The applause still resonates. The Princes’ court continues to tremble. The magic of tennis momentarily leaves the central arena during the lackluster Gilles Simon-Andreas Beck match and relocates to the vicinity of the adjacent court. Tuesday, early afternoon.
The stands, full of laughing Italians, salute the day’s hero: Fabio Fognini. Emerging from the depths of the ATP rankings, the depths of the qualifiers, the Italian lingers on the ochre clay of the Principality. Victorious in three sets against the world’s 25th ranked Thomas Berdych, the currently 108th ranked player savors his moment. The cream on his lips flows like proof of a true challenger, unaccustomed to gracing the front pages of sports newspapers in color.
On the training court a few meters above, Juan Martin Del Potro hears these Italian cheers. The Argentine seems indifferent to little Fognini’s triumph. Preoccupied by the heaviness of his movements, Del Potro continues his physical sessions with his coach, in anonymity.
Federer Talks Almonds
With more light and less secrecy, Roger Federer slips into the interview room. The air changes flavor as the greatest player of all time sits down, head lowered. Blue cap over his eyes. Federer avoids photographers. Under a barrage of flashes subdued by an ATP official, journalists throw out questions. On the agenda: marriage, holidays, and the name of his future child. Little sports talk in front of a gathering of sports journalists. For appearances, Roger Federer jokes. For zeal, the ATP guy checks his watch. He’s out of time, so Federer is out of time. The world number two, relaxed, responds in English, French, and Swiss German. He repeats, smiles. Classy.
The same decor, the same sun, and the French players fall one after another. A dramatic event of the first two rounds. On Wednesday, Federer doesn’t talk about marriage but swiftly defeats Andreas Seppi. He wears no wedding ring, which is discussed in the stands. On an even more secluded court, Fabio Fognini doesn’t stop.
The tall Croatian Marin Cilic, ranked 18th in the world, becomes the next victim. Less excitement than the day before, the audience has taken to the central court. Verdasco, Federer, then Nadal dazzle the spectators. Nadal-mania or Federer-mania, everyone picks a side. The two titans engage in a distant duel, with Djokovic, Murray, Ferrer, and Davydenko acting as arbiters.
Tennis Lesson
The interview hall, always the same, fills and empties. Four journalists gather to hear Gicquel’s joke, “At the end of the match, I asked him how much I owed him for the tennis lesson…” Everyone laughs, Gicquel included. The last Frenchman took a 6/1, 6/0 beating from David Ferrer. No more French in the tournament. Everyone laughs.
At the microphone, a phrase ushers in panic: “Nadal in the interview room.” No more seats available and questions in English. Rafael Nadal doesn’t deliver words in Shakespeare’s language with the same rhythm as his forehand topspins. Nevertheless, Nadal draws a crowd; an interview with Nadal fills columns; a photo of Nadal awakens the reader.
The press clamors over Nadal; spectators neglect a lackluster matchup between Ljubicic and Del Potro to join the Princes’ court. Marat Safin still attracts. His charisma, spirit, and outbursts charm tennis fans. The former world number one fights but falls out of the draw. Ecuadorian Nicolas Lapentti advances to the third round. Wednesday, early evening.
Two days of tennis, two days of tournament. The Monte-Carlo Masters 1000 is not to be narrated but experienced. Its behind-the-scenes action fascinates, its stars parade. From Federer to Fognini, the passion does not wane; the corridors of the Country Club brim with privileged moments, all haloed with the gentle passion of tennis.
