PARIS -- As French television went ga-ga over Michael Russell, the 23-year-old qualifier from Detroit who was in the process of beating the goo out of Guga (defending champion Gustavo Kuerten) in the French Open fourth round, the commentators compared his game to, among other legends, Andre Agassi. "Yeah, that's about right," Russell said later. "Andre's won four Grand Slams on four different surfaces. I've qualified for all the Slams."

So it was that, at the end of one of the more deliciously implausible runs by an American in any Slam of recent years -- even an American somebody, anybody, has ever heard of -- Russell was as good-natured and entertaining off the court as he was on it.

Oh, he ended up losing that three hour, twenty-five minute battle to the ultimately brilliant Brazilian, 3-6, 4-6, 7-6 (3), 6-3, 6-1. But not before Russell, the son of the manager of the pro tour's home club in Florida who has labored everywhere from India to Vietnam on the bush circuits, had run and sliced, run and dropped, run and mixed pace, run and changed rhythms, run and run and run the frustrated champ across the width and breadth and practically under the swirling dirt of Court Philippe Chatrier.

"The place was packed. I was running side to side, 17,000 screaming their heads off. It was so great," Russell said. Indeed, for two sets and until he led 5-2 in the third, Russell pressed the issue and commanded the match. "Guga's a great champion. But I thought he might be about to give it in right there. He was ready to fold," Russell said. But then the friendly, unassuming American wimped a return off Kuerten's second serve into the net, and Guga grasped a lifeline.

Serving for the match at 5-3, Russell nervously started to spray forehands far and wide. He briefly recovered from 15-40 to deuce and even reached match point. But after a long, 26-shot rally in which Kuerten, battling his unfavorite windy conditions all afternoon, brushed the deep baseline with one forehand ("It's unfortunate we have umpires," Russell said laughing. "I would have called that one out.") and the Brazilian kept forcing the play and finally leveled the game with a winning forehand.

"Twenty-six shots?" Russell exclaimed later when told by his Boston-based coach, 30-year old Terry London. "I would have thought it was about ten."

"Can you believe it?" London said. "Thirteen chances for Guga to mishit the ball! Thirteen chances for me to yell out at him as he was hitting it!"

So much for timely coaching when a player needed it.

But the 5-foot-9, 165-pound Russell -- whose thunderous thighs look like they weigh that much alone -- still wasn't about to go quietly. Guga, the No. 1-ranked player in the world who had a surprisingly unworldly 3-13 record in tiebreaks for the season, had to get through a nerve-racking 7-3 extra frame before the previously anonymous Russell "got tired. I didn't keep the ball high enough," he said. "My net clearance got lower and lower and Guga just started stepping in and whacking winners."

Not to mention, revealing his heart. The two-time winner of the French -- as immensely popular at Roland Garros as most of the native players -- again showed how actually big his heart was, first by his stirring, comeback play; then afterward when he sashayed out onto the court one last time, blew kisses to the crowd and with his racquet drew a huge heart in the middle of the copper-colored clay. "That was great," Russell said. "Hey, the guy's won so much here, he could strip and run around the court. I was going to go out and draw a little tic-tac-toe number, myself."

That's about the only time that Russell failed to outlast his opponents in a breakthrough week that will send him hurtling as many as 50 places up from his pre-tournament ranking of 122. Not that he's been totally unfamiliar with W's. Russell is one of those previously colorless grinders who followed up a distinguished career in the juniors with a serious career stall and then was abandoned by the USTA.

He gets his clothes and racquets free. But he has to buy his own shoes -- "about 15 pair a year," he said, although it appears he might go through that many in a couple of sets. But now the people from the French manufacturer LaCoste seem to be interested.

Which is fairly astounding for a guy who in his very first match in the Paris qualifying event was on the brink of defeat, stranded in the alley against the immortal Oliver Patience. But right then Oliver lost his. "We were on our way to Bucharest (the next event)," laughed Russell's coach, London. "But the guy went for the 'Frenchman-Flying-Through-The-Air poster shot' and framed it."

