Isner-Mahut Epic Means Much More

John Isner and Nicolas Mahut were relative unknowns in the sporting world. That changed after one epic 11-hour duel for the ages. Yes, it wasn't for the Wimbledon crown, but it was nonetheless special.

Over the course of three days, John Isner and Nicolas Mahut waged the tennis equivalent of a battle to the grave—an epic, seemingly never-ending match that was as remarkable as it was unbelievable. In the end, it was Isner who survived, outlasting Mahut 6-4, 3-6, 6-7 (7), 7-6 (3), 70-68 after 11 exhausting hours of back-and-forth, don’t blink tennis in the first round of the Wimbledon.

The numbers of this historic record-shattering match (dubbed by ESPN as “The Match That Would Not End”) were staggering and they will, in all likelihood, stand until the end of time:

• 6-4, 3-6, 6-7 (7), 7-6 (3), 70-68
• 11 hours, 5 minutes (spread out over three days)
• 183 total games
• 215 aces (112 for Isner, 103 for Mahut)
• 490 winners (246 for Isner, 244 for Mahut)
• 980 points (502 for Mahut, 478 for Isner)
• I68 consecutive holds

The epic match was an ultimate test of skill and talent, of character and will. It was a trial by fire that revealed so much about Isner, the big-serving American, and just as much as Mahut, the unheralded Frenchman. This match showed that there is more to Isner’s lanky frame and booming serves, that deep down, he is as fierce a competitor as they come, and that he is as gutsy as any man who has ever played on tour. This match showed that behind Mahut’s underwhelming, otherwise unimpressive career is a man who never gives up, a man with a fighting heart that soldiers on and on and on. This match gave fans a full view of both men’s courage, of both men’s desire, of both men’s composure, of both men’s fortitude.

Both Isner and Mahut reminded the world how unbreakable the human spirit can be, how capable the human spirit is to overcome adversity and trials and fatigue and pressure. They reminded us how we all should be: persistent and resilient, tenacious and courageous. What’s more, they showed us that we all can compete at the highest of levels and at the grandest of stages without being jerks, without all the whining and griping, without all the preening and the trash-talking and the showboating. They showed us that we all can compete fiercely and be sportsmen in the end—gracious in defeat and even more gracious in victory.

This clearly was more than an extra long tennis match; this was a dazzling, inspiring display of what the upper bounds of the human body, mind, and spirit can do. This was an ode to what we all can do as human beings and proof that we all can do so much if we are willing to dig deep down.

Rightfully, this historic battle turned these unheralded men into overnight sensations, the darlings of the finely cut grass in the revered courts of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, the stars of ESPN and Sports Illustrated, the new poster boys of professional tennis. Unfortunately, though, the magnitude and significance of this epic match will soon fade, perhaps even faster than many of Isner’s 130-mph aces. In a few days’ time, the novelty and enormity of this match will die down, and people will start talking about other things—the World Cup, the Wimbledon champs, Stephen Strasburg and Ubaldo Jimenez, and the official start of the Summer of LeBron, among others.

When that happens, what these two men accomplished over the course of three surreal days will become a mere footnote to the rich history of tennis, and more than likely, just a bit of trivia for the next generation of tennis players and fans.

It will happen, and it will happen sooner or later. And when it does, it’ll be a shame because both John Isner and Nicolas Mahut deserve to be more than just footnotes to tennis history.

Not-so-terrific Tiger

Years ago, there was the Tiger Slam, a string of four consecutive majors for the world's finest golfer, Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. Now, Tiger is in the midst of a major drought, going 0 for 4 in his last four majors, including last weekend's U.S. Open. Has Tiger lost his moxie?

It was a back nine for the ages, a furious, breathtaking stretch of golf in the 3rd round of this year’s U.S. Open, and yes, it was Tiger Woods once again scattering magic and fist pumps and smiles all over Pebble Beach. This was a long time coming, and it was happening now—Tiger playing at an otherworldly level, charging at the back nine of the penultimate stage of a major, lurking in the leader board and waiting to pounce on any and all challengers.

