Hewitt comes up short against unpredictable Brown Hewitt: 4-4-7-2 Brown: 6-6-6-6 Lleyton Hewitt, asked on Monday what he knew of his next opponent, a certain Dustin Brown, replied: "Not a lot." He does now. He knows that Brown is a dreadlocked, muscle-shirted part-German, part-Jamaican, though it is hard say what aspect of him is German, except his passport. Hewitt, by his standards, was not quite on frequency. He is 28. He is a cool cat who while Hewitt was criss-crossing the world first-class in first-class cabins spent a few itinerant years scurrying between tournaments in a campervan bought by his parents. It is still parked in their garage in Germany. He is one of the tour's perennial also-rans, who until this week had won just one match in major championships in his career, is ranked No 189 and just last week failed to qualify for Nottingham. He is a dude who plays a game called serve-volley, thitherto though defunct. He plays it like he means it, like there is no other game. When serving, his idea of a second shot is a volley or half-volley, dug out from his bootlaces. He has no plan for a third shot. Receiving, the Chris Gayle in him emerges: he slogs, insouciantly, brilliantly. On Wednesday, Brown wasn't going to get himself into a series of long rallies with Hewitt. He wasn't going to make that mistake, not if he could help it. Oh yes, Hewitt will recognise Brown if and when their paths ever cross again, and meantime, vividly in his nightmares. He is the man who on Wednesday put Hewitt out of his beloved Wimbledon. Dustin Brown threw everything he had at Hewitt. Put? That is too insipid by half. Brown, Dusty to Hewitt's Rusty, drove Hewitt out of Wimbledon, blasted him out. He picked Hewitt up by the scruff of his neck, shooshing the Fanatics along the way, and deposited him him on the next plane home. Yes, Hewitt, by his standards, was not quite on frequency. He served arrhythmically, missed passing shots by millimetres, was slow to get to drop shots, of which there were many. But in tennis as in any sport, mostly you play as well as your opponent allows you. It would not be fair to say that Brown got Hewitt on an off day. Hewitt, on his own recognition, rarely has been this fit and in form at the same time in the last two years. He was up for it; he always is. But he is 32, with millions of match miles on the clock. Brown got Hewitt in an off decade. In the second half of his long and dogged career, figuring out a player like Brown has been a kind of intellectual challenge for Hewitt. Even on Wednesday, there was a sense that once the initial storm passed, Hewitt would figure a way into the game. He didn't. He couldn't. He said he had done his homework on Brown, but that his unorthodoxy still had flummoxed him. "I lost my way a little bit," he admitted in a voice flatter than a backhand slice. Brown won the first two sets with breaks right at the end of each. It took all Hewitt knew to gain even one break. For that, he retrieved a drive, a smash and a drop shot, all in the same point. Then he gave the break back anyway. The third set was evenly fought, until the point in the tie-break when Hewitt trailed 3-1, then momentarily got a fix on Brown's serve and dashed off six points in a row. Here was a glimpse of classic Hewitt, rising in the moment. Hitherto, even his "c'mons" had been from defensive positions, but now one rasped out defiantly, and a detachment of hoarse Australians took him up on it. But just as quickly as he rallied, he floated away again. Brown's attitude was that he was two sets up against the great Lleyton Hewitt, so already had won and had nothing to lose now, and he played accordingly. Twice in successive games, he broke Hewitt's serve. Hewitt at 22 might have found a way back from there, but not at 32. His last "c'mon" was almost plaintive. So, for only the second time in his career in a major, he succumbed to a qualifier. Brown had believed in himself, but also admitted: "Thinking you can do it and doing it are two different things." Now they were one. Not the least eye-catching part of Brown's game was his athletic array of celebrations. After running down a Hewitt lob and swivelling to put it away for a winner, he twirled his racquet. Upon winning the first set, there was another racquety flourish. After a break in the second set, he raised his finger and performed a little shuffle dance. As the match continue to come to hand, he flourished his racquet, jumped about, smiled broadly at the improbability of it all. But when the moment of the biggest win of his life arrived at last, it overwhelmed him totally. Dustin Brown looked around blankly for a moment _ and then he cried.