"Loman on the Totem Pole": Death of a Salesman Redux"

   May 24, 2012 was BobDylan's 71st birthday.  It was also day on which I wrote "Me and Willy: The American Play of Death, "  on this very site.  My subtitle was a play on words on Jessica Mitford's book, "The American Way of Death," her mordant take on the mortuary business, an ever-thriving enterprise kept alive (pun-intended) by virtually every segment of our increasingly discordant society. At the time, I confessed to having "Salesman-related Withdrawal Syndrome" ("SRWS"), an affliction from which I apparently continue to suffer.

  I really didn't expect to see (yet) another production of "Salesman," as I didn't think it had anything else to say to me (or I to it).  My oldest friend and his wife wanted to visit New York and (in part because they would be staying with us) wanted to treat us to join them in seeing the latest production of "Death" before its closing.  And so, on August 7th, a blisteringly hot and humid day followed by torrential rains, we went to the cavernous Winter Garden Theater to see Joe Mantello's production of the Arthur Miller classic starring Nathan Lane as Willy, and Linda Edmunds as Linda.  It was, by the way, a fine production and well worthy of its tradition.  There is not much I can add to what I said fourteen years ago, but here goes.

  Seeing this play at different stages of one's life always gives us differing perspectives.  Where once, I was younger than Willy's adult sons and where my own sons were younger than Biff and Happy as teenagers (and are now almost Willy's contemporaries), I am now even older than the eponymous salesman Willy salutes in his fruitless appeal to his young boss, Howard.  I speak of Dave Singleman, who at 84, could place orders from his hotel room dressed in a velvet robe.  This was the man whom Willy wanted to emulate, a man 21 years older than Willy at the time of his forced retirement at 63.  

The current production reprises the "tradition "of having Charlie and Bernard being people of color.  When this was first done in 1975, I observed its cultural dissonance.  Back in the bad old days of segregated Brooklyn, it seemed unlikely that Willy would have next-door neighbors who were black in 1932, let alone 1949. But, I suppose any production supposedly set in 1949 that features a 1963 Chevrolet can be allowed some poetic license in the name of color-blind casting.  In this context, one must acknowledge that the car was meant to play a supporting role in the production and surely contributed to its "Tony" for set design.

 Interestingly, once we accept Charlie and Bernard as black, it adds a new wrinkle (clearly not intended by the playwright).  Viewed in this light, however, mightn't it now seen as a reason why Willy could never bring himself to be in Charley's employ as well as why his sons looked down on Bernard?  The most recent (prior) production starred Wendell Pearce and Sharon D. Clark (as Willy and Linda), the first to feature black people in its leading roles.  Fittingly, I suppose, Charley and Bernard were now white, allowing Willy to bristle when Charlie asks Willy "When are you going to grow up, boy?" substituting the racially charged "boy" for the original script's "kid."  While I don't much care for changing the words of plays to please the sensitivities of evolving audiences, the literary estate of Arthur Miller agreed to the changes. That said, I guess we'll have to watch how future productions sway in the cultural winds.The casting decision to have different actors play Biff and Happy as teenagers and men in their 30's was an interesting one, but I'm not sure it was necessary. If everyone else can sucessfully play themselves at different stages of life, why not Biff and Happy?

The 2026 audience, just as with the 2012 one, inappropriately laughed when Linda chastised Happy as "a philandering bum--that's all you are, my baby."  Maybe I'm (still) missing something, but there's nothing funny about that line other than the audience reaction.  Over the years, each version has succeeded in bringing tears to my eyes.  This one, however, was more of an intellectual than emotional journey for me.  That said, late in the second act, Biff's confessions to Willy were as poignant as any I'd ever heard.  When he says "Pop! I'm a dime a dozen and so are you," it moved me profoundly.  When Biff (finally) embraces Willy, we know (to use a very 21st-century word) Willy  will have "closure," and will come as close to dying happy as he could ever have expected. Ah well, time and "Death of a Salesman" live on, as do I.  At this stage of life, I'm glad to still be seeing good theater with good people.  In 2012, I joked about seeing Justin Bieber and Adele starring in a 2030 revival. With 2030 now only four years away, we are most fortunate to be seeing actors of the caliber of Nathan Lane and Linda Edmunds performing the latest take on this superb and very American tragedy. 

Tom Lehrer Dies at 97

 Here I am, an old man, writing about the passing of an even older man. I was 12 years old when I first heard Tom Lehrer.  My sister and her new boyfriend (who would eventually become my brother-in law) had just returned from a  New York nightclub called The Blue Angel, where they heard a 25 year-old Harvard graduate and MIT math instructor sing his mordant take on a number of popular song staples.  They brought with them a 10-inch LP (remember them, and you’re as old as I am!).  For me, it was as if my favorite horror stories from E.C.’s “Tales From the Crypt” filtered through the satiric lens of “Mad” magazine had suddenly come to life in musical form.  I was hooked from that moment on.  Well, brother Lehrer has passed on to his final reward as had his contemporaries, my late brother-in-law and his close friend, Marvin.  While neither of them made it even close to 97, the two of them were of the same generation as Tom, and were like the big brothers I never had. 

