Remembering many Wimbledon points
LONDON -- How do you get an appointment with the Queen?
Simple. Win Wimbledon.
That was Virginia Wade's motivation, she says today, 30 years after. A good story, and she sticks by it. Learning that Queen Elizabeth II (who has no interest in tennis) would make a rare appearance in 1977 to present the women's prize on the Big W's 100th anniversary, loyal subject Wade says she made up her mind to be the recipient. Despite 15 previous failures and an imminent 32d birthday, "Our Ginny" -- long adored by the British public -- pulled it off by dethroning Chris Evert in the semis and overcoming Betty Stove for the title.
That set off the most joyful Centre Court celebration in my four decades of covering Wimbledon for the Globe. Starving for a homebody champion, the Brits had saluted but one in 40 years (Ann Jones in 1969), and uniquely here were two stylish players meeting on court. Bursting with pride and glee, the crowd serenaded Ginny with "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow!" Queen E. never returned, nor have any of her subjects come close to the winner's circle.
Two years before, the audience hailed an unexpected champion, the admirable Arthur Ashe, nearly as fervently. Another almost-aged-32 stranger to the final, a 10-1 long shot, Ashe was thought to be hamburger for the seemingly invulnerable 1974 champ, Jimmy Connors. However, Ashe turned out indigestible, a bellyache of befuddling soft spins and angles. Connors, who thrived on power, was then considered a rude Yank and had few supporters. Eight years later he was hailed for taking the title from John McEnroe, though 3 points from defeat. On this visit, the engaging Connors, trying to pilot Andy Roddick to the first prize, suffered through his pupil's quarterfinal breakdown against Richard Gasquet.
I didn't make it to Wimbledon until 1968, the dawn of "open" tennis, ending the silly separation of amateurs and pros. There was no reason to go because the best males -- Rod Laver, Pancho Gonzalez, Ken Rosewall, et al -- congregated in Boston annually for the US Pro Championships at Longwood.
But with everyone thrown into the mix, Wimbledon, immodestly named The Lawn Tennis Championships (because it was the first) became irresistible. Thus began the luminous cavalcade of unforgettable club-swinging athletes darting across my brain pan. The line has stretched from Billie Jean King and Rod Laver, the initial pros to rule, through Venus Williams and Roger Federer, she galloping to a fourth title, he pulling abreast of Bjorn Borg's run of five straight in slipping past Rafael Nadal in five terrific sets Sunday.
Among them was a clever child champion, Martina Hingis, winner of the doubles (with towering Helena Sukova) at 15 in 1996, and the singles the next year, as well as a grandfather named Gonzalez, party to an epic.
Dusk had settled on Centre Court. However, not as ominously dark as Gonzalez's face as he walked from the amphitheater, choruses of boos jeering his departure.
What was Richard "Pancho" Gonzalez doing there anyway, stumbling about in the game's cathedral? Sure, he may have been the greatest of all. But now, 1969, a 41-year-old grandfather, two decades beyond his last major championship, he was merely two sets behind in a first-rounder -- and furious. A Los Angeleno known for his rages before John McEnroe was born, he had lost a bitter argument with the referee, protesting that failing light made it impossible to continue after a 46-game first set. Ordered to "Play on, Gonzalez!" he pouted and threw the second set, prompting sharply disapproving vocals seldom heard on Centre.
Gonzalez seethed most of the night while playing cards with his wife. The next afternoon everything came up aces for him as he staged perhaps the most extraordinary turnaround in this 130-year-old tournament's annals. It lacked nothing for drama as he and Charlie Pasarell, a leading American 16 years his junior, wended their way into a third, fourth, then the decisive fifth set of a classic that would become Wimbledon's second-longest singles match: 5 hours 12 minutes in that pre-tiebreaker age: 22-24, 1-6, 16-14, 6-3, 11-9.
Six times Pasarell cornered Gonzalez at match point, only to be denied by the handsome geezer's slick volleying, twice from 0-40. For his encore, leaving the court a second time, a resurrected Gonzalez was accorded huzzahs that could have been heard at Buckingham Palace. The United States champion of 1948-49, Gonzalez had to wait too long to reap such acclaim, but it was in the game's most illustrious showroom.
Wooden rackets disappeared, but not before the metronomic Evert, the devilish Connors, and the ice-nerved Borg turned the world on to double-barreled backhands.