This was pre-ACL Tiger, vintage Tiger, the Tiger before the crashed SUV and the marriage troubles and the hookers coming after him, and suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, Tiger in the red shirt prowling Pebble Beach looked eerily intimidating and absolutely formidable.

Only this time, Tiger couldn’t seal the deal. Instead of charging ahead like he so normally does, Tiger faltered early and often as he failed to sustain the momentum of his furious back nine a round earlier. The many-time champion bogeyed in 5 of his first 10 holes to go from –1 at the start of the day to +4 by the 12th hole. In all, Tiger finished with an underwhelming round of +74, a far cry from his riveting –66 in the 3rd round.

What’s more, nobody backed down from Tiger—not virtual unknown and eventual winner Graeme McDowell, not runner-up Gregory Havret, and certainly not veterans Ernie Els and Phil Mickelson. So often the rest of the field would wilt under the glare of Tiger’s flaming red shirt, that feared, not-so-subtle reminder that it was Tiger Time. This time, though, it was Tiger who wilted under the intense pressure (he and Dustin Johnson of course), misplaying hole after hole after hole early and digging himself a hole that was in the end too deep to get out off.

So now it comes to this: Is Tiger now just another good player? Is he now just one of the favorites to win instead of being the favorite?

To some degree, it certainly seems that way. This simply isn’t the Tiger Woods of yesteryears. This isn’t the self-assured Tiger Woods who was so ruthless, so assertive, so precise, and so masterful that lesser players withered in his very presence. This isn’t the Tiger Woods who played with that unique sense of inevitability—the inevitability that he’ll make a miraculous chip or a magical putt or a furious charge to the top of the leader board. This isn’t the Tiger Woods who lived for the moment, the man who rose to the occasion every time the stakes got raised. This isn’t the Tiger Woods who will easily break Jack Nicklaus’s long-standing record of 18 majors.

This Tiger is meek and mild, tempered and coy, measured and laid-back. This Tiger is wildly inconsistent and sometimes uncertain. This Tiger inspires no fear, no doubt, no uncertainty among his peers. This Tiger plays with no sense of inevitability, no sense of magic, no sense of the moment. This Tiger, the way he’s playing, may even have to be extremely lucky to break Nicklaus’s record.

Obviously, Tiger has slipped, and quite considerably, in fact. Perhaps it’s age catching up on the once precocious prodigy. Maybe it’s injuries taking its toll on Tiger’s body. Maybe Tiger is breaking down due to the intense pressure of being so great for so long. Perhaps it’s the unnerving and unwavering and unforgiving scrutiny he faced in light of his perceived double life—the one where he was the quintessential family man on the one hand and a filthy adulterer on the other. Maybe it’s the emotional scars of having his family drift apart or of facing the repercussions of his embarrassing gaffes as a husband, a father, and a sports icon. Likely, it’s a combination of all these, and maybe a little law of averages taking over. (After all, Tiger’s been on top for a better part of 14 years, so perhaps it’s time for him to fall off the perch, slowly, painfully.)

Then again, Tiger Woods is Tiger Woods, and by and large, he is still better than most of his peers. This much he proved during that riveting charge in the back nine of the 3rd round of this U.S. Open. And although Tiger failed to sustain his fiery form in the final round, he still reminded everyone, over the course of nine holes, what he’s capable of doing on the golf course, and it was as masterful a display of talent as it was exciting.

Yes, this Tiger isn’t as good, as dominant, as fearsome, and as masterful as the Tiger of yesteryears. Don’t forget, though, that this Tiger can still play at an otherworldly level. He did so over the course of 9 holes last Sunday, and there’s no reason he can’t do it over the course of 72. Now the question is, “Can he do it?”

The answer was a resounding “No” at Pebble Beach. Next month, St. Andrews will have an answer.

