Clay Feet: Well, it's that time of year, and the French Open has started with its usual whimper. All Americans not named Andre still can't win the thing (pointedly, Michael Chang is retiring this year after the U.S. Open - the French is the only major he ever won, and in 1989!), as 5 of the 6 Americans playing yesterday bowed out ungracefully, including Roddick. The only American to stay alive is the incredibly aging Todd Martin who is held together only by War-on-Terror-strength duct tape. We'll see another finals featuring some no-name Italian/Brazillian/Spanish players who will prove the irrelevancy of the tournament by never being heard from again until next year, this time (did I just accuse something French of being irrelevant??). That all being said, the tourney is fun to watch, because I think playing on clay is neato-keen, and call me sexist, I enjoy the women's game on clay much more than on the concrete of most tournaments. It's something to see the Williams' power a bit blunted, and to see hotties, I mean talented athletes, like Justine Henin-Whatever, slide around. The only other saving grace is that Sampras is not playing (and perhaps never will again, although I'd be surprised if he doesn't show up at Wimby and/or the U.S. for one last hurrah), so we don't have to suffer through Bud Collins recounting his struggles at Roland Garros.