But this homage is to Tom Lehrer, someone a friend and I referred to as “The Master.”  I think what we meant by this was that he did what he did better than anyone else.  People know that Lehrer was an academic genius—he entered Harvard at 15, was graduated Magna Cum Laude, got a Masters Degree and taught math at both Harvard and MIT.  In his later years, he taught what he called “Math for Tenors,” and “The Broadway Musical” at San Jose State.  From the vantage point of such a long life, I guess it’s fair to say that music was his avocation.  For someone to have had the disproportionate impact on the musical public with only three albums of music is remarkable.  As a sometime singer-songwriter ( also an avocation), Lehrer’s impact upon my musical efforts (such as they are) is undeniable.  Not only do I admit it, but I’m proud of it.  Whenever someone says, “Gee, that reminds me of…” I thank them for the compliment. But, as the egotist says, “enough about me.” This is about Thomas Andrew Lehrer and the national treasure he was. Apart from the relative success of his third album, “That Was the Week That Was,”  (which charted at #16), he never achieved more than niche recognition.  Ah, but what a niche it was.

There are a couple of things that Lehrer did from the very beginning which distinguished him as a lyricist.  While not the first to play games with words (Yip Harburg, Cole Porter, Larry Hart and Noel Coward come to mind), Lehrer seemed to take a special delight in finding unusual rhyming patterns.  His first album includes three “love songs,” and more’s the pity for the objects of his love.  One was killed by him, and he retains her hand as a “precious souvenir” (“I Hold your Hand in Mine). A second is cautioned that his love for her will fade with the passage of time (“When You are Old and Gray”). In the third, “The Weiner Schnitzel Waltz,”he observes, “The music was gay and the setting was Viennese, your hair was in roses or perhaps they were peonies, I was blind to your obvious faults.”  He goes on to observe, “Your lips were like wine, if you’ll pardon the simile, the music was lovely, and quite Rudolph Frim-l-y.” And yes, Tom, we pardon the simile.  That first album, in the guise of sardonic humor, went from gentle send-up of a college football song (“Fight Fiercely, Harvard”) to an ironically endearing ode to the community narcotics dealer (“The Old Dope Peddler”). In each song, he chastises national shortcomings in the guise of popular song forms.  He takes on nuclear bomb tests under the loping gait of a cowboy song, “The Wild West is Where I want to be”).  This is the land “where the scenery’s attractive and the air is radioactive” and later “midst the Yuccas and the thistles I’ll watch the guided missiles while the old F.B.I. watches me”  Once again, those brilliant rhymes: “I will leave the city’s rush, leave the fancy and the plush , leave the snow and leave the slush on the ground.  I will seek the desert’s hush, where the scenery is lush, how I long to see that MUSHroom cloud.”  Indeed.

 In “Dixie,” long one of my favorites, he debunks the myth of the “gallant South.”  Consider, “I want to talk with Southern gentlemen, put my white sheet on again.I ain’t seen one good lynching in years. The land of the boll weevil where the laws are medieval (how’s that for a rhyme?) is calling me to come and never more roam”  In “The Hunting Song” he takes on the cherished American tradition of killing animals, resulting in festooning his trophy room with a catch consisting of “Two Game Wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred Guernsey cow.”  I could go on and on, but that is better left to Tom.  

In a performing career which was remarkably short (he was said to have much preferred people listening to his music than watching him perform—viz: “I enjoyed it up to a point, but…performing the concert every night when it was all available on record would be like a novelist going out and reading his novel every night.”  More’s the pity for Lehrer fans.  The one concert extant is a marvelous one from Copenhagen in 1967.  It’s available on YouTube and as part of a mini-box set called “The Tom Lehrer Collection, in which the DVD concert is said to be in Oslo.  Since I speak neither Danish nor Norwegian, I can’t say for sure, other than the audience loved it, and so will you.  The real tragedy of his reluctance to perform is how good he was at it.  For those unfamiliar with Lehrer’s oeuvre, I strongly suggest you listen to his concert recordings.  As good as the studio albums were, you will find (as I did) that his song introductions in his concerts are such wonderful accompaniments to the songs themselves, that they are indispensable.  They also contain some of his best quotes.  He began one song by saying words to the effect of “My reporter friends, of whom  I have none…”  In another, he described a physician as specializing in “diseases of the rich.”  Anyway, I’ll not spoil the surprise of you hearing him live any further.

While some of his lyrics will seem dated, this is unavoidable for a topical-political songwriter.  I think these older references such as his World War III  salute,”So long, Mom, I’m off to drop the Bomb,” in which he says, “As we’re attacking frontally, watch Brink-aly and Hunt-a-ly describing contrapuntally the cities we have lost…” only add to the appreciation of when it was written.  “Who’s Next,” an extremely funny song about nuclear proliferation has a side-splitting reference to Egypt and Israel’s quest for “the bomb,” ending with a segregation-era cautionary “We’ll try to stay serene and calm when Alabama gets the Bomb.”  Makes us forget how scary it all is, especially today.

