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Unlike New Jersey’s Meadowlands Stadium, there are no rumors that mobsters are buried beneath this storied locale. Still, Wimbledon’s fabled Court 2 has been tagged with the most sinister name in tennis — “the graveyard of champions” — or upset court. Sure, there are some veteran British journalists who blithely dismiss this conventional wisdom as just another locker room myth.
But don’t tell that to McEnroe, who was unceremoniously dumped out of Wimbledon by the late journeyman Tim Gullikson on Court 2 . And the next time you’re chatting with Connors, don’t mention the topic. One of the best return-of-serve guys in history was aced 33 times on that lumpy lawn as he went down to a streaking Kevin Curren. Boris Becker wrecked his ankle out there, and Agassi took more than a little flack from Doug Flach. Mighty Serena was humbled by the virtually unknown head-hunter, Jill Craybas. Ms. Wimbledon herself, Martina N., lost her last All-England Club match there, and Wimbledon’s Greatest God — Pete Sampras — suffered perhaps his most humbling defeat, when in’02 he was embarrassed by a hungry Swiss guy: not Roger Federer, but George Bastl.
Wimbledon’s Centre Court is, of course, an imposing grand stage, a stately cathedral that celebrates achievement and showcases celebrity. There up in the stands might be Jack Nicholson or Barbra Streisand. The prime minister of Belgium may well be chatting with Maggie Thatcher, and Bill Clinton may be talking up some billionaire baron from Birmingham. Propriety, son, propriety. But on Court 2, there’s a crazed guy in a weathered Yankee cap yelling his brains out next to an awestruck, sleep deprived teeny-bopper from Kent with a shattering screech. Centre Court provides an intimidating, rather considerable home field advantage for the Lords of the game — Federer, Sampras, Becker, Borg et al — who play with knowing ease amidst its pomp ‘n circumstance.
But the reverse is true when, on rare occasion, the game’s great champions are assigned Court 2. It’s as if a grand Broadway idol is suddenly told to switch out of his or her comfort zone, to act in a shabby theater in New Haven, yet still dazzle.
Like many an old cemetery, Court 2’s grass won’t collect too many prizes. Thin, uneven and prone to wear — at best it’s a spotty mess that pales before the stately flat and firm lawns of Centre and Court One, which boast all those pristine, proper bounces. On Court 2, the ball’s bounce can be quite the uncharted adventure. Plus, the place is loud, at times impolite and more than cozy. Here, when Stefan Edberg served, the arch in his back seemed like a vast canyon. When Becker leaped, you thought he might land in your lap. Agassi’s groundies exploded like Victorian cannons, and Seles’ grunts were painful. Here you were so close to the press seats you could almost read the scribbles in one of Bud Collins’ little note pads. And when the lady on one side of you, Becker’s frenetic wife, Barbara, slips off one of her expensive sandals, the fashion maven on the other side marvels that they are the same trendy brand as Princess Di’s.
“It’s a weird court,” British vet John Lloyd told IT. “A lot of times they would throw top seeds out there late at night, and they would just go down. It’s easier there for the underdog, because when you go on Centre Court or No. 1 where there’s a bigger crowd, the TV cameras are on, there’s a far greater intimidation factor. Court 2 is similar to what you get at a ‘smallish’ tournament that [lesser players] are used to. It’s not as intimidating. Plus, it’s the noisiest court in the whole of bloody Wimbledon. I was in a tight match against Vijay Amritaj and about to put away a critical volley deep in the fifth set when some girl screamed. I missed that bloody volley and lost the match. It’s a distracting place. It’s surrounded by other courts.”
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In fact, enterprising fans can simply climb up about 20 rows to the top of Court 2’s modest stands and peer out on the high drama on several neighboring courts, where Dimitry Tursunov might be screaming at an ump during a white-rage meltdown or Brad Gilbert (frustrated by yet another anonymous Swede) might — oh, dear — be blasting a ball off the clubhouse’s semi-sacred ivy.
Of course, theories abound about “the Graveyard.” Some insist it’s all just mental. Others point to Britain’s stuffy class structure, which insists everyone must know his or her place, and assigning top stars to Court 2 is a way to say “Hey, look who’s actually still running this place,” a reminder to the player not to get too big for his or her britches.
But Lloyd suggests a far more benign perspective. “In all of our British sports,” the broadcaster and Davis Cup captain noted, “we worry what other people are going to think, and we actually tend to even things out because we don’t want others to think we favor people. A lot of times they shove players out there because they didn’t want people to think, ‘Hey, he played all his matches on Centre and No. 1, while other tournaments [think Connors playing all his matches at favored times and places during his ‘91 U.S. Open run] wouldn’t give a stuff. We always think we have to be fair. We give wildcards to players we’ll soon be playing in Davis Cup, and you think, ‘Hello, those guys wouldn’t be doing the same thing for us.’”
This year, after the last ball is struck on arguably tennis’ greatest viewing venue, the beloved graveyard will be plowed under and sent to its own grave. In ‘09 a reinvented, brand spanking new Court 2 will reemerge, cleansed fresh and free of all the graveyard’s ghosts. Certainly Wimbledon will be bigger and more grand. But will it be better?
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