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Mixed doubles
© St. Petersburg Times WIMBLEDON, England -- Inside the arena, the world makes sense. The lines are clear. The rules are plain. The goal is simple.
It is so simple, this world of athletics. There is in, and there is out. There is today's match, and if you win, there is tomorrow's. It is only those of us on the outside of the arena who tend to make it complicated. The young man hits the ball across the court, winning the point. He balls his right hand into a fist. Another young man, standing beside him, balls his right hand into a fist, too. They bump fists lightly, a celebration of a small victory. Inside the court, it hardly seems to matter that Aisam-Ul-Haq Qureshi, the first man, is a Muslim or that his partner, Amir Hadad, is a Jew. Outside the court, however, it seems to matter to a great many people. As usual, those people are paying attention for all the wrong reasons. This should have been a long way from controversy, this forgettable doubles match on a small outside court in front of a few dozen spectators. In some ways, however, it was a pairing to make the world take notice. A Jew and a Muslim worked together in harmony. They made a little money. They had a few grins. And they listened in amazement at how often people wanted to talk about politics and religion. This was tennis! This was about making a small paycheck medium. This was about trying to make a dent in the doubles draw. Wasn't it? "We aren't here to change anything," Qureshi said. "Politicians and government do that. We're just here to play the game and enjoy it. I don't like to (inject) religion or politics into sports. You have to keep sport as a sport." At its best moments, however, sport is more than games. It's a lesson for us all. If two men of such different backgrounds can find a common benefit in working with each other, why can't the rest of us? It sounds so simple, so basic. Why, then, does it have to be repeated so often? Qureshi has been condemned in his native Pakistan for daring to team with an Israeli. Syed Dilawar Abbas, president of the Pakistan Tennis Federation, has said he wants an explanation for the pairing. If he doesn't get it, he said, Qureshi could be disciplined. Never mind that Qureshi is the No.1 player in the country, or that his mother Nosheen was No.1, or that his grandfather Iftikhor Khawaja played at Wimbledon. Never mind that his presence in the third round here is the finest showing ever by a Pakistani player. Never mind that, on the court, Qureshi and Hadad seem to work just fine. Oh, they lost Monday. They were swept away in straight sets by Cyril Suk and Martin Damm. Remember, however, you are talking about the 157th and the 270th best players in the world, players who were expected to be dispatched from Wimbledon long ago. The $22,000 they will divide is more than 10 percent of their combined career winnings ($200,000) before this tournament. "It doesn't matter where we came from," Hadad said. "We are here to play, to improve the rankings. If something good can come out of it, it's even better." They are not so different. Hadad is 24; Qureshi is 22. They play the same model Wilson racket. They carry the same bag. They seem to have similar attitudes, similar senses of humor. They come across, frankly, as college roommates. When they have dinner together, they don't talk politics. As for religion, Qureshi says he tries, but he doesn't usually fulfill his requirement of five prayers per day. Hadad says he doesn't pray. "There is no real reason why their styles work," said Anthony Harris, Hadad's coach. "But there is some magic there." As they played Monday, a man stood at the corner of the court. Ethsham Qureshi is not so different, either. He wore a Wimbledon cap, an Izod sweatsuit, Nike tennis shoes and carried a Sony Mini-cam. He stood, uttering encouragement to the final point. Yes, he had heard about the furor concerning his son, he said. But he wanted to wait until he was home to be sure the quotations were correct. "Sports should be about the propagation of love and understanding," he said. "We don't want to make any political statements. That's for other people to draw." Khalid Rashid, Qureshi's uncle, said it stronger: "It is only the extremists who have said anything, the groups that sponsor al-Qaida. The majority of people are behind him." What are the politicians thinking? How can this not make sense to them? How can nations not wish to emulate peace, cooperation, success? What? Do the politicians expect Hadad and Qureshi to hate each other on sight? "A Jew and a Muslim playing together is not the end of the world," Hadad said the other day. "We are all human beings. We have the same blood, the same skin." As of now, they also have the same goal. In the seconds after their Wimbledon was complete, they began to talk of teaming up in the U.S. Open. Outside the arena, people will just have to get used to the sight of them.
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