MASON — The world's best men's tennis player is a little guy, about the size and shape of a garment bag. For about an hour Saturday night, that was fitting. It looked as if Lleyton Hewitt would be sent packing.

        Hewitt's game is patience and persistence. The 150-pound, two-hand backhander plays defense like the 1985 Chicago Bears. He's a boxer, not a puncher. When he takes too many 130 mile-an-hour serves to the head, he's in trouble.

        That's what was happening in the semifinals of the Western & Southern Financial Group Masters. Fernando Gonzalez is a 22-year-old from Santiago, Chile — 6 feet tall, 180 pounds, legs like Boris Becker. What he did for a set and change was bully Hewitt into the ropes and swing from his heels. Hewitt was missing his first serves and Gonzalez jumped on his limp second offerings as though they were hanging curveballs.

        Gonzalez finished off the first-set tiebreak with a 126 mph heater. It was like watching a bear wrestle a deer.

Fernando Gonzalez returns a shot against Lleyton Hewitt. (Greg Ruffing photo) | ZOOM |

        It changed, eventually. Great players find ways to define and redefine themselves. Hewitt did it early in the second set. Gonzalez was coiled for the knockout, up a set and leading 2-1 in the second. He had a break point in the fourth game and another and. ...

        Five breaks into it, and Hewitt was still hanging on, teeth set firmly in the ankle of the bear.

        “It's about time,” Hewitt said at one point, after Gonzalez finally missed a forehand return.

        If Gonzalez got that break, everyone would be learning to speak a little Spanish for today's final.

        Instead, Hewitt fought and fought again.

        “I give 100 percent until (I) shake hands,” Hewitt said. Or, as Gonzalez put it: “(His) ball is coming, always, always, always.”

        Hewitt held serve and won the set 7-5. The crowd sensed Gonzalez, ranked 39th in the world and unseeded here, had lost a golden chance, even as it prodded the underdog with shouts of “Viva, Santiago!”

        Perhaps Gonzalez understood, too. Or maybe he simply wore down and out, hitting every serve and return with maximum effort. “As hard as he can,” Hewitt said, “every time.” You could hear Fernando's grunts from here to Kings Island.

        Meanwhile, Hewitt just kept playing. He has that Jimmy Connors toughness about him. It's part pride and part me-against-the-world, a combination that served Connors well for more than a decade.

        As men's tennis searches for its new hero — Pete Sampras is watching his sunset, Andre Agassi is in Sampras' rearview mirror — you wonder how fans will take to Hewitt. He isn't especially appealing, preferring substance over style. Hewitt spent a good deal of time during Saturday's match fuming at himself while lobbing the occasional F-bomb.

        Sampras was as reliable as a Volvo in a crash test. Agassi reinvented himself a few times before settling into his current role as pleasant, philanthropic family guy.

        We're not yet sure what to make of Hewitt, a scowling, fist-pumping member of the Backward Ballcap-Wearing Nation. We got a glimpse, though.

        The little guy is molten on the court and unwilling to lose.

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