 As Lehrer himself would have (and did) say, “but I digress.”  For those of you who already know and love Tom Lehrer, I’m preaching to a secular choir.  For those who don’t, you’ve got a great treat in store for you. My children were raised on Lehrer’s music and lived to tell the tale.  We will jointly assume the responsibility for passing this on to their children.  Tom Lehrer was, by all accounts, a very private person.  I don’t know if he has left behind anything which  might comprise a memoir.  If not, I hope an enterprising biographer might undertake the task.  Speaking personally, I feel as if I lost a big brother I never got to know better.  It is a cliche to say that, when a celebrity with whom we grew up dies, we suddenly feel older.  But when that person helped shape my sensibility, let alone my sense of humor, I feel as if yet another chunk of my youth has been taken from me. So long Tom.

 

 

.”

The Last Best Chance: Djokovic wins Olympic Gold over Alcaraz in Paris, 2024

    Rarely, if even, have I seen both men cry after a tennis match.  

    In Paris, on August 4th at the august Stade Roland Garros, 21 year old Carlos Alcaraz cried because he let his country down in his first battle for Olympic Gold.  37 year old Novak Djokovic wept as well,  because he had finally won Olympic Gold in his 5th—and arguably last best chance of doing so.  As Djokovic confided to his young opponent at the net, Carlito will have many chances to capture this most elusive of tennis prizes.  Think of it: because the Olympics come but once every four years, you have less of an opportunity to win it than any major and—for many players—including Djokovic, winning it is more meaningful.  As someone who has been following tennis since long before the Open era, I remember when the brash Djokovic burst on the scene, complete with comedic imitations of other players—as well as more than occasionally succumbing to injuries (feigned or otherwise).  Amidst exclamations of “No Djoke,” it was clear to fans and foes alike that the young Djokovic would become a force to be reckoned with.  That said, at the time no one could imagine that he would ever catch up to Nadal, let alone Federer.  And now, as a grizzled almost 38-year old man with flecks of gray in his black crew-cut, he found himself facing a 21 year-old who has made a far more auspicious start than even his own.  Indeed, for someone to have four majors under his belt at age 21, Alcaraz is already a certain Hall of Famer, and someone who could possibly join the magic circle of the all-time greats who have amassed 20 or more Grand Slam Championships.  That, of course, remains to be seen in the very great future awaiting Alcaraz.  As for the present,  let’s look at what was at stake.  Both men were playing for their first Olympic Gold Medal.  This, of course, was Alcaraz’s first Olympics, and probably Djokovic’s last.  They were both the youngest and oldest men, respectively, to ever compete for the Olympic Gold Medal.  People who have won career grand slams (at least one for each major) are few and far between. Even rarer are those who can add a Gold Medal at the Olympics to their resume.  Before Djokovic’s upset of Alcaraz,* only five players had ever achieved what is called “The Golden Slam,” i.e. a career in which they won at least one of each major plus the Olympic Gold Medal.  Not even all-time greats such as Sampras or Federer have done so.  With his victory on August 4th, Djokovic joined Raphael Nadal, Serena Williams, and (husband and wife team) Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf.  Speaking of Nadal, he and Djokovic had met in the second round for their 60th time in the longest and greatest rivalry in men’s tennis.  A win by Nadal would have found them dead even at 30 wins each.  Sadly for Nadal fans, it was not to be.  Despite a late burst of the old brilliance on the court on which he had reigned for so long, this likely final meeting was all Djokovic. I couldn’t help but wonder in watching what may well have been the great Raphael Nadal’s “last hurrah,” if that might be the upcoming fate of Novak Djokovic if he reached the final against the amazing Carlos Alcaraz.

As it turned out, both Alcaraz and Djokovic arrived at the finals without having dropped a single set.  This, in itself, is an extraordinary achievement, given the high level of competition. Some believe that the two out of three set format makes the Olympics less significant (at least for the men) than the majors.  While true in a way, as both commentators Mary Carrillo and Renee Stubbs observed, there is less margin for error in a two out of three match. Coming back from a one-set loss in a 3 out of 5 set match is easier than facing an elimination set after dropping the first of 2 out of 3.  Regardless of the format, it was what it was, and the first player to reach two sets would bring home the gold.