Boxing Bullets

No Mean Green

Given a golden opportunity to launch his career into stratosphere, super middleweight Allan “Mean” Green absolutely shrunk in the glaring spotlight of his very first crack at big-time, high-stakes boxing. The young man was bold, brash, and brazen in the weigh-in a day before the fight, trash-talking his opponent, WBA super middleweight champion Andre Ward. But on fight night,Green looked tentative, sluggish, and gun-shy throughout his title fight with Ward, and by the sixth round, Green looked like a lost, beaten man, broken down round after round after round by the vastly superior Californian, who boxed a shutout for his second win in Showtime’s Super Six World Boxing Classic.

What a Wonderful Ward

Speaking of Andre Ward, he’s pretty darn good, no? He didn’t just win his second bout in Showtime’s Super Six World Boxing Classic; Ward won by dominating countryman Allan Green fighting a style he’s never used before—in-fighting. The former Olympic gold medalist clinched and fought inside all throughout the match, peppering Green with short, crisp, and scarily accurate hooks and uppercuts. The young Californian was so dominant that Green, himself a good fighter, looked woefully outclassed all night long. What’s more, Ward looked scarily calm and unflappable in disposing the powerful Green.

It Gets More Interesting

The Super Six World Boxing Classic has, by all accounts, been very successful, especially when you consider the quality of matches it has so far given to the fans. All six fights thus far have been pretty good, and at least three—Abraham–Taylor, Froch–Dirrell, and Froch–Kessler—have been wildly entertaining, worth-the-price-of-admission battles. And the action gets even better in Stage 3,with Dirrell–Ward, Froch–Abraham, and Kessler–Green slated within the year

Jr. Welterweight Tourney Nixed

Last week, promoter Gary Shaw broached to HBO the idea of holding a tournament at the talent-rich junior welterweight division, and it was promptly nixed by Golden Boy Promotions. Too bad because a tournament featuring the best 140-pounders—Timothy Bradley, Devon Alexander, Amir Khan, Marcos Maidana, and Juan Manuel Marquez to name five—would have been an absolute treat to fight fans all around the world.

Protecting Khan

That Golden Boy Promotions shot down this proposed tournament isn’t really surprising. In fact, Oscar dela Hoya and Richard Schaefer would nix any proposal that would put their boy, Amir Khan, in any serious danger. They know that Khan, talented and skilled as he is, just isn’t ready to face the big dogs at 140, not with that suspect chin and that still-penetrable defense. Now Khan may very well become the best junior welterweight at some point in the near future, but right now, he’s still a work in progress, and pitting him against skilled power punchers like Bradley, Alexander, and Maidana would be like feeding the Englishman to a pack of hungry wolves.

Mayol Loses

The Philippines' list of boxing champions got shorter today as Rodel Mayol lost his WBC flyweight title to Omar Niño via unanimous decision. Now not taking anything away from Niño, who is obviously a good fighter, but how in God's name did he get a rematch after his blatant foul on Mayol in their first meeting? And, really, why on God's green Earth did this rematch happen in Mexico again? Somebody should've at least stepped in on Mayol's behalf and pointed out these two things, because one, Niño didn't deserve a rematch so soon, and two, this fight should have at least happened in a neutral setting, not in the country of the challenger.

Why Not Football?

As nations across the globe go absolutely gaga over the World Cup, ask yourself this:"Why not football?"

Filipinos fell in love with the wrong team sport—basketball. It’s the cold, hard truth, and it’s painfully, embarrassingly, uncompromisingly obvious. Still, most Pinoys continue to worship at the altar of Dr. James Naismith’s game.

Now there’s nothing wrong with loving a sport that doesn’t love us back, but if we Filipinos truly want Team Pilipinas to excel globally, it’s high time that we shift our focus to a sport that can love us back: football.

Yes, it’s about time for us to give football a long, hard, serious look.

The reason is simple, and it’s fairly obvious: football is tailor-fit for Filipinos. See, football is about the only team sport where height isn’t always might. Instead, it is a game where speed and skill and wit are far more important than length and height and heft.

Want proof? Google Pelé and Diego Maradonna, long considered as the two greatest footballers in history, and look at their height. The irrepressible Brazilian is a five-foot-eight wunderkind. The hyper-intense Argentine, on the other hand, is a diminutive five-foot-four.

Not convinced yet?

