The U.S. Open is over — that’s the tennis one, just so you know, this is not about golf. I am a tennis player and thus I am a fan of the sport which, in my lifetime, has gone from sedate to manic. The court’s the same size, the way you make points and keep score hasn’t changed, but beyond that, every aspect of the game has accelerated so that what I see on TV these days bears almost no resemblance to what I knew as a child.
Growing up in Philadelphia, a bastion of country club tennis, my most vivid memory is that outdoor courts in the summer were spotted with one color – white. Ladies wore dresses or sometimes skirts or shorts. Men wore shorts (and sometimes white flannel trousers) and polo shirts. These were usually adorned with an alligator from French designer Rene Lacoste or a laurel wreath, the logo of British tennis star, Fred Perry. That was it — two noted designers of tennis wear. And, for a long time, the only folks who took tennis lessons or played in tournaments were as white as their shorts.
People played with wooden rackets strung with cat gut or nylon. There were wooden presses that you used to keep the rackets from warping. I see these for sale now on EBay – “vintage” like myself.
These rackets could not pulverize a tennis ball, so matches were slower. There were no tie-breakers so one set could last all afternoon. Finesse was an important part of the game and players went to the net more often. They lobbed more, the hardest serves might reach 80 miles an hour. They played on grass and clay. Hard surfaces were somehow déclassé.
Tournaments took place at clubs which Wimbledon still somewhat resembles. These were sedate affairs with no prize money on offer except for the occasional envelope discreetly slid into the racket cover of the top players.
Tennis lived in a comfortable bubble until Althea Gibson, the first Afro American to win tournaments became too good to ignore. Then the Australians started showing up. They were followed by a coterie of California girls (top among them, Billy Jean King, nee Moffit) who learned to play on hard courts at their local playgrounds and amazed the country clubbers with their aggressive net play and competitive spirit. The second notable black player, Arthur Ashe was part of this new melting pot of talent, but tradition continued to hold sway. Each September, the U.S. National Championships were played on grass at the sedate West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills, N.Y. There were no tie-breakers, no prize money, no fashion statements, no security guards, no paid referees and no electronic ball tracking. The spectators could fit into a small stadium.
Today’s stadium in Flushing Meadows (named after Billy Jean) seats 22,500 fans in the main stadium (named after Arthur). In 1968 the “open era” of tennis began which meant there was money to be made. Before that many fine players left the sport because it didn’t provide a living. Now if you make it through the first round of a major tournament a few hundred thousand dollars goes into your bank account. Serena Williams took home four million dollars when she won the US Open this year.
Probably no one could imagine that bringing money to the game of tennis would threaten polite behavior. The replays one sees today of Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe screaming at umpires are still startling. Who could have imagined a stretched out composite tennis racket wielded by a player who travels with coaches, trainers, physiotherapists and hitting partners? That could be Serena Williams, who looks and plays like no one before her. She too still shocks the tennis world. And how many amazing players have appeared from Eastern Europe and now Japan and China?
And fashion! What a blast of color and style hit the courts at every tournament except Wimbledon where a white dress code is enforced to the point of lunacy (no red stripes on the soul of your sneakers). Some players obviously care about how they look on the court. There’s jewelry, makeup, innovative dress cuts and color combinations – some flashy, others subdued. If you like what you see, you can go out and buy the same outfit or racket or sneakers. I always enjoy the players who don’t seem to care much – the more rumpled guys or the newly hatched girls who haven’t yet got sponsors to mold their image.
It’s a multi-faceted, highly competitive sport on every level, and it’s fun to watch and hear the gossip and watch the hard-hitting rallies that could never have taken place 50 years ago. And that’s where my nostalgia kicks in, but just a little. I miss the slower pace, the softer courts, the big porches at the old country clubs, the tournament draws pinned to the wall, the lack of hype, a world that may still exist in exclusive clubs that I have no interest in joining.
What gladdens me most about modern tennis is that it has opened a door for so many young athletes of every background with gumption and talent. Its appeal has moved from the east coast country clubs to encompass much of the world. Who would have thought 50 years ago that there would be a major tournament in Dubai or that Serbia and Japan would be represented in the U.S. Open finals, or that a powerful black woman dressed in bright pink would win her 18th Grand Slam title?