Is it ballet?
John Stewart Collis
Isaw a curious thing on the Centre Court. After a five-set match the loser walked off the court with his arm round his oppo- nent's shoulder. It was not this year's play, but a few years ago, shown recently in the BBC's 'great sporting events' series. In that semi-final Rosewall beat Richey. It is a pity that our delectable Virginia Wade, while leaving the court after her regal tri- umph on Monday when every winning stroke in the last games and every losing stroke of her opponent was wildly applaud- ed (for nothing in the world is stronger than nationalism), could not have put her arm round the dejected German girl and whispered: 'Sorry that you had to play the crowd as well as me.' The girl was nearly crying, but Virginia could have made them grateful tears.
Times have changed. Yet last week I did witness another strange thing. Cheered to see for once a competitor from Ireland, I went to Court 6 to find a Mr. M. N. Doyle who had sailed through his round one and was now playing the seeded Gottfried. He was excessively well-built and handsome, but he did not look or sound or behave like a timid visitor from Dublin, and throughout the match, in which he did ex- tremely well against Gottfried, he never altered his expression of unrelenting sullenness and was frightfully rude to the few spectators who were good enough to watch him. However, at 3-3 in the third set when he was 0-40 down, Gottfried served an ace. The umpire called it a fault. Doyle took no notice but went and sat down, conceding the game to Gottfried. 'It is a long time since I've seen a thing like that done,' said someone. But I fear Doyle did it only to show his contempt for the umpire who in- deed had never faltered in inflexible fatuity.
We hear much, and justly, about the awfulness of certain players. but the awfulness of certain umpires and officials is often a cause of outrage. A ball was called out against Fibak which was obviously in. Fibak, a cultivated European of great distinction, politely asked for a replay; this was senselessly refused. Whereupon Fibak took a ball to the other side of the net and
placed it in the corner where it had really fallen, and then returned. His opponent, a great hulk called Teacher, then gave the ball a soccer-kick across the net striking Fibak. Such is the modern mode, encouraged by of- ficial authorities basking in brief authority. I have seen many outrages perpetrated by them throughout the years, none worse than last Monday when Jimmy Connors, the bravest and most exciting player ever to draw crowds to Wimbledon, on losing his match was threatened with a fine of $1000 for declining to speak to journalists! Take their handling of John McEnroe. I will never forget how two years ago he strode across the court (and he has a particular speaking stride) shouting to the umpire, 'You must be joking' and more besides. In- stead of the umpire and the referee instantly sending him off the premises (to be invited to return in the coming year), they said in effect, 'We are not talking to Mr McEnroe: we are talking to Mr Money — who must be indulged.' Following the shambles which this caused they now niggle at him at every opportunity. 'It is absurd,' said Borg in a TV interview, 'to foot-fault him. That is done nowhere else in the world. Or to penalise him for striking the net. John is really at bottom a nice, sweet person.' Strange words, you may say: but perhaps Borg knows better than you or I. Anyway, most of his explosions are against himself. He does not show off, he shows himself up. Unlike Gerulaitis he never boasts about his
girls and his seven Rolls Royces, nor on losing a match throws two racquets away into the crowd.
I am as embarrassed as anyone when I see him approach the umpire's chair. But I ex- tend the same attitude towards him as I do to Thomas Hardy: I look at the work and overlook the man. For here we enter the field of art. 'I believe in tennis as ballet,' said Teddy Tinting the other day. He meant top tennis of course. But it is more exciting than ballet which is totally determined and rehearsed, while the movements of tennis are wholly indeterminate and improvised. When I watch McEnroe I often do not watch the shots coming from him or to him: I look only at his legs and his left wrist, and see miracles of lightning movement and execution.
Meanwhile we gaze across at the women in a wild surmise. Soon the grace of a Billie Jean King or a Virgina Wade will have vanished,.and fled the fluency of an Evonne Cawley. In their place is arising a strange new hungry generation to trample them down and assume the reins of power — the dragons of the double-fisted backhand, It is magnificent: but is it ballet?
Who will be the winners this year? No problem. Lendl will beat McEnroe in the semi-final, and then take the title. Navratilova will retain hers. As for predic- tions for the other events, they would be as meaningless, as Dickens said in Great Ex- pectations, 'as an election cry'.
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