No doubt, Hewitt's the king

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© St. Petersburg Times
published July 8, 2002

WIMBLEDON, England -- Grant the English this much. If nothing else, they know the look of royalty when they see it.

Perhaps that explains why so many people keep bowing at the sight of Lleyton Hewitt.

Especially his opponents.

All hail the king, then. Hewitt completed his imperial ascent Sunday afternoon, forcing David Nalbandian to his knees to conquer Wimbledon. Hewitt won the most one-sided final at Wimbledon in 18 years, beating Nalbandian 6-1, 6-3, 6-2.

So take the crown and place it upon Hewitt's scruffy head, right there on top of that tennis-ball haircut. There can be no more debate. The coronation is complete. There are no more challengers to the throne.

Now, whether that says more about the king or the kingdom.

It is clear that, at age 21, Hewitt rules the sport. He is the No.1 player in the world, and he won the No.1 tournament while barely breaking a sweat. In an era where grass-court tennis is supposed to be about the serve and the volley, Hewitt had the audacity to show up with neither. Still, he won with such ease it made you uneasy.

If there is a problem with men's tennis, it is this. There is too much monarchy, not enough anarchy.

In other words, there are supposed to be challengers. There are supposed to be other players trying to wrest the scepter from the royal grip.

Look around, however. Who is going to attempt an overthrow? Pete Sampras? Too old. Andy Roddick? Too young. Tim Henman? Too English. Gustavo Kuerten? Too many injuries. Marat Safin? Too many parties.

It's a shame. There are still those who aren't sold on Hewitt, who will say he's one of those transitional champions who will rule until the game gets around to producing another legend. A male Martina Hingis, if you will.

After all, there are kings, and there are kings. There is Richard the Lion-Hearted, and there was Richard III (Dick the Bad, as they call him in England). There was Edward I, Longshanks, and Edward II, who evidently was shankless. There was Edmund the Magnificent, and there was a king named Aethelred the Unready.

What, then, are we to think of the reign of King Lleyton the Baseliner?

We'll see. Right now, it appears Hewitt has growing to do before the crown fits.

Until recently, Hewitt has been a little bit of a princely brat, and when outsiders thought of crowning him, they had something else in mind. He onced called his Australian fans stupid. He once called a judge spastic. Playing James Blake, an African-American at the U.S. Open, he demanded that linesman Marion Johnson, also an African-American, be removed from the match. "Look at him," he told the umpire. "Look at him. Tell me what the similarity is."

(Hewitt later explained that he wasn't talking about race. Evidently, he must have discovered that Blake and Johnson are both huge fans of Star Trek: Voyager).

At the ripe old age of 21, however, Hewitt seems to have found a measure of maturity. At least, his game has.

In seven Wimbledon matches, Hewitt dropped two sets. Match after match, he stood at the baseline and dared people to trade strokes. Bring your best punch, he seemed to be saying, because my counterpunch is better. The son of an Australian rules football player, he was simply tougher than most of his opponents.

This was the way Jimmy Connors played, the way Andre Agassi played. Hewitt's game is all heels and heart. He runs down a ball like a greyhound, and he pursues a point like a pit bull. He keeps the ball in play until his opponent discovers his own weakness.

Serve and volley? Why, no thank you. Hewitt didn't do any of that this fortnight. Wait. He says he thinks he tried once. He faulted. For such a huge fan of the Rocky movies -- and Hewitt calls himself "Rock" -- he plays a rope-a-dope style of the game.

For instance, there was one point in the match, after a rain delay, when Hewitt and Nalbandian resumed play. For several strokes, it was confusing whether they were playing a real point or still warming up.

Which, frankly, isn't the finest compliment available.

That's the sort of match it was, however. There was a streaker at Wimbledon on Sunday, which is important only to know that Nalbandian wasn't the only one undressed at Centre Court. (The streaker, who leaped the net in his effort to elude capture, seemed to be a much finer athlete).

As a story, Nalbandian is a wonderful little blend of the unexpected. As a final opponent, he was Chuck Wepner. He was the nice little commoner from nowhere, and Hewitt promptly gave him directions to go back.

A shame, really. Nalbandian is an Argentinian by way of Armenia, and he had never seen Centre Court before Sunday. He hadn't played a match on grass, in fact, since he was a junior. In fact, he once reached the final of the juniors at Wimbledon, only to go out for a wander and miss his match. (He says he was told the wrong starting time).

Oh, if only someone had misinformed him Sunday, too. Nalbandian was caught in the headlights, and he didn't blink until Hewitt was climbing through the stands toward his family. Not since John McEnroe only surrendered four games to Connors in '84 has there been more of a royal beating.

For Hewitt, who first saw Wimbledon at age 6 when fellow Aussie Pat Cash won and climbed through the stands toward his parents, there was something of a dreamlike quality.

"It's unbelievable," Hewitt said. "You know, you're serving for the match, trying to think if this is actually real, if I was playing the first round of Wimbledon or the final.

"You know, I told a few guys I was really looking forward to Wimbledon. This was four or five months ago. There was something drawing me. I couldn't wait until Wimbledon started. That's a strange thing to have when you're a baseliner coming on grass."

The way Hewitt plays, however, it doesn't seem to matter. There is some grit to his game, a regal arrogance that no matter how hard you hit the ball, he can get it back, that he can outlast you.

Is that true nobility? For now, Hewitt is the closest thing tennis has. But sports are cyclical, of course, and soon enough, there will be another player with the look of royalty, too. Only then will we find out if Hewitt is a great king, or just another guy with no clothes.

Long live the king?

We'll see.

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