So Russell lived on to win a couple more matches in the "qualies," and earn a spot in the main draw -- where endurance and speed kills. Russell has played an outrageous 66 matches over the past two seasons in the minors; sometimes he used to run three miles after a match to prepare himself for just this event. Sesame Street had a character like this at whom the other puppets used to scream: "ANIMAL!"

In the second round Russell played another two-time French champion, Sergi Bruguera, who won the first two sets but then lost the third and stumbled to the net, surrendering. "I'm too dizzy to play anymore," he mumbled to Russell, who might as well have been sipping aperitifs. Next victim, Xavier Malisse from Belgium, who bowed out to Russell in five sets, his right leg dangling like a broken chicken bone.

"Mike is barely learning to play on clay; this is only his second year on the surface. But these guys don't want any part of his speed and tenacity," London said.

"He's smart player, too," agreed Kuerten in his delightfully broken English. "He know how to play. No, I didn't know nothing really about him. He was in, you know, maybe feeling this good moments in the tournament like this that was special for him. So was looking, you know, from outside completely was big for himself."

Whatever that means, Russell's endearing exhibition on the rust-shaded sand in Paris impressed even himself. "Me doing the splits, running for those drop shots. ... I can do those. I had to show the crowd some of that stuff," he said. "It was so great to be out there. Even playing Malisse in front of a crowd of screaming Belgians. ... then playing Guga here, not many people cheering for the American. ... it was unbelievable. This is not some deal where you're not gonna hear from me again. It's amazing how one shot can change a career. Hopefully, that's what's going to happen."

In which case, Patience would not be so much rewarded as gratefully appreciated.

***

Flash, uh, dance?
It wasn't bad enough that England's Tim Henman lost on Saturday in the French Open third round for the third consecutive year -- this time, 7-5 in the fifth to the Argentine clay master, Guillermo Canas -- he also seemed to lose some, uh, face, in the British press.

Usually, the tabloid rotters wait to tear at Henman's blueblood Oxfordshire carcass until he exits from Wimbledon -- where he has made the semifinals twice, most recently in 1999 after which he was ranked No. 5 in the world. Henman's royal tennis ancestry includes a grandfather who played in the Davis Cup and a grandmother who was the last player to serve underhand at Wimbledon. Henman's always a handful on grass. (John McEnroe has called him the best British player he's ever seen.) But on other surfaces the dark-haired Brit sometimes moves less like Fred Perry -- who was the best British player anybody ever saw -- than Perry's statue, the landmark edifice that sits inside Wimbledon's front gates.

But does he deserve this? (From Libby Brooks in The Guardian, which is not a tab but one of London's distinguished broadsheets.)

"(Henman) is a curious mix of the biddable and the blandly unyielding ...

"Bony, boyish and cloyingly polite ...

"A Ken doll ... (who has) a gaze as clear as his skin and probably smells of newly mown grass ...

"He looks good for you, like bran, and is chronically un-sexy ...

"As he ambles around another point with the colorless modulation of a shipping forecast announcer, I must confess that I am genuinely considering [flashing] just to Make Something Happen."

And Barry Bonds thinks he has it tough.

***

Like, you know, update
Following another easy victory, Jennifer Capriati beating Meghann Shaughnessy, 7-5, 6-1, the Princess of Val-Speak went on the attack in the press room again, obliterating her own thought processes.

Can you talk about a potential meeting against Serena (Williams) in the next round?

"Yeah, well I just played her in Miami," Capriati said. "I won that. I mean, that's hard court. You know, I don't know. I think the surface could change conditions a lot. You know, I don't know if that's her best surface. You know, we'll see. She's going to be real eager to win. You know, especially last time we played, you know, I beat her. You know, I'm looking forward to the match."

For those without a scorecard, that's six You Know's in one answer. For the entire interview she was 20 and 3 in 11. That is, 20 You Know's and three I Mean's in 11 answers. Tournament to date: an astonishing 71 You Know's and 24 I Mean's in 43 questions. And it's only the end of the first week.

Alicia Silverstone, don't look back. The Capster will be all over your butt.

Curry Kirkpatrick, a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine, first covered the French Open in 1976. E-mail him at curry.kirkpatrick@espnmag.com.