As if it matters that...

Andy Roddick went out of the French in the first round yesterday. As if anyone gives a shit but casual American tennis fans who imagine that Roddick actually has been relevant on tour in a while. Yes, he has an ankle injury, and yes, he tweaked it yesterday, but still... did you watch that match? Ankle or no ankle, Martin might have beaten him anyway. Roddick is now like a closer with high heat who used to strike everybody out with his "here it is just try and hit it" type fastballs, but hey, those are professionals out there - once they've seen the 100 mph cheese (in Andy's case, more like 150 mph) a few hundred times, they make adjustments, and then, THEN, you better have a slider in your arsenal, or, in Andy's case, a freaking flipping backhand. When's the last time you saw a tennis player at Roddick's level try to squeak by with a weakass slice/block-it-back backhand? It's an embarrassment. I read a thing on ESPN.com the other day that said that Roddick's backhand has developed into an acceptable passing shot. Dah... when? On the practice court? On Gameboy?

What it boils down to is that the world of men's tennis at this point is basically A Bunch of Dudes Who Play Tennis and Roger Federer (and, on clay, a swashbuckling homo-erotic tennis pirate named Nadal) and nowadays, Roddick is just another one of the nameless dudes, who on any given day, ESPECIALLY in the early rounds of the French Open, can get smoked by the Alberto Martins of the world.

And it REALLY didn't matter whether he beat Martin or not because

1. It's clay
2. Roger Federer is playing this tournament.
3. So is The Tennis Pirate.

Nadal has a 54-match winning-streak on clay. He's so fit he looks like he could play best-of-25 sets. He reminds me of Floyd Jr. - in the 11th round the other guy has his mouth open and is clinching and throwing soft jabs and Floyd's just like BAM BAM BAM BAM, six, eight-punch combinations, every one a jackhammer, looks like he's just getting started. Right now endurance is ALWAYS a point in Nadal's favor, no matter who he's playing. Fifth set, 17-15, Nadal will be throwing left hooks that could take your head off.

And then there's Federer. Not looking his best right now, but Federer not looking his best is like Ali looking bored when he was fighting Jurgen Blin or some other schmo. You change the Bayonne Bleeder into Joe Frazier, and you could bet that the butterfly would float, the bee would sting. Federer won't have to whip out his A-game until the final (potential Nalbandian semi - I was in attendance at the Federer/Nalbandian quarter at Flushing last year - Federer won in 3, looking for most of the match like he was enjoying a light workout before his massage), but when he does, watch the fuck out. In today's world of men's tennis, a Federer/Nadal final on clay is as good as it gets, a Borg and McEnroe at Wimbledon type slugfest. So wait for that, enjoy Nadal spanking Lleyton Hewitt in the fourth round, and whatever you do, don't cry for Andy Roddick, Argentina. These days the guy is just wasting our time.

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David Larzalere is the former left fielder for the Black Betty, head writer of ESPN Classic Now, and lead singer of the Humbuckers. He likes to think of himself as a cross between George Plimpton and Gram Parsons, and especially now that his getting zooted days are over, he's not far off. This multi-talented wiseass has written a novel "The Prince Of Leisure", recorded a solo album "Mr Sunshine", and named his cat after Julio Cesar Chavez. In addition to the standard No Masian obsessions with boxing and baseball, he likes to talk about golf, tennis, and chess and is equally likely to quote Richard Pryor and Emily Dickinson. "Large", as he likes us to call him, will be writing about whatever tickles his fuckin fancy.