Death Volley: Dent denied

NEW YORK -- As he strained and struggled, fought and finally fizzled, Taylor Dent seemed the short-trousered, one-man version of ''The Charge of the Light Brigade."

That's the kind of tennis he plays. Charge! And never mind the opposition. Or the wisdom of it. Let the casualties fall where they may, and the faint-hearted hang back on the baseline.

That was the style of the gallant British cavalrymen of the Light Brigade in the Crimean War, immortalized by Tennyson in his poem. As all you Crimean War fans know, the brigade was badly mauled by Russian artillery at Balaklava in 1854, and its headlong assault was considered foolhardy.

Tennyson wrote: ''. . . onward all in the Valley of Death rode the 600 . . . forward the Light Brigade, charge for the guns . . . theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do or die . . . cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them . . ."

The way 24-year-old Dent, a 6-foot-2-inch Californian, goes at his profession looks foolhardy to his grinding colleagues. Serve-and-volleyers seem about as up-to-date as wooden rackets and Herman's Hermits. They are a vanishing breed. Tim Henman, 31, Greg Rusedski, 32, Max Mirnyi, 28, and the irrepressible Dent, who says, ''I think it's going to come full circle. They'll be back." Well, he is No. 27 on the planet, has won four titles, and is 30-16 for the season, attaining finals at Adelaide and Indianapolis.

Since his dad, Phil Dent, onetime Australian Davis Cupper, was a serve-and-volleyer during the 1970s, it may be in the genes. So, like father, the son went on the daredevil offense yesterday at the US Open against the accurate cannons of the 2001 champ, Lleyton Hewitt.

Although the blue asphalt landscape of Arthur Ashe Stadium may not bring to mind Tennyson's Valley of Death, the charges of the light-fingered Dent and his demise in this locale kept the 20,000 witnesses in a constant uproar for more than three hours. During this third-rounder, the fortunes of both went up and down like a goofy stock market before Hewitt, with bold thrusts himself, seized the last two points and victory, 6-3, 3-6, 6-7 (2-7), 6-2, 7-5.

Flying high on the Saturday triumphs of James Blake over Rafael Nadal, Andre Agassi over Tomas Berdych, and Robby Ginepri over Tommy Haas, the home crowd was ravenous for more, and Dent went all-out to give it to them. Immediately he performed like a cavalryman without a horse -- losing the first five games.

Undiscouraged, he kept seeking the net, an area at which most guys feel as comfortable as a codfish. Dent began to serve more formidably, backing it up with winning volleys and deft half-volleys. Soon he was back in it, chipping and charging, rushing and crushing, advancing and assailing. Rescuing 2 set points in the third to force a tiebreaker, he moved ahead, two sets to one, and adrenaline was flowing to the vocal cords throughout the arena. Except for a small Hewitt cheering section way up in the Everest sector -- ''I couldn't hear them in that crowd," chuckled Lleyton -- the patrons were yelling for Aussie blood, hurrahing his errors and double faults.

It was like old times, Papa Dent's times, when Aussies against Yanks was as good as it got. Everybody attacked and volleyed then, and the two countries owned the world. However, here were these two guys, endangered species really: Dent the last American serve-and-volleyer, and baseliner Hewitt the last Australian, period.

Incredible to think that the island homeland of such great US titleholders as Sedgman, Laver, Rosewall, Hoad, Emerson, Newcombe, Rafter, has gone dryer than a Women's Christian Temperance Union convention, with only Hewitt to reasonably represent the down under-takers.

But what a rep he is at No. 4, and on his way someday to the Hall of Fame. Hewitt, 24, is about where Jimmy Connors was at that age (before he became a god at the Meadow): not particularly liked, but willing to run through burning buildings to win a point.

Behind by a set, Hewitt unlimbered his cannons, booming forehand, two-fisted backhand passing shots, that stymied the American's charge, and took him into the ultimate battle, the fifth set. He was volleying some himself. And quite skillfully, this tough little guy who seemed scandalous to the Aussie old boys in 2002 by playing not one serve-and-volley point while winning Wimbledon.

Back and forth they went in the decisive, suspenseful fifth, crammed with brilliant shotmaking. Dent looked finished as his volleying was shattered by passers and he lost serve to 3-4. But he broke right back, aided by two double-faults, and went ahead, 5-4, despite a break point. Dent was 3 points from the round of 16 at 15-all, but Hewitt got away to 5-5.

Hewitt's sizzling backhand return pierced Dent, and even earned the invader begrudging yet admiring cheers as he went to 6-5. It was dark in that valley for the American, but the best was to come as his last charges almost found the light: a nine-minute concluding game of excruciating point and counter-point.

Dent brushed aside 3 match points aggressively. Each time Hewitt arrived at match point, the patrons' groans could be heard in Sydney.

Dent even had a break point, knocked away by the Aussie's biggest serve, 127 miles per hour. At the fourth deuce Hewitt was a startling copycat. He served and charged to score with a volley.

It was over in a flash. Hewitt, sufferer of 19 Dent aces, banged his eighth on the center line. A man for tight situations, Hewitt had been in 25 of these, and had his 17th five-set decision.

Tennyson would have liked the undaunted, though defeated, Dent and might have written: ''Into the valley of Flushing he charged, challenging the Australian cannons . . . his not to reason why, his but to do with a serve and volley to die for."