At first glance, they do not have much in common: the Latvian, 20-year-old Jelena Ostapenko, the seventh best player in the world, and the 37-year-old Francesca Schiavone, the world No.93 from Italy.
And yet they are remarkably similar. Both fight for all they are worth and take the loss of every point personally, both made their names at Roland Garros – Ostapenko won there last year; Schiavone lifted the silverware in 2010 – and both do not know when they are beaten.
But eventually Schiavone was forced to believe the umpire when she announced it was Ostapenko, who was safely through to the second round 6-1 6-4. Youth had triumphed over experience – but experience was not going down without a fight.
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It is a rare thing indeed to see a 17-year age difference between two players in elite competition. For most, no matter what the sport, 17 years is a career-and-a-bit. Let’s face it, 10 years is an average run, 12 years is a decent go but by 17 years they are well settled into the TV commentary box, there to put their feet up and offer words of wisdom while someone else does the huffing, puffing and sweating.
Schiavone, though, works to a different calendar and at the venerable age of 37 years and seven months, she was the second oldest player in the draw behind Venus Williams (Williams is six days older). Just to prove the point, the Italian took to the court wearing a good, old fashioned corset, a big beige job that trussed her up from hip to upper midriff.
Now, my grandmother had a theory. She was a venerable lady, one born in a different era, an age when a sensible foundation garment was a woman’s best friend. Her theory was that when those of a female persuasion reached a certain age, they would “spread” unless they resorted to a girdle. And she used the word “spread” in the same hushed tones normally reserved for family tragedy or serious illness. “Spreading” was not a good thing.
Despite her advancing years, the thought of Schiavone “spreading” is as laughable as the idea that England could have won the Ashes this summer. There is not an ounce of spare fat on her and she has the reputation for being as fit as a butcher’s dog with all the natural aggression of a Rottweiler protecting a bone. No, this particular foundation garment was purely to keep her creaking back in order just long enough to give her a chance to reach the second round. Or at least put up a decent fight in the attempt.
The problem was that that bad back – and its accompanying upholstery – was not allowing Schiavone to serve with any hint of consistency (seven double faults did little for her cause) and even when she did make a better first of things in the second set, nipping to a 4-1 lead, the French Open champion merely gritted her teeth, slapped away a few more winners (28 to Schiavone’s four) and got the job done.
“She is a great player,” Ostapenko said of her fallen foe. “She is very, very experienced and many more years on tour. She’s very tough opponent. In the second set, I was missing a little bit more and then I found my game and I am really glad the way I finished the match.”
Her new coach, David Taylor, the man who guided Sam Stosur to the US Open title in 2010, will be pleased, too, as he starts laying out the match plan for the next challenge: Ying-Ying Duan from China in the second round.