The servers held throughout the first set. In game 4, Alcaraz went down went down 0-40, only to come back and win the game.  That was the first, but not the last, time in which I wondered if Djokovic had squandered his “last, best chance.”  Thereafter, the two traded holds until squared at 4-4.  After trailing love-30, Djokovic, with the help of a forehand winner, evened the score at 30-all, only to give Carlito a break point on a net cord which carried Nole’s shot wide. Djokovic played a great point to square things and deuce, only to have Alcaraz go up break point again on one of his many fabulous drop shots. Twice again Djokovic would even things at deuce until Alcaraz got his 5th break point on what Mary Carrillo called “a Djokovician” backhand winner.  And indeed it was. Carlito slid into an open stance backhand and hit the kind of shot I thought only Nole could do.  The Joker made it back to deuce and finally, on his second ad point— thanks to a brilliant stop volley and service winner—  held for 5-4. The game had lasted 14 1/2 minutes—as long as some (admittedly fast) sets.   This marathon game—longer than some sets—struck me as the turning point of the match.  This sense was reinforced when, serving at 5-6, 30-30, Alcaraz netted a volley.  Djokovic had set-point.  But the intrepid Alcaraz went on to hold, and I wondered once again,  if that would turn out to be Nole’s “last best chance.”  The tiebreaker began as a nail-biter.  Alcaraz dropped the first point, giving Djokovic a “mini-break,” but  got it back on the 3rd point.  At 2-2, Djokovic pulled Alcaraz wide on a sensational inside out forehand which Alcaraz got back but Djokovic covered  for a beautiful volley winner—no mean feat against an opponent who runs (almost) everything down. Alcaraz induced a net return off a strong serve to tie it 3-3.  That, surprisingly, was all she wrote.  Djokovic stepped in on a second serve, took the ball on the rise and crushed a short angle forehand winner which took the wind out of Alcaraz’s sails.  At 4-3 , Djokovic watched Alcaraz’s first service return sail long as did his second. Suddenly, it was  6-3 Djokovic.  Alcaraz tried his patented drop shot. off a Djokovic return, which Djokovic returned deep to the young Spaniard’s forehand.  Alcaraz hit a beautiful cross-court forehand which Djokovic—amazingly—reached on a lunging stab volley winner.  An amazing end to an amazingly tight first set.

The second set began with an Alcaraz hold, showing that whatever frustrations he felt about the first set results could be put behind him.  Game 2 was a strong hold by Djokovic, with two forehand winners and a dominant serve, which spared him from having to endure the grinding rallies where all but the most perfect of shots came right back.  To me, that was to be the critical difference. Game 3 could have been a turning point, since Djokovic had a break point, but Alcaraz hit an insane inside-out forehand so wide that it could not be touched.  Djokovic won handily in game 4 to even the set at 2-all.  The Serb found himself in a 15-30 lead only to see Alcaraz  not only reach his excellent drop shot, but return it at an absurd angle to even the game which he would go on to win.  Djokovic then squared the set at 3 games apiece, with another strong service game thanks, in part, to Carlos surprisingly netting an easy volley. Alcaraz won the so-called “all important seventh game” with a solid hold. In the 8th game, Nole hit an inside out forehand so far to Carlito’s left that it would have been an outright winner against virtually everyone on the tour,.   Instead, the shot came back and it was point Alcaraz.  Unphased, Djokovic came back with a service winner, and ultimately tied the score at 4-4 with yet another service winner.  The 9th game was a terrific one, featuring an astonishing  rally ending with an Alcaraz stop volley, only to be followed by an exchange at such a high level by both players that only an Alcaraz error induced by Djokovic ended it.  There was a long and exhausting rally at deuce replete with what should have been a backhand winner for Djokovic down the line only to have it (once again) come right back.  It is interesting to note that Djokovic, a man possessed of the greatest backhand in the history of tennis, could not get a single backhand winner against the fleet young Spaniard.  The trouble with writing about such a match is that one runs out of superlatives to describe what we were witnessing.  Suffice to say that no two people on earth could have put together point after point at such a high level.  With Alcaraz one game away from winning the set, Djokovic’s need to hold serve was imperative.  At this point, I can only share the exchange between the two commentators, each of whom had played on the women’s professional tour.   After Mary Carrillo said that Djokovic clearly wanted to win in straight sets bit—if he didn’t— she favored “the kid,” Renee Stubbs countered by saying that Djokovic would “literally almost die in order to win.” It was a tight game, but—thanks to Djokovic’s service winners, it never got to deuce. The service percentage by both players had reached a level rarely seen.  Djokovic was serving at 88% on his first serve (winning 86%of the points), and Alcaraz was serving at a not too shabby 80%.  At 5-5, Alcaraz held at love, leaving Djokovic a “must” hold in order to force a tie-breaker.  Djokovic questioned the call after the lines-person called his first serve out, a call sustained by the umpire. The Djoker approached the net net to remonstrate with the umpire, only to have the gracious Alcaraz concede that the serve (a let cord) had caught the service line.  Djokovic went on to hold at love to force what seemed to be the inevitable breaker.  

