Rocket man
Simon Barnes
ONE of the eternal illusions of life is that you can become another person by an act of will; that by really trying you can escape from yourself; that you can outrun your history and your genes. Those who attempt such a course invariably become more like themselves than ever before, but with new shoes and a different haircut.
And so, alas, to Tim Henman. When we first encountered him, we saw all the virtues — the tennis skill, the coldness in combat, the passionate diffidence — and we knew that such things would take him a long way. Then we got to know him better and we saw some of the vices: the lapses in concentration, the knack of making heavy weather, the ability to take every step on the journey to the top save the very last.
It all adds up to a man who frustrates the hell out of us. And being Henman quite clearly frustrates the hell out of Henman. To that end, he has begun to make a career out of fresh starts. Forget about my failings and my multiple infidelities, darling, let's just start again and everything will all be all right.
Clap hands if you believe in fairies. A couple of years ago, Henman announced to the world — as if he were a rocket — that he was launching stage two of his career. So we all listened politely, reported his ambitions and then reported the matches that followed — matches in which Henman combined high skill with lapses in concentration, heavy weather and an inability to take the final step.
Meet the new Tim: same as the old Tim. This was a point that no seasoned Henmanwatcher could fail to make. Stung, Henman got rid of his old coach, worked by himself, then hired a new coach. This was another personal relaunch, another new Tim, another fresh start. This time, Henman was too wary to put it that way, but that's what it was.
And it all worked. He came roaring into the New Year in the form of his life, went to Australia and won a hard-court tournament. There were notable differences in style: instead of going for broke with his first serve, he aimed to win the point on the volley. He is as good a volleyer as there is in the game, so why not?
On, then, to the Australian Open. The final takes place this weekend, but where is Tim? Gone home. He played a majestic third-round match to beat Greg Rusedski. and went into the fourth round as the highest surviving seed and the favourite to win the damn thing. The first grand-slam tournament of his career was, at long last, within his grasp.
Last summer he was almost in the Wimbledon final, but was outlasted over a three-day, rain-wrapped semi by the eventual winner, Goran Ivanisevic. But this was the opportunity that was going to make that lapse all right. At long last the most exclusive avenues of the tournament and the game were opening up to Henman Mark III.
And so what happened in the fourth round? Wouldn't you know it? We had lapses in concentration, heavy weather, and an inability to take the final step. You can have a new approach to serving and volleying, but you can't have a new brain. No number of new coaches or new haircuts will permit you to escape from the tyranny of being who you are. Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on alps.
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