Of the 10 previous winners of the FIFA Player of the Year Award, three stood less than six feet—Luis Figo (5-11), Fabio Cannavaro (5-9), and Lionel Messi (5-7)—and no one stood over 6-1. Since 1991, in fact, the tallest FIFA Player of the Year has so far been Marcel "Marco" van Basten of The Netherlands, who at 6-2 is pretty tall, but not exactly imposing.

Moreover, some of the game’s greatest players, in fact, stand 6-2 or less:

• Franz Anton Beckenbauer of Germany (5-11)
• Oliver Khan of Germany (6-2)
• David Beckham of England (6-0)
• Samuel Eto'o Fils of Cameroon (5-10)
• Thierry Henry of France (6-2)
• Ronaldinho of Brazil (6-0)
• Kaká of Brazil (6-1)
• Wayne Rooney of England (5-10)
• Cristiano Ronaldo of Portugal (6-1)
• Lionel Messi of Argentina (5-7)

Want more proof?

The Brazilian national squad, a perennial powerhouse in international football, has 11 players under 6 feet. In all, 18 of its 23 players stand less than 6-2. Another perennial powerhouse in international football, the Argentine national team, has 17 players standing less than 6-2 (9 of them are short of 6 feet).

Clearly, height is not all might in football. Maradonna and Pelé proved this in their respective careers, and the diminutive Messi is proving it yet again now. If these three greats, all shades under 6 feet, can dominate the football field, then there’s absolutely no reason why average-sized Filipinos (5-4 to 5-8)—often graceful and cat-quick and fleet-footed—can’t play football at the highest level.

This much is obvious, only, most Pinoys don’t really care. Filipinos love basketball to a fault, and it’s a shame because basketball doesn’t love us back, and it probably won’t for the foreseeable future. It’s sad, but at the same time, it’s just the cold, hard truth, and it’s painfully, embarrassingly, uncompromisingly obvious too.

The Iceman is on Thin Ice

He made a living knocking out people. Now, he's the one getting knocked out. So now, what's next for Chuck "The Iceman" Liddell?

The writing so to speak was already on the wall for Chuck Liddell: It’s time to call it a career. It had been there for quite sometime already, only, The Iceman kept ignoring it.

Every time Liddell ignored that proverbial writing on the wall, he kept paying the price—big time. The first letters were scribbled on Chuck’s wall in early 2007 when he lost by brutal knockout to Quinton “Rampage” Jackson. In late 2007, Liddell looked awfully pedestrian―slow, tentative, full of doubt―in a shocking loss to fringe light heavyweight contender Keith Jardine. And though The Iceman finished 2007 with a decision win over Wanderlei Silva, it was already obvious, painfully, tragically, that the UFC’s biggest star had lost his moxie.

By the end of 2007, it was clear that Chuck Liddell was no longer The Iceman that the world knew and loved. He was a step slow. His reflexes were seconds too late. His punches no longer came in dizzying bunches. His vaunted right hand no longer snapped like a cobra on the attack. And his chin was no longer cast in granite.

Then, upstart contenders Rashad Evans and Mauricio “Shogun” Rua hammered home the painful truth that indeed, Chuck Liddell was officially a thing of the past as each scored impressive victories over the long-time light heavyweight champion, the former winning by KO and the latter by TKO. By then the writing on the wall was complete, and yet Liddell—fuelled perhaps by unyielding confidence, false bravado, or plain hubris— ignored it still.

Bad move, Chuck.

On Sunday, the man known for knocking out people was knocked out yet again, this time by a former middleweight no less—long-time champ and UFC great Rich “Ace” Franklin. This was Liddell's fourth KO loss in his last five fights (his fifth loss overall in his last six fights), and like in his previous KO losses, all it took was one punch to knock the living senses out of the 40-year-old Liddell.

Yes, The Iceman looked surprisingly spry and active and aggressive in this fight, but the fact of the matter is, he can’t take a hit the way he used to in the old days. In his absolute prime, Chuck could take a knee and still fight on, woozy and all. Now, all it takes to shut the lights out of Liddell’s brain is an on-the-button punch, as Jackson and Evans and Franklin all found out.