Who could have imagined that a (temporarily) chubby lefthanded defector from Czechoslovakia, Martina Navratilova, would win more Wimbledon titles than anyone ever (9)?
Or that the same Richard Williams household in Compton, Calif., would produce the splendid Sisters Sledgehammer -- Venus and Serena -- to monopolize titles between 2000 and 2007.
Or that a guy arriving at Wimbledon "detesting" grass -- Pete Sampras -- would become the man of the century while restoring the one-handed backhand to respectability and grabbing seven Big W championships between 1993 and 2000? The last, at nightfall, ridding him of pesky Pat Rafter, was Sampras's record 13th major.
That's all Austrian Hans Redl had to offer: a solely one-handed game. I found him worth watching on an outside court in the seniors in '68. Having lost his left arm in World War II, Redl made do impressively with the other, flipping the ball with his racket as a service toss. He'd been good enough to play Davis Cup and make Wimbledon's fourth round in 1947.
Unheard of, no backhands at all were seen in a curious clash of 1972 when Lita Liem of Indonesia beat Marijke Schaar of the Netherlands. Both ambidextrous, they switched rackets between hands and stroked only forehands.
Tony Roche's splendid volleying didn't help much against the great double-Grand Slammer, Rod "The Rocket" Laver, in 1968. Returned from his own pro outlaw banishment of five years, the lefthanded Rocket, champ of 1961-62, toasted Roche, 6-3, 6-4, 6-2, in less than an hour. How could that be? Because there were no sitdowns, no chairs at changeovers in that day, and no commercial breaks. Play was "continuous," with maybe a brief swig of liquid along the way.
Relentlessly, through 46 games and 2 1/2 hours, Margaret Court and King performed a masterpiece in the 1970 final. At each other's throat, both serve-and-volleying, it went to the tall Aussie, 14-12, 11-9, but vivacious Billie Jean would be back to win in 1972, 1973, and 1975 for a total of six titles, plus 14 doubles.
Anybody backing the "Lovebird Double" in 1974 profited handsomely. Evert and Connors, romantically entwined at the time, both won, defeating Ken Rosewall and Olga Morozova, respectively, and paid 33-1. (Daring me, I had a pound on it.)
Female fashion, such as Maria Sharapova's swan dress this season, always has captivated, sometimes negatively in the eyes of management. Before her quarterfinal in 1972, Rosie Casals appeared on Centre Court in the obligatory white dress. But it was adorned with tiny purple squiggles, and she was commanded to change outfits. Perhaps the offending garment was sent to the Tower of London to be drawn and quartered.
In 1985 Anne White did not meet the standard when she wowed patrons at Court 2 clad neck-to-toe in a body stocking. Though totally white, the way it clung apparently bothered the clothing cops. (Curiously they let Venus get away this year with more revealing skimpy shorts and top.) After two sets, her match with Pam Shriver was suspended by darkness. Ms. White was instructed to leave that costume elsewhere for the third set.
Few have glided across the lawns in such a carefree manner as the Aussie zephyr, Evonne Goolagong, victor in 1971 and 1980, both times nice surprises. She dethroned Court for the first. Then, beating Evert, she became only the second mother-as-champ of the 20th century. Dolly Chambers in 1914 was the first.
An Evert shot in 1978 seemed to shake up her perennial rival, Navratilova, positively. Trailing in the third set of their title bout, Navratilova was skulled by an Evert passer. Maybe it parted cobwebs, but from that moment on Martina was in gear to win for the first time, 2-6, 6-4, 7-5.
The tremendous athlete Steffi Graf took superiority away from Navratilova in 1988, 5-7, 6-2, 6-1. Probably the best-remembered of her seven titles, though, was a gift from Jana Novotna in 1993. Leading, 6-7, 6-1, 4-1, 40-30, Novotna came apart like a rag doll. She double faulted, won hardly another point, and sobbed on the Duchess of Kent's shoulder at the presentation. (Sympathetic, the Duchess did not send her a cleaning bill.)
Unlike Graf, her husband-to-be, Andre Agassi, avoided Wimbledon for a while, wary of grass, after losing a first-rounder. His win on a third try was startling, hers on a fourth expected -- and she has household bragging rights with a 7-1 title edge.
