High life
Tennis racket
Taki
During the French championships at Roland Garros in 1965, my Greek Partner and I drew the formidable Amer- ican team of Frank Froehling and Cliff Richey as our first-round opponents. Our Match was scheduled to begin around six in the evening, and my gloom at our bad luck in drawing such a strong pair was mitigated by the fact that our impending exit would allow me to get to a chic dinner party I had been invited to that evening, on time. I even told my hostess that I would be the first to arrive. Three straight sets, I told her, take about an hour and a quarter at the most.
But, as luck usually has it in such situations things turned out differently. I Jeffrey Bernard will resume his column next Week made it on time for dessert, and only just. Both Yanks were tired from their singles matches and, needless to say, took the Hellenic team rather lightly. By the time they woke up and began playing in earnest we were two sets up. By the time my dinner party began, we were two sets all, and starting the fifth and final one. At 4-2 in our favour Cliff Richey threw himself at one of my partner's smashes and injured himself against a guard rail. Although it was not in the rules, we offered him 20 minutes to get himself bandaged up in order to con- tinue. The reason for our benevolence was not good sportsmanship. I knew that if they defaulted the result would always count as just that: a win by default. 'We've got them,' I told my partner. 'All we have to do is hold our serve.' He agreed and the match eventually continued.
Not the way I had calculated, however. At four all we received what I thought was a horrendous call, and despite our pro- testations, the referee, Jacques Dorfmann, made us play on. We eventually lost 7-5 in the fifth, and I cursed myself for playing as badly as I had after the alleged bad call. Dorfmann came into the locker room afterwards and told me something I've never forgotten. 'If you think of all the mistakes you tennis players make in com- parison with the calls we make,' he said, `we should be the ones getting paid and applauded by the crowd, not you.' When I cooled off and thought about it, what he said made sense.
I am of course dredging up all this because of Mr — and I use the term loosely — McEnroe's behaviour recently. In fact, the referee who was on the chair during the French final three weeks was the very same Jacques Dorfmann. And what he had said to me 19 years ago certainly still stands. Linesmen and officials make one bad call for every 50 bad shots players make. And that includes Mac the Mouth.
Well, all I can say is that it is not the fault of an immature vulgarian like McEnroe that the game of tennis has deteriorated to such a degree. It is the fault of the money men, the people who are willing to allow anything as long as they line their pockets. Lew Hoad, the great two-times Wimble- don champion, says that Americans have a great tolerance for crude and violent be- haviour from their sports heroes. I agree, but that does not excuse Kurt Nielsen and the Stella Artois organisers at Queen's last week for allowing the thug from Long Island to call everyone a moron and still win the tournament. After all, none of I only asked the steward to turn the music down.' them are Americans. In professional golf if a competitor throws his club down in disgust, out he goes. If he adds up his score wrong, ditto. Tennis should do the same. And that does not mean I am against showmanship. Everyone likes a little per- sonality out on the court, but showmanship is one thing, Gulag-like behaviour is another, But, as I say, it is not all McEnroe's fault, nor perhaps that of the organisers. Here are a few lines from an article in Sports Illustrated, the most respected pub- lication on the American sporting scene: `. . . with McEnroe, the essence of life is in the test. People are there to be challenged. . . . On the court he tests his opponent, the linesmen or the umpire or TV minions or, ultimately, the crowd itself. Everybody is obliged to take a stand, get involved. No phonies allowed.' See what I mean? I am sure that people read this stuff to McEnroe and he reckons that if they say so it must be so. I say that the intensity of involvement that hack writers attribute to him will one day see him shoot an opponent and perhaps then the rules will change. Here's a tip for any loyal Spectator readers fed up with the prima donnas a la misanthropic Mac. On Sunday 1 July there is a pro-Am doubles tournament at Queen's with a few prima donnas partner- ing a few has-beens like me. The tennis will be awful but the behaviour on court impeccable.
Previous page