It began on the Spaniard’s serve, with the Serb winning the first point on an unbelievable forehand winner that a sprinting Alcaraz could not even get his racquet on.  On his own first serve, Nole was tuned in and played a great defensive point with a great lob to go up 2-0 on an Alcaraz error.  Carlito erased the mini-break off Novak”s serve with a steady, focused rally inducing a shot by his opponent with traveled long.  Alcaraz won his second point with a great wide serve to the ad court followed by a forehand winner down the opposite line to even the tie-breaker at 2-2.  I don’t think anyone would have imagined that this was the last point the young Spaniard would get, but the “lockdown” mode the Djokovic is so famous for in tiebreaks was even more in evidence here than in the first set. A great side-to-side rally ending in an incredible cross-court forehand winner by the Joker made it 3-2. and another great forehand by the Serb enabled him to rush net and put away an overhead to give him a 4-2 lead.  A deflated Alcaraz netted a non-forcing shot to make it 5-2, and Djokovic clearly had his eye on the finish line. With Alcaraz serving, the Spaniard netted another return to make it 2-6, with four Gold Medal points in the Serb’s favor.  On Alcaraz’s final serve, Djokovic hit a backhand to Carlos and pounced on the Spaniard’s return to hit a match-ending forehand winner  Djokovic fell to his feet and all but tasted of the red clay the way he munches on the Wimbledon grass.  A fitting entry in the still expanding resume of the Greatest of All Time.

What made the difference?  In a match featuring two of the world’s best court coverers, long points could go either way, and shots which would have been winners against virtually everyone else, not only came back, but did so with authority.  The only thing that could be said is that Alcaraz goes for more and, as a result, has both more winners and errors.  (At one point in the second set, the commentators pointed out that Alcaraz had 22 unforced errors and 24 forced errors versus The Joker’s 16 unforced and 15 forced.  A fifteen error swing between two so evenly matched players can—and indeed, did—make the difference.) Djokovic is more patient in waiting for opportunities that sometimes never come, but ultimately that strategic approach turned out to make the difference, especially in the tie-breakers in which Djokovic’s controlled aggression is at its most effective.  Amazingly, Djokovic had no backhand winners in this match.  Given that this is his— and the game’s— best shot, this is a remarkable tribute to the speed and confidence with which Alcaraz plays.

Djokovic began his Olympic quest in a year in which he had not won a single title.  From a dramatic standpoint, he clearly saved his best for last.  It’s hard to say that the upcoming U.S. Open and ATP Masters Finals will be anti-climactic, but for the moment, Nole’s career has hit its zenith and—by his own words—this was his most significant victory.  When, at the Passover Seder, Jews cite the many miracles visited upon them by the almighty, they recite after each holy blessing the word “dayenu.”  Freely translated, it means “it would have been enough.”  And so I say to the undisputed G.O.A.T., who may not count Hebrew among the many languages he has mastered, dayenu, Nole, dayenu.  But perhaps the best words were those of the eponymous Roland Garros inscribed on the walls of Court Philippe Chattrier, “Victory Belongs to the Most Tenacious.” On this momentous day for Novak Djokovic, no words could have been more apt.  And, just for the record, Novak Djokovic has said he wants to defend his Olympic Gold Medal in the 2028 Olympics on Los Angeles.  You know what? With this guy,  anything is possible.

 *The odds-maker had Alcaraz at -250, with Djokovic at +195.  Those with the faith to bet on the Joker were handsomely rewarded at almost twice the money they put at risk.  For what it’s worth, I never bet on sports.  I do this both as a matter of principle in preserving the purity of my fandom, and as a matter of principal in not wanting to lose the money.

An odor of Mendacity

   In Georgia Judge Scott MacAfee’s opinion as to whether Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis engaged in conduct arising to an actual conflict of interest, he ruled that it did not.  That said, the court, in reviewing the possibility that a perceived conflict existed observed that there was “an odor of mendacity” about the prosecution’s behavior, .  While the learned judge may or may not have been a fan of the late Tennessee Williams, his reference to mendacity reminded me of the first time I heard that word.  As a precocious adolescent, I found the plays of Williams fascinating, and remember hearing Big Daddy say—with respect to two of his more grasping relatives—that a “powerful odor of mendacity” was present in the room and there  “ain’t nothing more powerful than that odor…” I looked up the word and discovered it was just a fancy phrase for “lying,” a concept and practice of which I was already aware.  Big Daddy’s sniffing was directed at his son and daughter-in-law  (AKA “Brother Man” and his “fertility monster of a wife,” parents of a slew of of “no-necked monsters” no less).

While legal opinions don’t always rise to the level of literature, they can’t be blamed for not trying.  Indeed, this was not the only literary allusion in Judge MacAfee’s opinion.  In another portion regarding the importance of public figures actions and appearances, he invoked the standard of purity of “Caesar’s wife.” Way to go Judge!

In fairness, the court seemed to reach a fair and balanced conclusion that D.A. Willis’s behavior in hiring her then or future paramour as a Special Assistant District Attorney did not amount to an actual conflict of interest, there certainly was enough of an appearance of one which required actions to cure it so that the prosecution could proceed.  And people don’t need to be judges to know that it doesn’t look right to hire someone with whom you have (or develop) an intimate relationship.  If nothing else, it is nepotism—something frowned on, though honored in the breach, in hirings throughout the world, not to mention corporate boardrooms and the college admissions process. In what is an irony not lost to even the most casual observer,  the defendant raising concerns over mixing business with pleasure was arguably the most immoral elected official in the history of our nation.  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!  But then again, defendants accused of the vilest crimes are still entitled to all the protections that our constitution and laws provide. That’s the beauty of our system, and I’m glad Judge McAffee knows his Tennessee Williams—even without attribution!

