Agassi Brought Down By a Scud

It could be an Australian after all. The No1 seed Lleyton Hewitt may be reduced to a spectator, sitting in the stands watching his girlfriend Kim Clijsters outpace and outlast him for the second grand slam in a row. But his compatriot Mark Philippoussis rolls on, removing the favourite Andre Agassi in this tournament's most absorbing match so far. Philippoussis now goes on to meet the German outsider Alexander Popp in the quarter-final.

The Aussie surfing addict, who starts every day he can with three or four hours out in the swell, is now looking at a possible semi-final against Tim Henman. He must now believe that, come Sunday, he could be rolling in on the big one.

Three hours and 12 minutes it took "the Scud" to dispose of Agassi over five sets, 6-3, 2-6, 6-7, 6-3, 6-4. His victory proves there is a lot more to him than a surname crammed with so many surplus consonants that Carol Vorderman could base an entire series of Countdown on it. If nothing else, he demonstrated enormous reserves of will to come back and win after Agassi eased to a two sets to one lead. For much of the match the American, pumping those trademark double- handed backhands, played with the kind of assured, calm purpose that makes him the most compelling man to watch on the circuit.

"I'm the kind of guy that goes for risk, I play with instinct," said Philippoussis afterwards. Yesterday, however, he played against type and declared himself "extremely happy with the way I concentrated throughout the match".

He needed to. Agassi did not play badly at all. At times, though he is hardly the tallest man around, the way he stretched to reach and return Philippoussis's serve, invariably arcing it back within half an inch of the line, took the breath away.

And for much of the middle period of the match it looked like only a matter of time before he would ease comfortably away to victory. But, as he observed wryly, being comfortable in the middle of a match is not what counts. "I need to be comfortable at the end," he said.

Never mind patience, Philippoussis began as if he believed the only way to win was to blast Agassi out of contention immediately. When Concorde flew over during the course of the first set, there were rumours that the pilot might make a complaint because of the sonic boom emanating from Court No1 every time the Australian served. Philippoussis sent down a record 46 aces in all, a significant proportion of them howling past Agassi in that first set.

"When the first serve goes well it definitely makes life a lot easier," Philippoussis said afterwards, suggesting he had mastered understatement along with the former champion.

Agassi, however, who Boris Becker reckons is the modern player with the most impenetrable poker face, did not look remotely perturbed at the little explosions of chalk at his feet or the tarpaulin rippling behind him. In the second and third sets he did precisely what he does best: returning from the baseline with metronomic timing; waiting, waiting, waiting for his opponent's patience to snap.

At times Philippoussis's did and the Australian risk-taker took chances he should have left alone. And before he had a chance to regroup Agassi had established that 2-1 lead. The poker player would never allow a flicker of a smile to be visible but he must have been grinning inside then.

But Philippoussis did not crumble as Agassi's game- plan might have predicted. A player whose physique has let him down too often in the past, he has worked hard over the winter to strengthen his frame for the challenge of hammering down all those serves. And, he revealed, it was the pain of the preparation that drove him on through Agassi's dominance.

"All I was telling myself was I've been working really hard with my fitness trainer Marcus in San Diego," he said. "We've done some crazy drills where he's nearly made me cry. I just thought back and said: 'Think about what you've done to get here. Stay strong. All that work was for this.' "

The personal psychology clearly worked. He took the fourth set with an ace that bounced a good five feet above Agassi's now glistening pate. The fifth was the sort of ding-dong that comes when one of the best servers meets the master of the return, fortune swinging wildly from one end to the other, deuces arriving more frequently than buses down Wimbledon High Street, the tension enough to sap the strongest wills. When Philippoussis took the last two games and accepted Agassi's gracious congratulations at the net, the Australian flags rippled in the stands. Now those obituaries to Antipodean sporting dominance we all long to write will have to wait a little longer.