“Chalk came up all over the place, you can’t be serious man,” McEnroe began. And then came the kicker: “You cannot be serious,” he screamed. “That ball was on the line.” He was not finished yet. “Chalk flew up, it was clearly in, how can you possibly call that out? Everybody knows it’s in, the whole stadium, and you call it out? You guys are the absolute pits of the world, you know that?”
Edward James, the umpire who was officiating McEnroe for the only time in his career, coolly responded: “I’m going to award a point against you, Mr McEnroe.”
He was later called “an incompetent fool, an offence against the world”, which earned McEnroe a second penalty point but did not prevent him from coming through in straight sets: 7-6, 7-5, 6-3. Two weeks later, with the first of his three Wimbledon titles stashed, McEnroe declined to attend the Champions’ Dinner at the end of the tournament. He was also the first winner of Wimbledon to be refused automatic membership of the All England Club, on account of his “poor behaviour and antics”.
Scandalous or not, those antics helped make tennis the sport it is today. As McEnroe wrote in his autobiography – which he named Serious, of course – “The better I got, and the more money I made (for myself and for the events that were selling tickets and television rights), the more that linesmen, umpires, referees and tournament organisers had to put up with that from me.”
Did his errant behaviour make him play better? That was the theory. In the magnificently French movie John McEnroe: In the Realm of Perfection, film critic Serge Daney called it “a ploy to transform all the hostility which he feels is bearing down on him into wonderful tennis”. But McEnroe himself disagrees. He says that his “shtick” stemmed from a fear of failure, and rarely improved his game.
He wishes, in hindsight, that Hawk-Eye had existed at the time. “I wouldn’t be sitting here talking with you guys today had it not been for people remembering that I had issues with umpires,” he says. “But I sort of wish I’d had the challenge system, so that I could have used the energy in more effective ways, instead of – at times – wasting energy.”
The scale of this cultural moment is hard to overstate. Wimbledon had been about legendary BBC commentator Dan Maskell’s “Ooh I say”, rhapsodising over a field of pristine athletes who were always seen rather than heard.
And then this turbulent New Yorker arrived, a divisive figure who played angelic tennis while ranting like a delinquent youth. The story escaped the tennis bubble and became an international obsession. During that 1981 Wimbledon, the tension in the press room between hard-nosed British hacks and American tennis aficionados reached such a pitch that a brawl broke out after one of McEnroe’s interviews.
The immediate spur was a question from one of the so-called “Rotters” – news reporters sent to stir the pot – who asked “John, have you and Stacy [Margolin, his on-off girlfriend] split up?” and so sent McEnroe storming from the room.
Neither was the whole affair quickly forgotten. When Wimbledon reconvened the following summer, a novelty single called Chalk Dust: The Umpire Strikes Back satirised McEnroe’s infamous outburst, and reached No. 19 in the British charts.
When he received an invitation to work for the BBC, McEnroe found himself initially unsure how he would be received. “It seemed like they did things a certain way, and then they came to me 20 years ago and said: ‘We just want you to be yourself and do what you want to do.’ I thought that was awesome because they were considered conservative, dare I say stuffy. I have been fortunate that I have had that opportunity to present myself in a different way, unlike what I was doing on the court, which is a different situation.
“You want to be remembered for what you accomplished,” he concludes. “In conjunction with that, you remember the antics. It makes people remember and look back and think about what you did do. So I guess it’s a net positive – although at the time it seemed like a negative, certainly early on. It’s nice in a way to be remembered at all.”
Wimbledon 1981: McEnroe’s breakthrough year
- The first-round match against Tom Gullikson was the only time in his 15-year career that McEnroe said the four words – “You cannot be serious” – that followed him for the next four decades. It would, though, set the tone for a furious two weeks in SW19.
- Simmering tension boiled over at the semi-final stage. A tempestuous win over Rod Frawley was marked by an outburst that would cost McEnroe a $10,000 fine. The bad blood on court was matched by trans-Atlantic scuffles in the press room.
- Lying in wait was Bjorn Borg, a repeat of the previous year’s epic final. This was tennis at its most box office. Royalty, including the Princess of Wales and Princess Grace of Monaco, watched with fans who were reported to have camped for a week to get a ticket.
- They were not disappointed. Four sets later, McEnroe had achieved the unthinkable – beating Borg on grass while unsettling the British establishment. His victory party in New York’s Xenon was described as one of the nightclub’s “wildest gatherings”.
- The match set the two men on different paths. Within two years, Borg had retired aged 26, a moment of trauma for tennis that it could never fully comprehend. McEnroe, who also won the men’s doubles at Wimbledon in 1981, kicked on to win seven Grand Slam titles.
The Telegraph, London
Source: | This article originally belongs to smh.com.au
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