can spell all their names. Yet there we have listed the top 32 seeds for the Australian Open, representing the cream of world tennis in 2004.
Tennis has become a boring game played by boring people watched by bored spectators
With the greatest respect to Messrs Coria, Verkerk, Fish, Spadea and the undoubtedly very talented Mr Ginepri... Where did you come from? Who are you? And why should we care?
Of 32 players, only one - the still compelling, magnificent Agassi - would be guaranteed to make you cross the street to watch. At a stretch, you might muster the curiosity to take a peek at Roddick or Hewitt. National interest might get you out of bed for a look at the indestructible Ferreira. And if you're a Brit, or someone who merely enjoys watching them lose, the endearingly second rate Henman could inspire you to linger in front of the TV set.
The rest would have you reaching for the remote in the hope there was something more interesting on another channel - a detergent commercial, perhaps, or a Tony Leon press conference. The truth of this contention is reflected in plummeting TV ratings for tennis around the world, particularly in the US, where globalised, money-driven sports live and die and where anything outside the Grand Slam finals is now relegated to the cable TV wasteland.
Oddly enough, the lack of interest does not show up in attendance figures at the big tournaments, which are still huge. The Australian Open draws half a million spectators over a fortnight, at prices high enough to make you wonder why people bother.
The cost of the tickets is not really a mystery - when the winner of the men's and women's singles pocket AUS$1,2-million each - that's about R6,5-million - someone is going to have to pay. What is a mystery is why half a million people pay big money to watch a collection of nobodies play boring tennis when they could be doing something interesting... Like watching a Tony Leon press conference.
In the absence of any other sensible explanation, I attribute this to the sense of occasion, the desire to be part of an Event: put on a big enough show, hype it beyond all belief, and you can convince people to spend their money on just about anything. Hollywood proves it every other week when it lures countless millions of sensible people to part with tens of millions of dollars to watch crap. It's the same principle that had me ready to spend hundreds of dollars on a ticket for the final of the world cup rugby, a game whose rules are as familair to me as Urdu.
Bums on seats in a stadium is one thing. Bums on seats in the living rooms of the world is another, and tennis cannot long carry on as a premier sport awash with money and media attention if there is nobody watching at home. How the godfathers of the men's game must hanker for the glory days of the 70s, 80s and early 90s when tennis was the most glamourous ticket in world sport - when Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe were feted like rock stars; when a young Boris Becker electrified the world.
Back then, you wouldn't weigh up whether it was worth crossing the road to watch. You might have considered crossing the world, if there was a Borg-McEnroe Wimbledon final. Waiting on the other side. Those old enough can probably still remember the 1980 final, when Borg won his fifth straight title in a sporting contest that still defies description. Or Becker coming from nowhere to win Wimbledon at 17 over Kevin Curren. That was 19 years ago; yet you'd be hard pushed to remember who won last year's event, let alone who he beat.
I used to attend the Australian Open and other tournaments religiously, and can bore you for hours on the memories: Connors and Lendl, Becker and Edberg, even Borg v McEnroe once, and though it was only an exhibition it's a kick to say I saw them. Three showdowns in the legendary 80-match rivalry between Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova linger, as does a blood-on-the-walls Australian final betwen Pat Cash and Mats Wilander. Not only were they great matches, they made you want to go out and have a hit yourself.
Nothing today can match it. I'm not going to the Australian Open this year, and I might not even bother watching it on television.
Unless there's something I don't know about Max Myrni and Robby Ginepri, I'd rather do something more interesting. All tapes of Tony Leon press conferences gratefully received. There at least is a man who still makes me feel like getting up and smacking something.
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