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he came from another world.
Jimmy Connors’ mother Gloria was a cop’s daughter.
She married the mayor’s son, a boxer who became a bridge operator, and
came of age in a pre-Beatles/Trumanesque universe of straight-laced girls’
academies, deferential manners, tough-love discipline, chatty neighborhood
hangouts, salty language and a world infused with “greatest generation”
family values and not-always-subtle social and racial tensions. A zealous
protector with coiffed hair, “Glo” simply lived for her son. Devotion has
known few greater servants. And no, God forbid, the seemingly conventional
woman never dreamt of concocting some bra-burning manifesto. But make no
mistake about it: this feisty pioneer and stage-mother extraordinaire was
- in her own, not-by-the book way - a feminist.
In 1952, while pregnant with her second son, she toiled to craft a tennis
court behind her modest brick house in tidy, blue-collar East St. Louis.
There, she introduced her bouncing boy to the sport. But little did she know
that the far-too-scrawny kid would go on to storm the bastions of a previously
sedate game and become its most beloved “enfant terrible.” Mother, coach,
advisor, muse, manager and friend, ultimately Glo and her mother Bertha (who
was tagged with the curious moniker “Two-Mom”) would become the only women
to coach a prominent male champion.
Never mind Jimbo’s suspect forehand and ho-hum (“How come he never really
fixed that thing?”) serve, Gloria crafted Connors’ curious, but inspired
ensemble of blunt (“Where’s the grace?”) shots. His attacking, on-the-rise,
two-handed backhand would become one of the most feared strokes in tennis
history and, during the dark of the Illinois winter, Glo would traipse Jimmy
across the river to the lightening-fast indoor court at the St. Louis Armory,
where he mastered his pinball-wizard return of a serve, a (“That’s all you
got, buster?”) counter attack that only Agassi would equal.
Glo’s genius was built on a single outlook: “It’s us versus them, kid. Get
it? Everyone’s out to get us and, yeah, by the way, I’m the only one who’s
got your back.” Every shot, every match, every decision, mattered. So during
rain delays, when Jimmy would innocently start playing fun games with his
fellow junior Trey Walke, he would receive withering reprimands. One doesn’t
fraternize with the enemy. At junior tournaments, the Connors clan would
decline offers of free transportation or housing. So mother, grandmother
and child were bound together in a tight, hell-bound-for-glory world apart.
Here the stern taskmaster had but one mantra: fire up them “tiger juices.”
Sure, on occasion, there were noisy little civil wars within the camp and,
later on, Jimmy’s strut and bluster career was marked by plenty of speed
bumps: vendettas, vitriol, lawsuits and meltdowns. Still, this was an extraordinary
mix: three generations, two genders-personality, power, paranoia, drive,
athleticism, unwavering devotion and love of family and sport.
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“Everything good about Jimmy Connors,” recalled one insider, “and everything
bad about him, came from Gloria. She totally controlled him. She was the
ultimate svengali who knew that to control someone was to convince them you’re
the only one they can trust. And once you have that, you have everything.”
Traditional lore informs us that much of Glo’s drive was rooted in the reality
that she was from the wrong side of the tracks; that the middle class girl
bristled, not only at the moneyed stiffs at the snooty St. Clair Country
Club, but at much of tennisdom with all its pretension and controlling sense
of entitlement and prissy privilege. But, truth be told, her very own Jimmy
evolved from a boy with a pony and go-carts, to the Illinois kid in the maroon
Corvette and the cocky teen cruising West L.A. in a green Porsche. But more
to the point, Glo, who once was America’s No. 13 junior and twice played
the U.S. nationals, was a former competitor who didn’t quite crack the elite.
She was stuck in a (“this ain’t exactly what I had in mind”) marriage and
was an insular woman who called on her enormous drive and ferocity to create
a champion who was “raised by women to conquer men.”
Some have claimed Jimmy “was brought up to win on hate.” Well, let’s just
say he was the master of “angry tennis.” When Glo would blast winners past
him, she would say, “You see, Jimmy, even your mother will do that to you.”
And, at sixteen, when Jimmy beat her for the first time, he apologized, “Gee,
Mom, that hurt. I didn’t mean to do that.” Glo nearly cried: “No, no, Jimmy.
This is the happiest day of my life.”
No wonder some have written of Oedipal complexes while others noted Sigmund
Freud’s theory that, “a man who has been the indisputable favorite of his
mother keeps for life the feeling of conqueror, the confidence of success
which often induces real success.”
Still, all things must pass. So in the late 60’s, Glo transported her mother
and son to leafy Beverly Hills to gain the silver macho wisdom of Pancho
Segura who would teach Jimmy (who once said he had “a woman’s game in man’s
body”) how to think like a man on court. Eventually, as Jimbo’s career soared
in the 70’s, Glo receded and was never seen at the big tournaments. But make
no mistake about it-she was always a force. Following on-court disasters
(from Wimbledon to Washington), she would be called on for emergency repairs
and, notably, she could just tweak Jimmy’s game over the phone.
A fierce and caring handler, she often was the straw that stirred Jimbo’s
milkshake. For instance, in ‘96, the Tennis Industry Association had arranged
for Connors to star in one of the biggest exhibitions in tennis history.
Thousands of tickets had been sold for Atlanta’s Omni Arena. But there was
a wrinkle. That week, at the AT&T Pro-Am at Pebble Beach, Jimmy surprisingly
made the cut for weekend play and, thrilled with his success, withdrew from
the tennis exo. Fuming officials implored him to change his mind. His agent
pleaded. Reebok threatened to cancel his big new contract. But Jimmy stayed
his Pebble Beach course. Nothing could be done. Then someone got to Glo and
Jimmy was soon on a plane out of Monterrey.
Of course, now that Jimmy is coaching Andy Roddick, the influence of his
mother (who died in January at 82) lives on. Roddick reported that Connors
would talk to Glo about his game. “The stuff Jimmy’s teaching me,” Andy told
IT, “is just an extension of what she was able to teach him. She knew the
game and was passionate. When we started working together last summer, even
when she wasn’t feeling well, she’d stay up, watch and give her two cents.
She was excited. She had something to cheer for again. Seeing Jimmy back
out there made her happy...She’s definitely left her mark, that’s for sure.”
Amen.
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