Admittedly, it will be tough for the UFC’s greatest star to say good-bye to fighting. There is just something about the fight game that makes it hard for great fighters—Ken Shamrock, Dan Severn, and Randy Couture come to mind, so do Ali and Foreman and Erik Morales in boxing—to walk away. This something, quite likely, is something very difficult to grasp, something almost impossible to comprehend.

Whatever that something is, it should not stop Chuck Liddell from heeding the writing on the wall. It’s time for him to walk away from the sport he helped build, one spectacular knockout after another. He has done so much for mixed martial arts already, and he has given the fans years of breathtaking excitement and vicious knockouts. The Chuck Liddell Highlight Reel is one for the ages, and there may never again be a fighter quite like him. Now, though, it’s time for Chuck Liddell to do what’s best for Chuck Liddell: stop fighting.

Once The Iceman finally does walk away from fighting, he will leave the sport as one of its greatest stars, a legend through and through. Now that’s a fact that fans can and will never ever ignore.

Have Faith in Nate

Seldom-used in the first 16 games of these playoffs, little Nate Robinson has become a key contributor in the Celtics' improbable championship run.

Sometime late in April, Doc Rivers boldly predicted that little Nate Robinson—yes,that high-leaping, tripper-happy, often recalcitrant guard—will “win a game” for these Boston Celtics. He truly believed this, and he kept telling it to his young diminutive guard. And on Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals, KryptoNate made a prophet out of his coach, keying a huge second quarter run that helped the C’s close out the Orlando Magic in six.

Apparently, Rivers did have good reason to believe in little Nate, but not even he could have predicted KryptoNate contributing this well for these Celtics in the Finals. Well, Nate Robinson really is contributing, and he has now become part of the rotation, this after spending most of these playoffs as a seldom-used for-emergency-purposes-only backup.

The five-foot-nine former Knick has helped the Celtics win two games already in this winner-take-all series. On Game 2, he gave the C’s six quality minutes at the start of the fourth quarter to give an exhausted Rajon Rondo a much-needed breather. No, Robinson didn’t do anything spectacular or particularly noteworthy in this game, yet the six mistake-free minutes—no errant passes, no head-scratching pull-ups four seconds into the shot clock, no stupid fouls, no missed rotations—he played in that fourth quarter gave Rondo just enough time to get the second wind he needed for his furious, game-clinching wind-up.

In today’s Game 4, Robinson reaffirmed his coach’s unwavering belief in him with yet another strong game, and this time, he did a lot of things that were noteworthy. For starters, KryptoNate scored 12 points on top of 2 assists, 2 rebounds, and a steal in 17 minutes. Perhaps more important, he was the one running the show when the Celtics opened up a 71-64 lead midway in the payoff period. In one dynamic nine-minute stretch in the fourth quarter, Nate Robinson actually looked like a matured, top-level point guard. He directed the Celtics’ offense with one good decision after another. He fueled their defense with his in-your-grill, no-backing-down defense. And he helped ignite the crowd with his infectious energy and all-out hustle.

In a series already full of storylines, Robinson’s apparent transformation from a trigger-happy, shoot-first-shoot-second malcontent to a solid, dependable backup has been a welcome subplot for these Celtics, more so now because of the struggles of Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, and even Rondo.Think about it now. How different would Game 2 have been had Robinson unravelled in that fourth quarter? Do you think the C’s would have held on to the lead if little Nate was hoisting ill-advised jumpers or making errant passes? Do you think Rondo would have finished that game with a flourish if he had entered the game with nine minutes left instead of six? How different would this Game 4 have been had Robinson played out of control or if he didn’t play with energy? Do you think the Celtics would have won Games 2 and4 without him? Maybe. Probably not.

Of course, Robinson’s apparent transformation may just be a mirage. He is, after all, a free-agent-to-be who’s angling for a better deal in the Summer of Lebron. At any given moment, he may revert to old little Nate—the shoot-first-shoot-second, malcontent Nate. He may not actually be a changed man. He may not have actually matured. There is a very real possibility that this stretch of solid basketball from Nate Robinson is simply a matter of the stars and the planets aligning for him and these Celtics.

