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  1. #46

    Re: Andy Murray Announces Retirement

    From one side I agree with Ti-Amie, but on the other hand there are also examples of young players winning early, winning often and never looking back...
    Roger forever

  2. #47

    Re: Andy Murray Announces Retirement

    Quote Originally Posted by suliso View Post
    From one side I agree with Ti-Amie, but on the other hand there are also examples of young players winning early, winning often and never looking back...
    Yep, it depends on the individual. In some cases, early success can validate worst impulses or misguided ideas. Whether that's happening with Alona, I don't know, but it falls in line with the little I have heard about her. I sympathize with the resistance to changing one's game. For me, the way I play tennis is an extension of my identity. It's a two-way street, too - expression and self-discovery. I want to find the best version of my game, hopefully a winning version, but I don't think about winning very much, and in the process, I learn what's important to me. I've wondered if pros feel the same way. I can imagine that certain young people wouldn't understand the complexity of this internal dynamic. In other words, tennis, so individualized and stylized, can eff you up, and it can take time and maturity to sort it out.

    Done hijacking the thread.
    Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug.

  3. #48

    Re: Andy Murray Announces Retirement

    The thing is that Murray can do to Alona what Lendl (I think) did to him: "You? You haven't won squat. When you win 8 slams like me, then you can act up"
    Murray can tell Alona to shut up. He has the clout. All her other coaches simply could not even say they had reached the semis.
    Starry starry night

  4. #49

    Re: Andy Murray Announces Retirement

    Quote Originally Posted by ponchi101 View Post
    The thing is that Murray can do to Alona what Lendl (I think) did to him: "You? You haven't won squat. When you win 8 slams like me, then you can act up"
    Murray can tell Alona to shut up. He has the clout. All her other coaches simply could not even say they had reached the semis.
    They just seem like two people who don't know the other exists.
    Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug.

  5. #50
    Everyday Warrior MJ2004's Avatar
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    Re: Andy Murray Announces Retirement

    From the FT, by Janan Ganesh

    The unshowy virtues of Andy Murray
    Murray could be less of a sensory feast to watch than his rivals — but his value was in substance, not style

    Because the snuffing-out of a luminous career is not sad enough, Andy Murray’s retirement contained some bonus pathos. Midway through a press conference of almost unwatchable rawness, the once-bionic, now injury-ruined Scot said he might undergo a surgical technique known as hip-resurfacing. Ears twitched and hopes rose, until he clarified his goal for the procedure. Nothing so lavish as a comeback, you understand, but less pain and a “better quality of life”. He is 31.

    And so the first face to fade from the Mount Rushmore of 21st-century tennis is that of Sir Andrew Barron Murray OBE. The biomechanical rigours of his chosen trade having shredded his joints, he leaves Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic to gaze out from the rock face, daring any male born after 1989 to win a Grand Slam at long, long last.

    Murray’s passing leaves us with questions about his sport. How has it come to be so Europe-dominated, at least in the men’s version? Is the sadism of its bodily demands ethical — consenting adults and all that — or should the tour be pruned to create more downtime? And what explains the cliff-edge in quality after this admittedly special generation?

    Much the largest mystery, for me, goes some way beyond Murray to touch on other fields of endeavour. Does style matter? Without it, does anyone’s name, however lustily sung in the present, ever endure?

    Each of Murray’s generational rivals has a technical or physical superpower that captivates audiences. Federer: the purest skill in the history of the game. Nadal: a cruiserweight’s strength, condensed into the harrowing violence of his forehand.

    Then there is the impossible fleetness of Djokovic, with his seemingly negative fat ratio, less an athlete than a trailer for the next phase of our species’ evolution.

    Next to them, Murray is a clever, supple-handed, sometimes attritional all-rounder who would have doubled his shimmering trophy haul in another era. Without the elemental gifts of the other three, however, he can be less of a sensory feast to watch. “Ugly” is a slanderous word for his play. His drop shot cheats time and gravity in a beautiful way. But to see him move around the court is to see, as though through an X-ray, that fragile skeleton grinding, injuries building in real time. If he has a superpower, it is internal: the character that drove him to Spain at 15 for better coaching, and to win his first Slam at an older age than his three peers.

    In Britain, a perceived lack of style will never cost him. He is immortal. It is in the rest of the world that it might lead to his under-appreciation over time. Think of Pete Sampras, who casts a scandalously small shadow over modern tennis for a man who made the sport his personal bailiwick in the 1990s. Too dull by half, they said, both as a player and as a person. With half as many Slams, John McEnroe remains a reference point for the ages.

    There is a pattern of this beyond tennis. Sport’s most extreme instance of style over, well, if not substance, then success, remains the 1974 World Cup final. The mesmerising Dutch, who lost, are still more vaunted than the somewhat utilitarian German champions. In global esteem, the 1982 Brazil team, which was knocked out at the group stage, trumps the 1994 iteration, which won.

    The question of style is even more central to the arts. Is greatness a matter of content — the insight or meaning of a work — or the sensory pleasure given by the form? These can be hard to separate. When we coo at “stylish” prose, it is often because it is saying something true. Style is substance.

    But sometimes they are all too easy to separate. I might be alone in thinking that the supposed golden age of television gets by on style. The movie-like beauty of these shows, with their epic production budgets, creates what a reader once described as a “veneer of quality”.

    Confined to sport and art, our bias for style can do no harm. The trouble starts when we take it into politics. Hucksters with a sprinkling of panache have made short work of decent but plodding politicians in recent years. The problem is innate to university debate culture and television panel shows. A flourish of rhetoric can smite a guileless talker with a superior argument. Style seems to matter a dangerous amount to us. If Murray leaves us anything, it is memories of plainer virtues.

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