The Changing of the Guard

Yesterday, the great Novak Djokovic fell decisively to the young Italian superstar Jannik Sinner. At the risk of quoting myself, in my last post on Djokovic’s unbelievable 2023, I said “Not that you heard it here first, but Sinner is a future number one, with many future majors likely to his credit.”  Watching Sinner play, it was, at least for this long-time observer of the tennis scene, not a question of “if” but “when.”  Well, folks, “when is now.”  As I’ve also previously noted, for Sinner to have beaten Medvedev as he did in last season’s ATP finals in Turin was no mean feat.  Medvedev is one of the very best—if not the best—hard court player in the world. And for Sinner to have beaten him on his best surface clearly established his arrival as a competitor at the very highest level.   Sinner will face a great challenge in Medvedev in tomorrow’s final, but so will Sinner.  I’ve long considered Medvedev Djokovic’s toughest competitor on a hard court. Not that Djokovic fans need any reminding, but Medvedev deprived the Joker of the calendar slam with his 2021 victory. The only other person to do that was the young Spanish phenom, Carlos Alcaraz in last year’s Wimbledon.  As I look over this first paragraph, I realize I’ve just listed the top four players in the world. Just outside this magic circle are Taylor Fritz and the reinvigorated Sasha Zverev, and the underrated Hubert Hurkacz  Who would have thought that Zverev could have bounced back from his devastating ankle injury while playing against the great Rafael Nadal and make it to the quarterfinals of The Australian Open only to lose a heartbreaker to Daniil Medvedev.  With no disrespect to Novak Djokovic—who is still the world number 1–we are looking at the post-Djokovic era in these five splendid athletes nipping at his heels.  By the way, one statistic that leaps off the page when looking at the gen-next players is height.  While the golden trio of Federer, Nadal and Djokovic were not exactly stunted in height (ranging between 6’1 and 6’2”),  the quarter finalists at Melbourne included five men 6’5” and over (Sinner, Medvedev, Zverev, Hurkacz , and Fritz)!  As recently as the mid-70’s, it was not unusual to have world number ones under six-feet (e.g. McEnroe and Connors).  It’s no wonder the rest of us average-heighted men find it so welcoming to have “little” Carlito in the mix.

I have two thoughts on tomorrow’s final. While I don’t bet on sports, I’d have to give the edge to Sinner.  In addition to being hungrier and playing “lights out” tennis, he no longer falters in tough situations.  A lesser player might have crumbled after losing the third-set tiebreaker to Djokovic (after holding a couple of match-points), but Sinner quickly regrouped, and cruised to victory in the uneventful fourth set.  Medvedev was stretched to his limit in his remarkable comeback against Zverev.  Whether he has enough gas in the proverbial tank to beat the relatively well- rested Sinner remains to be seen.  What you will be seeing are the two heirs to Djokovic’s throne squaring off to being “King of the Hard-Courts.”  I hope tennis fans get the match we deserve—a great one.

I suppose the big question is whether Djokovic will ever hoist another Major trophy.  Not so long ago, I was hoping he’d tie Federer and Nadal at 20, and they’d ride off into their well-deserved sunsets as equal GOATS.  Once Nadal, amazingly, tacked on Majors 21 and 22, I thought he had a lock on the most ever. And so, when Nole not only tied him, but went on to win numbers 23 and 24, I felt then that he was both skillful (and lucky) to have done so.  Since I never thought the Joker would tie Nadal I can no more complain about his title runs being over than I could (in good conscience) bemoan my beloved New York Yankees if they never win another World Series in what remains of my lifetime.  After all, no other team will ever come close to 27 World Championships and—guess what—no one will ever tie Djokovic’s 24. Yeah, I know they said that about Sampras and Federer, but no one’s going to catch Nole—ever.  And so, if the King be dead, he may yet rise from the dead.  If not, “Long live the King!”

Djokovic: A Season for the Ages

 The 2023 tennis season came to an end last week with the completion of the ATP Finals Tournament, held on the fast indoor courts at Turin.  There are a number of things about this tournament which make it unusual, if not unique.  For many years, the top eight players on the men’s tour have vied for this coveted trophy, unofficially crowning the year’s best player, though not necessarily the year-end number one.  Unlike  the four “Majors,” sometimes misnamed “Grand Slams,”this tournament is best of three sets.  But here’s the catch: because it’s a round-robin format split into two draws of four men each, you could wind up having to play the same person twice.  Given the exclusivity of the draw, the competition starts out tougher than any major.  Novak Djokovic, reigning world number one, had to win his first match against Holger Rune in order in clinch the year-end number one position, a record he already holds.  That said, he was currently tied with the great Roger Federer for having won the most of these ATP Finals at six.  These are extremely difficult to win, even once.  For example, the great “King of Clay,” Rafael Nadal, has never won it.  In the 53 years since its inception in 1970 only 25 men have hoisted this trophy, and only 10 have won it more than once.  In fairness, because it is played at the end of the year, it has always been indoors and on a fast surface due to the coldness of the weather.  While clearly, it could be played elsewhere in warmer climes, it could still have been played on clay (or even grass) but hasn’t been.  Arguably, it’s the hardest tournament to win, which explains the relative paucity of repeaters.

