Famous victory
Taki
It was the greatest victory of good over evil since John Wayne carried the day for the marines in Sands of Iwo Jima. Or Gary Cooper survived the final shoot out in High Noon. Here was Pat Dupre a 24-year-old Stanford University student, down one set and 0-4 in the second, only to rally and equalise by taking six games in a row. Then later, down two sets to one, he came back and won the match 6-3 in the final set. He did this against the all-Italian boy, Adriano Panatta.
Dupre had served seven double faults in the first set and had been swept off the Centre Court by the Italians. Yes, he was playing about 200 of them at the same time. Every waiter in Soho and the Fulham Road was there, their usual obnoxious selves. This time they weren't insulting English couples guilty of having chosen an Italian restaurant to have dinner, but a young unseeded American trying to make it into the semi-finals of the championships. They hooted, heckled, harassed and downright hissed the few winners Dupre pulled off; they intimidated him and certainly helped Panatta to sail clear early on.
The Italian is a good player but I would say that if he didn't have his army behind him he would be 30-love less good. In Italy opponents are physically intimidated by flying objects, and linesmen cheat openly or because they fear for their lives. In Paris the same. There are waiters everywhere in Europe and all of them ready to go out and show the world, by helping Panatta win, that Italy's rather pathetic performance whenever a world war breaks out was an aberration.
The spaghetti brigade, however, could not intimidate the Wimbledon linesmen and referee. In any other country Dupre would have got bad calls during crucial points. Not here. It was nevertheless disgraceful to hear (and unfortunately) smell their garlic shouts in the staid and glorious old Centre Court.
Tennis, as everyone knows, is a very psychological game. There are times when a man gets his racket back before the opponent's ball has crossed the net, steps in and reads what the ball has written on it although he knows damn well he's playing Dunlop or Slazenger. Then he follows through by almost pointing the racket like a gun to where he wants the ball to go. That is what is called playing well. When smelly waiters shout and cheer your mistakes many players tend not to look closely if the ball says Slazenger on it, or get the racket back before the ball has crossed the net. Dupre, to his credit, shut his ears to the crowd by going back and concentrating just on the basics mentioned above. (So should all Spectator readers, instead of spending money on expensive lessons). In the fifth set, as Dan Maskell said, it is character that wins. To arrive there usually means the two opponents are equal in ability. Dupre had character. Panatta, despite the help, did not. He is like the rest of his countrymen. Pretending to be bored when outrages are going on. He could easily silence the crowds in Rome. Paris, even Wimbledon by stating that their animal-like noises are hurting his game more than his opponent's. He chooses not to because then' behaviour helps him It's like chic Marxist professors in Italy. They were eager to encourage civil disobedience in order to seem attractive to the daughters of rich businessmen they were courting. Now the country has gone down Swanee because everyone thought it was such fun to see certain institutions, like the police or law and order, flouted.
Well, for once. England did something right. The people began cheering an American, of all people, and he in turn fought on because of the unfair behaviour of Panatta's supporters. The Italians had to go back to their restaurants and insult their customers once again. But they could not bask ala Philip Martyn and all the groupies in the world in his reflected glory. It was well worth having to smell them.
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