Doc Rivers, though, really does believe in Nate Robinson. He really does have faith in his diminutive guard. He had faith in Nate in late April, and he still has faith in Nate this June. And if the little man can continue rewarding his coach’s unwavering faith in him, these Boston Celtics may just win their 18th title sometime next week.

A Note to Nonito: Time to Step Up

On 2007, Nonito "The Filipino Flash" Donaire knocked out the then unbeaten Vic Darchinyan to become a world champion. Now, almost three years later, the affable Donaire is still in search of his next signature win.

In the off-chance that Nonito Donaire stumbles upon this post, here’s something he ought to know: It’s time to start fighting the best Mr. Donaire, and you should do it now, as in ASAP.

No more second-tier guys like Raul Martinez, Luis Maldonado, and Moruti Mthalas. No more no-names like Rafael Concepcion and Manuel Vargas. It’s time for you to go after the best of the best, and that means a rematch with Armenian loudmouth Vic Darchinyan and fights with junior bantamweight contenders Hugo Cazares and Nobuo Nashiro. That means a jump to bantamweight and fights with champions Fernando Montiel, Yonnhy Perez, and Hozumi Hasegawa. That means invading the junior featherweight division and challenging titleholders Toshiaki Nishioka, Poonsawat Kratingdaenggym, and Wilfredo Vazquez Jr.

It’s time for you to prove that you deserve to be called “The Filipino Flash,” that you’re every bit as good as the true Flash of Philippine boxing, Gabriel “Flash” Elorde. It’s time for you to prove that you deserve the celebrity status you now enjoy and that you deserve to be the rightful heir to Manny Pacquiao’s soon-to-be-vacated throne as the country’s best boxer.

On a personal level, it’s time for you to find out what you're really made of, to find out just how good you really are. It’s time for you to find out exactly where you are amongst boxing’s elite, and you can only do all these things by fighting the best, in fighting the Montiels and the Darchinyans and the Cazareses and the Nashiros, not the Concepcions and the Vargases and the Martinezes.

You ought to understand that one win, no matter how spectacular, does not make a career great, that your sensational knockout of Vic Darchinyan—to date your one and only signature win—is not exactly the stuff of legends. It’s not even enough to put you in the conversation as one of the fight game’s real elite or even its mythical pound-for-pound list, which is topped inarguably by Pacquiao. You have to realize that a great win does not define a career; what defines a career are wins over elite opponents.

See, Pacquiao himself did not become number 1 in that mythical pound-for-pound list by knocking out stiffs and no-names and second-tier guys. He became numero uno by beating up big name, top-of-the-line fighters like Marco Antonio Barrerra, Erik Morales, Juan Manuel Marquez, and Miguel Cotto. Pacman defined his career with career-defining wins, with legend-building knockouts. (Of course, Pacquaio did maim a bunch of stiffs and sacrificial lambs and low-level fighters along the way, but when it came to fight the crème de la crème, he was always up to the challenge.)

There’s your blueprint to greatness, Mr. Donaire, but apparently, you already have a fight scheduled. I understand that you will be fighting Hernan Marquez in Puerto Rico sometime soon. But who the hell is Hernan Marquez? Really, who the hell is he? Once you dispose of this upstart Mexican, I think it’s high time to start going after the best fighters in and within your weight class. If you truly want to be great, this is what you have to do. Beg if you have to. Compromise if you need to. Do anything and everything to get these top-level guys to fight you.

Only then can you truly prove your worth, your greatness. Fight the best, beat the best, be one of the best. This is how you make legends. This is how you become The Man.

You have the talent and the right attitude, Mr. Donaire, to become one of the best of this upcoming generation of fighters. You even have the looks and the charisma to be one of boxing’s new leading men. Now, it’s time for you make a serious push toward greatness. Fight the best, beat the best, be one of the best.

So now the only question is, are you up to the task, Mr. Donaire?