High life
Good riddance
Taki
New York T knew I was back in the good old USA as I soon as I turned on the idiot box. I wanted to watch some of the Wimbledon tennis, but instead of Dan Maskell 1 got one Bud Collins, which is like waiting to hear Placido Domingo and getting Yoko Ono in- stead. What made it worse was the fact that watching tennis on television requires the sound to be on, otherwise it's a bit like wat- ching pantomime. American commentators in general, and Collins in particular, subscribe to the relentless detail school of broadcasting: 'Connors is serving, he's run- ning to the net, he's at the/ net, Connors is at the net . . .' Collins also disguises his hype by presenting it as unflinching hones- ty. NBC has a plethora of such bullshit ar- tists covering the championships this year, and they, in turn, have a plethora of tricks to keep a catatonic public glued to their seats until after the commercial. One of the most effective is the reverent tone of voice before an important point. I call it the muf- fled drum voice.
Well, never mind. The more tennis becomes big business, the easier it is for me not to miss it. Players today swagger around the courts looking as if they smell of something nasty, for they depend on the sponsors and the blood suckers who are making a killing from the game. I am ob- viously referring to the Hunts, McCor- macks, Dells, and Scotts of this world. These gentlemen are the Joe Kennedys of the tennis Eighties. Unlike the Irish thug, however, who cut enough corners in Wall Street to be able to buy the presidency of the US for one, and most probably two, of his sons, the above-mentioned parasites have more modest as well as more prosaic goals. Like making money. What they have managed to accomplish is to deform and shame a good sport to the extent that I now think that we would be better off with- out it.
When the subtle bonds that connect an athletic contest with a player's will to win, or a fan's appreciation of the difficulties in- volved and the athlete's ability to overcome such difficulties, are totally severed by greed, it is time to call a halt. Although economic reward has never been related to social worth, or personal virtue, today's prize money would more likely than not turn Penelope into a hooker. Therefore it is hardly surprising that the Swedish Shylock prefers to try and qualify for Las Vegas than Wimbledon. Or that the venal Lendl will rate a New York Times hagiography for welshing on a deal. Not to mention the fact that if it wasn't for the promise of monetary reward the father of the monosyllabic McEnroe would have long ago committed his son to an institution, rather than groot5 him to become a tennis star.
And speaking of McEnroe, I am glai that Wimbledon this year has been a wash. out in more ways than one. It also prov that there is an Almighty and that t public is finally making its point that prefers tennis to burlesque. Fred Hoyles, the referee, was so busy last year trying t prove that he would never be expelled from a Siberian penal colony for cruelty, that 111 forgot that there is a middle way. If he had disqualified McEnroe on the spot, perhal he would have done tennis a great service (no pun intended). But, typically, he too the easy way out. And this year, I hear Wimbledon has decided to appease the players and give away more prize move! and more free tickets. It has even ap pointed a representative to voice the grievances.
Well, the only thing I can say is good rid' dance to Wimbledon. Hoyles, Burnett any the rest of the lily-livered bunch should take notice that whenever the players become more important than the sport, the writiri is soon on the wall. Why not dig up lb' grass too, because most Americans prefe' playing on cement? Why not play points in' stead of games, and have cheer, leaders ov the sidelines? Better still, why not sign television contract like boxing promoter' do, and show Wimbledon over closed cif' cuit in a few select and rather expensive theatres? I am sure that Mark McCormac}: could fix it. And I know how much he would love to do it if he could. After al' what is the use of television being the sy01" bol of cheapness and emptiness in our, culture if it cannot take care of a little Mat' ter like Wimbledon?
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