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The
big lad from Moscow, born in 1980, is the new men’s world tennis ace,
and the one with whom, in perspective, the destiny of tennis seems to
lie. But it must be stressed that Marat, as nearly all the other young
Russian prodigies, is not the product of the Soviet Union alone. Marat
is the magnificent result of typically Russian DNA that has been transplanted
in the West, including all his good and bad points.
Safin
developed his tennis skills in the club run by his mother Rausa, a former
national tennis player, but the young boy seemed destined to become
a victim of crumbling facilities and a constantly evolving sport both
in terms of equipment and style. The fable of the young boy with the
mighty arm does not continue in his home country. A wealthy Swiss banker
decides to bet a few Francs on the talented young boy, at a time when
the currency of the confederation is at its height. Marat is awarded
a sort of “tennis scholarship” to train in Spain, the country that has
repeatedly produced the continent’s best athletes.
Thus,
at the tender age of 13, Marat’s adventures begin in a city that is
light years away from the young Russian’s previous environment. Living
in Barcelona means accepting the discipline of the Iberian school, but
it also means accepting typically Mediterranean uses and customs. Nonetheless,
tennis aside, Safin does not have an active social life.
He
makes a famous blunder during one of his first interviews when the reporter
emphasises the beauty and attractions of the Catalan metropolis. “Is
Gaudi in Barcelona? I don’t know him. I don’t think I’ve ever played
with him...”
Fortunately
for Safin, he reaches greater heights in sport than in culture. After
a few seasons spent playing in lesser circuits to gain experience, 1998
is the year of his consecration. Particularly in Paris, where he beats
Agassi and Kuerten and enters the quarterfinals in the world’s most
important clay court tournament, the big lad from Moscow impresses the
public with his baseline tactics.
However,
some sports experts are a little too hasty to hand over the keys of
the tennis world to the Ivan Drago of the tennis racket who has only
to perfect his strategies in preparation of emotionally more testing
challenges. As mentioned, Safin is a cocktail of Russian genetics that
have been transplanted in the West, including all his good and bad points.
His first earnings, a few gala evenings at the discotheque, one beer
too many and the game is up. A huge build, winning smile and remarkable
savoir-fair all contribute to his downfall. The only missing ingredient
is tobacco but Venus, as opposed to Bacchus, relegates the promising
tennis player to a lower rank.
And
then, an incredible number of rackets smashed on the court irritates
his sponsor who wants Safin to set an example to young people. Enough
is enough and Rausa steps in to guide her son back onto the straight
and narrow. The entire family moves to Spain also because in the meantime,
another tennis prodigy answering to the name of Dinara, Marat’s younger
sister and a good junior player, is ready for action. The family also
changes city, moving from the tentacular Barcelona with its nightlife
in the Ramblas, to the quieter Valencia where the out-of-shape giant
must concentrate on tennis and physical fitness. Initially slow, his
recovery gains momentum when Andrea Chesnokov, the first tennis player
to achieve success during the sporting deregulation of the Gorbaciov
era, arrives on the scene and becomes Safin’s mentor. Two tournaments
with his new coach lead to two successes in the opening stages of the
clay court season, namely Barcelona and Majorca.
Safin
does not conquer Paris but his chance comes during the first Grand Slam
event, the US Open, where Marat dominates the creme de la creme including
Pete Sampras in the final. At only 20 years old and having just become
the world’s number one seed, the Russian chromosome that grew up with
Western habits reveals another weakness: a Ferrari Modena with which
to zoom around the streets of his native city. Traffic wardens in Moscow
turn a blind eye but the hope is that the new Safin will not go astray
again. It would be great shame for a sport lacking in players with such
charisma to loose such a champion.
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