In an astounding three-day, three-match, 14-set, 12-hour, blood-stained, caked-in-clay, high-altitude, high-stakes performance for the ages, Mardy Fish capped off both his stunning comeback season and Patrick McEnroe‘s 10-year run as Davis Cup captain by becoming the first American in 15 years to win three matches in one tie, as he led the U.S. to a 3-1 win over a pesky, homestanding Colombian team to retain America’s slot in the World Group.
Like Pete Sampras‘ run in Moscow in ’95, (which propelled the U.S. to the championship), Fish’s inspired weekend was imbued with a core physicality and a brave, almost stoic heroism that will long be celebrated. But unlike Sampras, we didn’t see Fish cramp and collapse. And we didn’t see America’s usual Davis Cup suspects — Andy Roddick, James Blake and the Bryan Bros. Missing, too, were Fish’s 30 excess pounds (which he recently shed) and the suspect confidence that had long shadowed an underachieving, almost nonchalant career that was marked more by injuries and funny (“Fish Flounders”) headlines then gutsy triumphs. Now the recently married Fish — who, since the Wimbledon warm-ups, has scored one good run after another — seemed transformed.
His Davis Cup heroics began with the opening match, as he toughed out a nearly four-hour marathon 4-6, 6-1, 6-4, 3-6, 6-4 win over Alejandro Falla, the man who almost bounced Roger Federer out of Wimbledon. Then, after Sam Querrey was smashed by Santiago Giraldo, Fish — an outstanding doubles player — joined John Isner for a 6-4, 6-4, 6-7(5), 6-3 win over Carlos Salamanca/Robert Farah. Now, with a handy 2-1 lead, the U.S. was in great shape.
But for all its problems, the Davis Cup can be a wonder, filled with national drama and backstories. The competition once again proved there’s nothing like it tennis. The mighty U.S. vs. little Colombia in the 70-year-old mountain bullring evolved into a thrilling confrontation. Forget David vs. Goliath. And it was just a coincidence that during the tie, PBS aired a documentary on coffee, which deconstructed the industry’s curious history with the U.S. (think baronial Colombian estates, wildly fluctuating prices, senate hearings, slavery and torture).
But all that was on Fish’s mind was that, if he lost, it would be tortuous to watch the less-than-nimble, 6-foot-9 Isner play the deciding fifth rubber with everything on the line. Feeling the pressure, Fish dropped the first set. But his foe, Giraldo, felt pressure, too. Ranked 42 spots below Fish, with an underwhelming serve and little to hurt Mardy, he dropped the second and third sets. But reared on clay in the high altitude and playing before zealots hoping for a dream, he moved with growing ease, played good defense and scored impressive passes to even the match at two sets apiece. Here was a battle of mind-boggling momentum swings that could go either way — deal or no deal.
Playing with a bloodied knee and hand, his white shirt bright with Picasso-like blotches of red blood, Fish looked the part — warrior, survivor. His mental toughness, hefty serve, marquee backhand, adept drop shots and some brilliant half volleys would carry him, while Giraldo often prevailed in long, risk-free rallies. Taking advantage of two Fish backhand errors deep in the fifth set, Giraldo broke serve. Up 6-5 and serving, he was just two points from the match. But he blinked, was too cautious and allowed Fish to again call on his athleticism and quiet, but unmistakable grit, as he collected three games in a row en route to the greatest win of the greatest weekend of his increasingly great career.
In this season of marathons, like Isner at Wimbledon, Fish had played over three days for about the same 11 hours as Isner and actually won two more matches. But, among heroes, who’s counting?