Bumptious belly-flopping Boris Becker took the tourney by storm as an unseeded 17-year-old serve-and-volleyer in 1985, first of his three titles. But he may owe it to the sportsmanship of Tim Mayotte (out of Springfield, Mass.) in the fourth round. Becker, twisting an ankle on an outside court, exceeded the time limit for treatment. Mayotte, refusing to accept a default, gave the German extra minutes to recover, and lost in five sets.
Court 2, the Graveyard of favorites, is littered with numerous famous bodies, courtesy of unknowns. Among the more shocking were Agassi's loss to qualifier Doug Flach in 1996, Serena Williams's to Jill Craybas in 2005, and Sampras's to lucky loser George Bastle in 2002, sadly Pete's Wimbledon farewell and "low point."
But what could have been a larger upset -- in every respect -- than the Leaning Tower of Zagreb, Ivo Karlovic, falling on first-seeded and defending champion Lleyton Hewitt in 2003, the opening round no less, 1-6, 7-6 (4), 6-3, 6-4. At 6 feet 10 inches, the tallest ever to play at the upper level, Karlovic, a qualifier ranked No. 203, was an outsider in town, having no idea how to get to Centre Court. Once there, perplexingly, he was a calm, volleying wizard. Karlovic didn't want to leave. He sat there, absorbing the atmosphere and what he'd done until asked to make way for the next match.
As the longest-shot, No. 13, and nearly youngest women's champion, 17-year-old Sharapova -- the Siberian Siren -- screamingly swiped the crown from Serena Williams's head in 2004, 6-1, 6-4. So 12 months later Venus got it back for the family, swatting a backhand winner to erase a match point, then Lindsay Davenport, 4-6, 7-6 (7-4), 9-7.
The helping left hand of Navratilova was crucial in 35-year-old King's record 20th Wimbledon title, the doubles of 1979. Twenty-four years later Billie Jean was there to applaud 46-year-old Martina's mixed triumph with Leander Paes, deadlocking them at 20 apiece.
"Peasants' Monday," in 2001 was a howling success. With tickets on sale first-come-first-served for the rain-postponed men's final, Centre was loaded with ordinary folk raising the roof. Loudly but considerately. Mostly Croats and Aussies, they raved for their guys, Goran Ivanisevic and Rafter. Suspensefully it weaved on for five sets until Ivanisevic survived, 9-7. A three-time loser, twice to Sampras, once to Agassi, Ivanisevic, ranked No. 125, needed help. He asked pretty-please for a wild card, and -- eureka! -- he entered as a beggar and went out as king. A singular feat.
Of course, sticking with me forever is Borg-McEnroe in 1980, encapsulating the War of 18-16, their excruciating fourth-set tiebreaker. It didn't matter that, after two weeks, the court was weary and rutted. They played divinely, as though it were smooth. Borg had come to Wimbledon in 1973 as the long-tressed blond Teen Angel, becoming the Angelic Assassin. McEnroe, either McBest or McBeast, didn't act up in the rectangle with Borg, whom he respected.
As they climbed the slippery 22-minute tiebreaker, McEnroe hurdling five championship points, Borg six set points, the magic of their swinging cast a spell. They attacked and defended majestically. Somehow McEnroe lived into the fifth and a deuce set before Borg's backhand blasts got him, 1-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-7 (16-18), 8-6.
A year later McEnroe backlashed to end the Swede's five-year reign and record 41-match streak, 4-6, 7-6 (7-1), 7-6 (4), 6-4. Earlier in the tournament McEnroe, using possibly a geological reference, famously called umpire Ted James "the pits of the world."
The venerable ballpark doesn't seem much different from the day I first walked through the Doherty Gate on Church Rd.
The floral displays are unmatched anywhere else in the game. (In refusing the women equal prize money, until now, a club official said such an expenditure would cut into the petunia budget, but the petunias look unaffected in quality and quantity. As the originally compensated champions, Laver got $4,800, King $1,800, while the sum this year is about $1.4 million apiece for the singles victors.)
Moreover, you won't see any advertisements amid the dusky green decor. Running the show, the All-England Club is as commercially-minded as anyone, but they know how to do it, selling softly.
They don't rush. A retractable roof to defend Centre against the yearly bane, rain, will be in place in 2009. A little late considering that Australia showed the first convertible ceiling to beat rainouts in 1988, and later added another. But the US didn't get the message, either.
Whatever, the customers continue the tradition of camping out to get good positions in the long ticket lines, and this was a very good year for the strawberries and cream, four bucks a bowl. 