Tennis – Page 21 – Cebu Sports Blog by John Pages

Graeme Mackinnon Writes

One of the people I admire the most in sports is Graeme Mackinnon. For many years, Graeme lived in this Queen City of the South and built Cebu football to what it is today… one of this land’s most popular sports. Now back in his native Australia, Graeme has been following, of course, the Australian Open. I’ll be writing an article on Graeme and Australia (and why it’s one of the world’s sports superpowers) within the week, but for now, here’s a letter Graeme e-mailed me yesterday….

Well what a night. I succumbed to the sleep deprivation of the nights before at 2am this morning (Sunday) with the game still very much in the balance. The caffeine did not do the trick and the match sticks were not helping. All the dramas could not keep me awake. I was surprised this morning to find that Super Brat had won after 4.30am.

One Cebu….. One Beat

I can’t play the drums. Piano? Ha-ha. Back in high school, my mom enrolled me at Reyco, the famous music school near Junquera, and I lasted exactly TWO sessions. The guitar? Can I strum the guitar? Oh my. The only strumming I know is singing the “Killing Me Softly” song… strumming my pain with his fingers. Did I say “singing?” Don’t laugh but every time I sing, my nine-year-old daughter Jana covers her ears while my wife Jasmin asks, “Are you, uhm, reciting a poem?”

Seriously. I have ZERO musical talent. Same with my dad. And my mom. And my grandparents. My ancestors? I’m sure we’re all the same blood. The lone family member who has music bouncing in his veins?

From Russia With Lob

Maria Yuryevna Sharapova was born poor. In 1986, her parents fled their Russian hometown when the Chernobyl nuclear disaster struck. When she and her father, Yuri, flew to America in March of 1996, they brought with them only $700—borrowed from Maria’s grandparents. Worse, both Sharapovas spoke no English.

In their own version of “In Pursuit of Happyness,” Yuri knocked on the Nick Bolletieri Tennis Academy in Florida hoping to enroll his daughter. Unfortunately, said the coaches, “Yes, she’s good but, sorry, sir, she’s too young for a full-time scholarship.” That didn’t stop dad Yuri: he worked odd jobs and taught Maria in public tennis courts. Soon, Maria grew taller and was accepted inside Bolletieri. The rest, as the saying goes, is her-story…

Maria, aged 17, goes on a fairy-tale London ride and wins the 2004 Wimbledon. Two years later, she captures the 2006 U.S. Open and soon after becomes the no.1 women’s player on earth.

Maria in Sports Illustrated

Here are three (3) photos of Ms. Sharapova from the Swimsuit Edition of Sports Illustrated (2006). Pictures taken by Walter Iooss Jr. The full website (and all the 22 photos) can be accessed here.

In Tennis, Who’s The Greatest Ever?

For the past 21 years, I’ve followed the sport. I remember—long before cable TV was plugged to our homes—trooping to The Boulevard and Cafe Valeriano along Osmeña Blvd. to watch (beamed “live” via a huge satellite dish) Boris Becker diving for volleys to collect his three Wimbledon trophies. In the late 1980s, I recall seeing Ivan Lendl and Stefan Edberg in the “Fire and Ice II” showdown at the Araneta Coliseum. Then in ‘99, I had the opportunity to watch Andre Agassi lift the U.S. Open trophy in New York. And, just two months ago in Malaysia, I had the rare moment of shaking hands with Pete Sampras. Who, among all, do I consider the best of all time?

None of the above. Not Lendl with his three French and U.S. Open titles. Not Agassi, who’s captured the Olympic gold plus all the four tennis majors. And not even Sampras, the man I idolized the whole 1990s decade.

The best ever? Roger Federer.

Guess who?

Throughout this blog, I’ll be posting pictures of sports personalities for you to guess. Know who this is?

Finally, the U.S. wins the Davis Cup

(Photo by GABRIEL BOUYS/AFP/Getty Images)

After 12 years of waiting, one of the sporting world’s most popular prizes has returned to the United States of America. The Davis Cup, an annual tennis event that pits all the world’s countries against each other, was won last weekend by names you know well: Andy Roddick, James Blake and the Bryan twins, Bob and Mike. Among the many articles written about their victory, I like best the following stories: the personal blog of the Bryan twins, Jon Wertheim’s “Davis Cup Notebook,” and Steve Tignor’s “DC Wrap.”

This Sunday, wake up at 5 a.m. and run!

If you own a pair of jogging shoes, get them washed, ready, laced up. This Sunday, two events are running side-by-side: the M.O.V.E. 5-K Run and the 2nd Seminary Fund Run. But what sets these races apart from the rest is they’re not only about crossing the finish line—they’re runs “for a cause.”

Let me explain. When you join the M.O.V.E. Run to start at 6 a.m. at the Capitol grounds, you’ll be helping not just yourself with exercise—but also those Persons With Disabilities (PWD’s).

‘Go, Pete!’ scream the fans of Roger

KUALA LUMPUR—I’ve always been a Pete Sampras fan. And so three nights ago, when we watched him clash with Roger Federer in the “Clash of Times” exhibition match here in Malaysia, I cheered for Pistol Pete. Same with seven others in our group: Rene Ven Polinar, Mark Aseniero, Charlie, Mitzi and Jasmin Pages; Dr. Ronnie and Steph Medalle—all Sampras fans.

The ones who rooted for Mr. Federer? From our group of 10? Two ladies who brought a specially-printed, hand-carried-from-Cebu “FEDERER FOREVER” banner: Michelle So and Chinggay Utzurrum.

And so we screamed, “Go, Sampras!” When Pete buried a 217-kph ace, we rose from our seats. When he attacked the net and banged a volley winner, we shook our heads in disbelief at this 36-year-old, half-balding American who’s five years retired.

Shook Pete’s hand in Shook

KUALA LUMPUR—Yesterday, when my watch read “3:15,” I knew it was improbable. The exclusive, by-invitation-only Cocktails Party for Roger Federer and Pete Sampras was scheduled at 6 p.m. and, less than three hours shy of that time, I still had not received any confirmation.

But by 3:30 p.m., as I pulled out my mobile phone, my eyes enlarged reading the text message: “Ok I will meet u @ Starhill 530pm. I will pass u the invite then.”

WOW! I couldn’t believe it. We were at the IKEA store, 30 minutes away from the hotel, and I had barely two hours left. Plus, I had a problem: I brought no formal attire. So I rushed to buy a pair of leather shoes, bought a Giordano gray T-shirt, and, just as I was searching to buy a black coat, Dr. Ronnie Medalle phones to say that I can borrow his black jacket. Perfect. And so I ran. Got to Hotel Capitol by 4:15, changed, then sprinted to the venue.