It also stands out—in a negative way—by still requiring lines-people, despite the availability of computerized line calls.  One other anomaly is its peculiar scoring system.  After each contestant plays three matches within his group, the top two players then play runners-up in the in the semifinals and the winners play in the final.  Yannik Sinner won the first two matches in his group (including a tight three-setter against Djokovic), had already clinched a berth in the semifinals, and was playing the young Dane, Holger Rune, who had earlier lost to Djokovic in a three-setter.  Although Djokovic had a 2 and 1 record, if Rune were to have beaten Sinner, Rune, and Sinner would also have been 2 and 1.  But, even though Djokovic would have been in a three-way won and loss tie,  in such a case the rules look to winning percentage. Because all of  Djokovic’s matches went to three sets, his record would be 5 sets won and 4 sets lost  (55.5  %), versus Rune at 5 and 3 (62.5%) and Sinner, at 4 and 3, (57.14%.) And so, if Sinner, who was nursing a strained back had wanted to avoid the possibility of having to play Djokovic again, he could have tanked the Rune match.  Instead, by edging Rune in three sets, let the Joker back-door his way onto the semis.  Under the tournament format, the top player in each group (Sinner and Alcaraz) would meet the second place people in each group (Medvedev and Djokovic).  Sound complicated?  It could have been worse.  If there had been a dead heat for sets won, they would have then looked for games won.  Fortunately, such was not the case.  As it turned out, the semis involved the four top seeds—and players.  While Sinner won handily over Medvedev, the Djokovic-Alcaraz semi, expected to be a battle, was over in 2 sets. At an hour and 28 minutes, it was shorter than one of their sets at their classic final at Cincinnati.  Djokovic was dominant against the world number two,  beating Alcaraz 6-3 and 6-2.  Amazingly, Alcaraz served at an 85% first serve rate and still lost.  Says something about Djokovic as a returner, something already well known to followers of the men’s game. In what is often called the “all important 7th game,”Alcaraz, already down a break, was trying to keep it close.  After falling behind 15-40,  Alcaraz made it 30-40, needing one point to level the score at Deuce.  What followed, as happens so often with these two superb competitors, was truly a point for the ages.  Speaking of ages, one of the Tennis Channel commentators observed that the difference between the ages of Djokovic’s young son and Alcaraz is less than the difference between Alcaraz and Djokovic. Now there’s an unusual stat!  But back to the rally.  Not only did it go over 20 shots, but several exchanges would have been winners against virtually anyone else. Finally, incredibly, an Alcaraz return went long, causing Djokovic to raise both arms in celebration of the match which was now, almost surely his, something which turned out to be the case a few minutes later.  The tempestuous Nick Kyrgios, who had joined the excellent commentating team headed by Jim Courier and Bret Haber, turned out to be a fine “color” commentator in his own right; articulate and insightful. After the point which gave Djokovic a commanding 5-2 lead, an astonished Kyrgios exclaimed, “Best player to ever touch a racquet,” followed by “the best to ever walk the earth.”  No faint praise, that!

It seems, these days, that when Djokovic and Alcaraz meet in a semi-final, the final seems anticlimactic.  But such was not the case here.  Yannik Sinner, the young Italian superstar, is just a year older than Alcaraz, and—except for not yet having won a major— every bit his equal.  He had already beaten Djokovic in a tight three-setter in the second round and, though it is a daunting task to do it twice in a row, he had done so at Indian Wells and Miami. Accordingly, he is a tough young man to ever bet against.  Let’s not forget him having bested Daniil Medvedev in the semis, a man arguably the best hard court player in the game.

Whatever the betting line, few would have predicted a straight set win by Djokovic, especially given the struggle of their first match.  The first set was nothing short of a clinic by Djokovic.  Serving at over 80% and playing virtually error-free tennis, Djokovic cruised to a quick 6-3 win.  The second set saw Djokovic’s level drop a bit, but he still continued to dominate on serve while Sinner struggled to hold. Up 2-4 with Sinner serving, Djokovic was up 15-40 only to see the young Italian bring it up to deuce.  What followed were multiple deuces, with beautiful points alternating with unforced errors on both sides. Finally, after almost 16 minutes (some sets don’t take that long), Sinner won, but that was all she wrote.  Djokovic, after blowing a sitter at net and being unable to handle a power forehand from Sinner, found himself at love-thirty, with Sinner two points from squaring the set at 4-all.  A suddenly refocused Djokovic got the score even and held on to win on his second game point.  Sinner, serving to stay in the match could not do so.  The match ended with a Sinner double-fault, as they say, “not with a bang but a whimper.  One remarkable statistic showed, at one point, Djokovic having only served 38 times against Sinner’s 68.  A 30 serve imbalance shows just how dominant the Serb was. But Sinner is very young and already a great player.  Not that you heard it first here, but he is a future world number one, with many majors likely coming his way.

