WATCHING THE FRENCH OPEN SEMIS WITH PANCHO SEGURA 30 YEARS AGO BY EUGENE L. SCOTT

Written by: Staff on 24th May 2014

WATCHING THE FRENCH OPEN SEMIS WITH PANCHO SEGURA 30 YEARS AGO BY EUGENE L. SCOTT |

The following was published in the June 21, 1984, edition of Tennis Week Magazine as a “Vantage Point” column and written by former Tennis Week founder and publisher Eugene L. Scott:

If Broadway’s hottest musical is “Sunday In The Park With George,” the hottest act in tennis is the French Open. One does not have to reach far to find parallels. The setting is the same (Paris) and the musical’s motif is the famous Impressionist painting whose color is dabbed on canvas by thousands of pigment points which could easily be metaphors for the quarter-million fans that inhabit Stade Roland Garros over its fortnight.

I suppose you’ll get an argument comparing painter Georges Seurat with artists John McEnroe and Martina Navratilova, but don’t descriptions of each deploy the same rich language? If Seurat used every inch of his canvas, don’t McEnroe and Navratilova use the court from corner to corner? And surely it is impossible to define the trio’s strength without trotting out “touch,” “power,” “subtelty,” and “innovation?”

Certainly the pageantry of Seurat’s work is on target with the annual tennis celebration presented by impresario Philippe Chatrier who, among other things, is ITF, FFT, and Pro Council president which is as versatile as you can get in any medium.

The French Open is a sponsor’s jamboree. Companies are treated with apparent equanimity and purchase their exposure as one might buy asparagus off a village vegetable trolley. There is a dignified exchange of products for a price – no haggling – and the displays are uniform and tasteful. A solid metal strip of 13 courtside signs borders the center court on each side in its official colors – black letters on a light green background tilted at a gentle angle for better television and spectator visibility.

In addition, the player chairs, let-cord box, linesmen and umpire chairs each have corporate identification as do the entrance portals. Outside small kiosks display everything from soap to Nautilus (soup to nuts?) and for more substantial firms there is a public relations village which is a small tent town of finely appointed hospitality suites.

Virginia Slims continues to be the game’s most energetic sponsor providing instant statistics and social receptions with equal efficiency. Clearly the recent hammer of the surgeon General’s health warning and the CAB furor (a no smoking decree on flights less than two hours which was approved and defeated within 24 hours) has not dropped in Paris. I have never been around more smokers than in the press President’s tribune of Roland Garros.

Now back to that Sunday in the park, etc. Despite the painting’s grand assortment of courtesans, café society and a crude character or two, I defy anyone to match the experience of watching a French final near Curry Kirkpatrick (Sports Illustrated), Harold Zimman (USTA publications), Peter Bodo (Tennis Magazine) and Richard Evans (Tennis

Week), whose rolling commentary, humor and companionship are extraordinary value.

However, if listening to a tennis writer does not suit your taste I offer sitting next to Pancho Segura during the Ladies’ Singles between Navratilova and Evert Lloyd. After Martina opened the set with an ace, Pancho’s prattle began. “Martina’s moving to net and has the perfect chance to fake an approach and drop shot. (Chris evens at one all.) Martina’s pressing a little. Come on Chrissie for Chrissake, attack her second serve and get to net. Chris should have lobbed that one.

“Chris is hitting harder now but it won’t matter. Chris won’t beat this girl just like Jimbo will never beat McEnroe again. You know McEnroe’s forehand is much better now that he can hit it down the line.” (At 2:45 pm, Chris trails 1-4 in the first set but leads 30-0 on serve, wins the point and the crowd cheers.) “The French are an exciteable people. Martina nails a volley.) Chris should return the ball softly – let Martina volley the first – then Chris can go for the pass. Martina’s killing her now – she’s in complete control (she leads 6-3, 3-0). Look, she can slice her backhand, drive it and hit the drop shot. This broad has too many weapons for Chris. There is nothing left now but the shout and the shower.”

As the match ends, Pancho gets up and starts to leave, but sees an old friend, “There’s Jean Noel Grinda, the former Davis Cup player. We used to call him the French Tarzan.”

Navratilova’s attitude improves as her confidence prospers. There are still days (her semifinal against Hana Mandlikova was one) when even though she is winning she fusses. But in the final her spirit was indomitable. She smiled. She said, “nice shot.” She hit an overhead outball as the ultimate embellishment of her confidence. She also played the tennis of her life – of anyone’s life.

The irony is that Martina, whose mental strength was always vulnerable, dominated the match with her brain as much as her brawn. Her intuition and instincts were comprehensive and took both her and her shots to parts of the court that most of us never see except to change sides. Yet Chris, whose concentration and courage in the past have turned Martina’s mind to marzipan lost her instinct for survival. She varied neither pace, angle, length nor tactic. She was, as a result, simply inhaled (impaled?) by Martina.

If you’ll bear with the painting analogy one last time, the composition of the men’s semifinals couldn’t bear improvement. McEnroe vs. Connors and Lendl vs. Wilander. Yet thematically, there was little substance. Other than the suspense of whether Lendl could hang on against Wilander (one always had the feeling at the end when Lendl lost those match points that Wilander might escape in five sets), there was no drama in their baseline barter.

And did anyone really believe that Connors could maintain the intensity on red clay that brought him to a 5-4 lead in the first set? Now the final was another matter altoether. Has anyone ever played the clay court tennis that McEnroe presented for two sets? For nearly two hours, McEnroe transformed the tennis ball into a radio toy that would go forwards, backwards or dead stop at the touch of a finger. He reshaped the tennis court from rectangle to parallelogram (now, of course, his angles were understandable). And he personally motored himself around court as if Merlin the Magician took him out of one closet and put him in another as part of the overall trick. Suddenly, the magic fled. If McEnroe’s knees didn’t wobble to the naked eye, inside they were jelly. His first serve failed to hit, his feet turned to fudge, and his half-volleys at the baseline were fashioned from fatigue rather than authority. Why? One wonders whether McEnroe should reinforce his assets with the practice or training ethics of Borg, Emerson or Gerulaitis in their heydays.

Lendl, meanwhile, was goaded by his humiliation over the first two sets and his rival’s sudden weakness. He took the opportunity and dealt himself his first Grand Slam. If you don’t like this column’s choice of metaphor earlier of a Sunday in the park with George. …, the other selection was a timely reminder of D-Day at Normandy exactly 40 years ago. For obvious reasons it’s a poor comparison. Gallantry is trivial at Stade Roland Garros. Moreover, Omaha Beach is quite another color and consistency.

Topics: Eugene L. Scott, French Open, Roland Garros, Tennis, Tennis News, Tennis Week Magazine, Vantage Point

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10sBalls_com says:

May 24, 2014 at 4:48 pm

WATCHING THE FRENCH OPEN SEMIS WITH PANCHO SEGURA 30 YEARS AGO BY EUGENE L. SCOTT – http://t.co/w4Wdp35o0K

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