WIMBLEDON, England -- He may be petulant, boorish, at times an insufferable, arrogant punk. But, hey, Jimmy Connors, uh ... Lleyton Hewitt, the bow-legged, crewcut Aussie whose face is still breaking out at 21, is himself doing more than just breaking out from the anonymous pack of young international contenders hoping to take over the game.

	Fundamentally, Hewitt plays conservative tennis -- but his pumped-up attitude is anything but.

World No. 1, U.S. Open titleholder, the finest retriever and counter-puncher since that latter day banty rooster Connors was tearing up the lawns here, Hewitt has exploded all over the All England fortnight to stamp himself as the best player in the game. In these Championships, he's such a lock winner, he might as well be a Williams sister.

The way he carved up Great Britain's considerably less than great Tim Henman on another dark and dreary, rain-delayed semifinal -- at least it didn't take three days such as last year's Henman loss to eventual champ Goran Ivanisevic -- served notice that Hewitt's all-court prowess is now at a level above everybody else's.

Yeah, the grass was thicker and much slower this summer, setting up nicely for his buzzsaw speed and his flashing sabre-like passes off both wings. Yeah, Nicolas Escude, the Frenchman who beat him at Wimbledon last year, was removed from Hewitt's path in a third-round upset. Yeah, after whipping the dangerous Jonas Bjorkman in the first round, Hewitt had only to beat three other guys whom he wouldn't know from some waterboys from his beloved Australian football league. And yeah, he also didn't have to worry about old friends -- and we do mean old -- such as Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi or new threats such as second-seed Marat Safin and Roger Federer, all of whom were beaten practically before Hewitt and his girlfriend, Kim Clijsters, could share their first strawberry milkshake.

Though Sjeng Schalken, a veteran grass courter from Weert, The Netherlands, broke down his forehand and pressed him to the limit in their quarterfinal -- fending off four match points from what would have been a three-set rout to instead force Hewitt into two more hours of running and raging -- Hewitt won in five. But talk about weird! In that match The Kangaroo Kid was down a break not once but twice in the final set -- before his fighting qualities, what he calls his "never say die attitude and mental toughness" saw him through.

Surely, it will give David Nalbandian, the dusty blonde Argentinian whose grandfather was an immigrant from Armenia -- you think that's a long trip; Nalbandian, 20, is only the second South American to make the finals in Wimbledon history -- severe pause. The other SW 19 interloper from that faraway continent was Alex (The Chief) Olmedo, the UCLA Bruin out of Peru who upset Aussies Roy Emerson and Rod Laver to win the Big W in 1959 before disappearing to a life of sunning himself as tennis director amid the leafy glades of the Beverly Hills Hotel.

But Nalbandian will be a huge underdog against Australia's latest hero, who combines the spirit of Connors with the quickness of Bjorn Borg and the lethal backcourt packages of the likes of Mats Wilander and Michael Chang.

	“	Not really (surprised) with how clean I played the match. I felt like I've been hitting the ball great the last four weeks, as soon as I came on the grass. I was prepared to lay it all on the line. I like playing in big occasions. ”
		— Lleyton Hewitt

That means he's not merely a throwback but a phenomenon in these days of Big Boy Tennis -- where the Samprases and Safins have reigned and where crippled and yet still monstrous servers like Richard Krajicek and Mark Philippoussis made a huge impact on this tournament. Hewitt is 5-foot-11 -- at least, when he's standing on the umpire's chair -- and barely 150 pounds. And it's not as if he presses the attack, always moves forward and gambles as if he's working the riverboat the way Connors did. Or goes for corners and cuts the lines like Borg did.

Fundamentally, Hewitt plays conservative, high percentage tennis. He works guys over, keeping the ball in play (the last time he made a backhand error, Nicole Kidman was in her training bra), forcing the opponents to play still ... one ... more ... ball. Until they get so frustrated, they'd probably like to shove a racquet down his throat -- as much because he's shaking his fists, pounding his chest and screaming his "C'MON'S" and "GIVE IT TO ME'S" as he is out-hitting and out-smarting them.

On Friday, Henman -- one of the best volleyers in the sport, a four-time semifinalist here and with those multitudes of his countrymen and women roaring in his favor -- played well. But he got absolutely destroyed, though the scores read a respectable 7-5, 6-1, 7-5.

"Not really (surprised) with how clean I played the match," Hewitt said. "I felt like I've been hitting the ball great the last four weeks, as soon as I came on the grass. I was prepared to lay it all on the line. I like playing in big occasions." Then, of his "good mate" Henman: "He felt like he had to do something different. He mixed up his game ... But the last few games he really didn't know what to do."

	No matter what Tim Henman tried, Lleyton Hewitt hit the ball back one more time.

For his part, Henman tried everything: A new, slower delivery, making sure he didn't have to strand his second serve out there for Hewitt to convert into rocket returns. Coming in on second serve. Staying back. Rallying from the base. Chip charging. Bringing Hewitt in, himself. Changing pace, playing rope-a-dope with the young Aussie, who had labored over four hours into the gloaming the previous night against Schalken.

"The guy could hit backhand winners with his eyes closed," Schalken said, noting that when Hewitt made an error, "I just say 'thank you, thank you very much,' almost go on my knees."

So it was that in the fifth game of the first set on Friday, Henman tried most of those above strategies on a single point, drop shotting and over-heading, the whole kitbag, until Hewitt forced the Englishman to hit ... just ... one ... more ... ball. Boof! Another Henman overhead went flying out of court, point to Hewitt.

In the twelfth game, Henman missed four first serves. Zap! The Aussie grabbed the opportunity like a shrimp off the barbie, riding a wave to win eight of nine games, blasting eleven winners to only two errors in all of Set Two.

Henman: "The bottom line is the better man won. That was obvious. He's the best player in the world and today he proved it."

In the third game of the third set, the younger man proved he hardly rests on a big lead either, racing for a Henman angled volley and, from ten feet wide of the doubles alley, somehow unleashing a backhand up the line to win the point; the Brit was discombobulated enough to double fault away the game. Toward the end, after being broken the first time he served for the match, Hewitt immediately broke back with a topspin crosscourt lob to the corner -- and strutted around like his pugilist hero, Rocky Balboa.

"The ball seemed like a football out there. I felt I couldn't miss from the baseline," Hewitt said afterward.

Everything about the little Rock and his game has improved since Hewitt drilled Sampras in the final at Flushing Meadows last September -- especially his serve that he whaps with authority. Hewitt had twice as many aces as Henman throughout this tournament (68-34) and, sure enough on Friday, jacked an ace up the middle on match point.

At the Open, Hewitt used an emotionally draining five-set quarterfinal victory over America's Andy Roddick as his stepping stone to his confident, polished performances in the last two rounds. Amid the drizzles on Church Road on the outskirts of London over the long Fortnight, he's used that -- and his encounter with Schalken in the same way.

"You know, memories come back," Hewitt said. "Knowing I was able to get through and play seven best-of-fives to win in New York. I was able to use those sweet memories to get through this one. ... I'm not worried about trying to prove myself the No. 1 player in the world. Couldn't give a stuff about it."

But the Kangaroo Kid would give a lot of stuff, not to mention his blood and sweat and probably tears, as well, to win Wimbledon. Then he'd have a second Grand Slam championship -- and a whole lot more sweet memories.

Curry Kirkpatrick is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at curry.kirkpatrick@espnmag.com.