At the end of the day, and season, it is yet another remarkable achievement by the seemingly ageless, Djokovic, playing—at 36–as well as he ever has.  Think of it, winning three majors (for the fourth time) and losing just the one in a five-set thriller to Alcaraz in the Wimbledon final .  While this might have dampened a lesser man’s ability to bounce back, Djokovic’s victory over Alcaraz at Cincinnati in an almost four-hour two out of three set match—two and a half times longer than his semi-final win—showed how truly indomitable his spirit it.  Although the Alcaraz/Djokovic rivalry is a new one, and will never approach in length or importance his contests with former GOATs Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, it will certainly equal them in intensity.  An argument could be made that now is this perfect time for Djokovic to retire.  Here he is, at the top of his game, coming off of one of the best seasons any player has ever has, and punctuating it with straight-set wins over two of his closest rivals. He would clearly be making a statement.  But that, of course, is not Novak Djokovic.  He has already said he wants to play Nadal once more, and believes he has more major titles ahead of him.  Be that as it may, while record books are never truly closed, if he never played another tennis match again, his record is secure.  Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner, and his name is Novak Djokovic.  He may not play with the timeless elegance of a Federer or the muscular resolve of a Nadal, but somehow he manages to beat them at their own game.

Tony Bennett dies at 96

 I’m writing this piece from memory, because Tony Bennett will forever live in my memory.  Accordingly, I may be off on some of the timeline, but not on substance. His most iconic song, “I Left my Heart on San Francisco,” was actually recorded by Frank Sinatra.  When Sinatra (who greatly admired Bennett) heard Bennet’s take, he withdrew his own recording from circulation.  Frankie knew a good thing when he heard it.  I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bennett on the occasion of his release of “40 Years: the artistry of Tony Bennett,” his career defining box set. It is a superb collection of many of his wonderful songs, including a number of lesser -known gems.  I had the temerity to suggest to him that he record “The Way We Were,” the classic Streisand standard.  Knowing him to be a great fan of the late Marilyn Bergman (he managed to outlive just about everyone), he shook his head and smiled.  “It’s a great song,” he said, but it belongs to Barbra.  Like Sinatra, he knew a good thing when he saw it.  Listening to just about any of the 70 odd albums Bennett recorded, one thing that stands out is the consistency of good taste in the songs he sung.

As with many generations of lovers of the “American Songbag” of standards, I grew up with Tony’s music in my ears.  As a kid, I remember immediately loving “Rags to Riches” and “Cold, Cold Heart.” A little later on, it was “Stranger in Paradise” and “Because of You.”  I was on college when “San Francisco” hit the charts, and find me a jilted lover who didn’t relate to “I Wanna be Around.”  Not unlike Sinatra (or, in  a different way Dylan, McCartney and Billy Joel) the songs of Tony Bennett play as background music to our lives.  Interestingly, both Dylan and McCartney—master songwriters to be sure—have recorded albums of just the kind of standards Bennett included in his repertoire.  As for Billy Joel, make sure to hear their duet on “New York State of Mind.”  It’s nothing short of wonderful

Many music lovers rightly salute Frank Sinatra’s longevity.  While Sinatra started recording in the late 30’s and continued into the 80’s—covering parts of six decades, Tony did him one better.  Bennett actively performed from the early 50’s until—and this is amazing—2022.  That’s not only seven decades, but seventy years of performing.  Most remarkably, Bennett remained in fine voice.  He was said to have practiced the bel canto scales every day, and his strong high register remained a staple of his performances.  No question, his voice frayed a bit near the end, and he tended to speak, rather than croon, some of his lines.  That said, he could always hit and sustain the high notes, and did so like no one else.  I heard him only once in concert.  In was in the mid-90’s at The Boca Raton Resort & Club and the seats were up close and personal.  He was playing with the Ralph Sharon trio, and the performance was nothing short of wonderful.  As was his practice, he turned off the microphone for a song, projecting his solo voice across the large auditorium.   It was a memorable evening.

Most notably, he stayed actively in touch with the current generation of singers, as his recordings with K.D .Lang and Lady Gaga will attest.  Last year, in the serious throes of dementia, Lady Gaga put together a 95th birthday salute to her dear friend.  While he could still sing, many simple tasks like tying his shoes eluded him. He couldn’t even remember Lady Gaga’s name.  But when the evening came, I was expecting a salute to him by others, and didn’t expect him to perform,  But oh, perform he did.  If you haven’t seen this show, I’m sure it can be streamed.  It is memorable, not only because of the high level of his performance, but because it demonstrated  the degree to which his mastery of his craft not only survived, but transcended, the ravages of dementia. To quote a line from one of his favorite songs, “,,,the music never ends.” And it never will  Good-bye, dear Tony, and God bless.