august 2005

By Bill Simons

Stuff always happens with me and Jimmy Connors. Over the years, each time I’ve been fortunate enough to interview this singular tennis icon, odd things have unfolded. It began in ‘91, when, after elaborate my-people-will-get-back-to-your-people arrangements, I finally managed to sit down with the supposedly washed-up Bellville Basher, who was sidelined by a presumably career-ending wrist surgery. Humbled by his triple-digit ranking and seething because he felt everyone, with the exception of Billie Jean King, had abandoned him, Jimbo delivered a simple message: “Oh ye of little faith, don’t step on Superman’s cape. I’m gonna roar back.”

Just days after the interview was published, Connors began his sublime summer of redemption, which ended with the most celebrated run in tennis history, his over-the-top magical mystery tour at age 39 to the U.S. Open semis — an improbable adventure that not only captured the imagination of millions and landed Jimmy on the cover of Newsweek and on late-night TV, but had half a gabillion aging Americans imagining they might just be able to stay forever young.

A while later, I got a post mortem another interview in the locker room of Atlanta’s Omni Arena, where I mustered up the guts to ask Jimbo to comment on my favorite quote about him, Robert Lipsyte’s inspired observation that “Connors reminds us all how much we have given up by growing up. Lucky Jimmy. If only we could once again stop the party in the living room, make all the grown-ups applaud our naughty words, dance through the hors d’oeuvres, posture and preen and be a terrible two, the only time when a human being will be loved for conquering the world while crying.” As I finished my question, I heard a muted voice from across the way pop up to chime in, “Yeah, that sounds about right to me.” And sure enough there on a massage table was a familiar figure with pasty skin — John McEnroe, who went on to offer a string of opinions.

After that interview, I’d see Connors on occasion. But often he was engrossed in his new (old geezer) senior tour, which was taking full advantage of his late-career surge.

But, eventually, the years of training, traveling, competing and now owning and promoting his own tour caught up with the dynamo, and in ‘01 at a promotional event in Palo Alto, I saw before me a burned out, bitter man: a victim of his own success who had had to endure just one too many vacuous booze-and-schmooze cocktail hours. Sadly, tennis’ answer to Frank Sinatra no longer had that mischievous sparkle in his eye. Gone was the swagger in the Chairman of the Board’s step. His playful banter with his own version of the Rat Pack seemed a thing of the past. Rather, this was a beaten man. With shaken nerves and a talent that at last had diminished, the great champion was now a bit of a caricature, a commodity going through the motions who desperately wanted out of a domain that once had given him his vast bounty — wealth, friends, mass adoration — but now was suffocating him.

But this icon — so charming and exuberant on the surface — is a man who holds his cards close to his chest. He had hidden his angst well. So I was shocked that when I asked the man who (before Agassi) had attracted more fans to the sport than anyone, what he liked most about tennis, he took a deep breath and, with a fierce expression and a palpable bitterness, said that what he liked most about tennis was getting away from tennis.

Not surprisingly, Jimbo soon vanished into a well-deserved seclusion to address family and business affairs and the challenge of that dogleg left on the seventh fairway. I mean, the guy became such a recluse that he had to be convinced to come to his own Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

Then, this spring, the BBC announced that Connors would do a full run as a Wimbledon broadcaster, along with McEnroe, their longtime commentator.
Wow, I thought, the two most bitter, blood-boiling rivals in American sports history, together in the same TV studio? This would be like Nixon and Mao munching spring rolls in Beijing, or Bush and Bin Laden cozying up at Camp David for a chat over tea.

So I knew I wanted to check in with Jimbo. But I was tired of the “my people will get back to your people” routine. So as he was walking by (there’s no strut like a Jimmy Connors strut) one day, I said,”Hi Jimmy,” only to be treated as if I were his long-lost brother. “How ya doin’? Great to see ya. You’re looking good. How’s life?” He was beaming. His spirit seemed renewed. The cloud of anger had lifted.

That retreat of his, I thought, sure did that guy a world of good. The king is back, I loudly announced to myself. Long live the king! And then (as we were engulfed by a swarming sea of giddy teenyboppers and grannies demanding autographs) I launched my first question.

INSIDE TENNIS: In your era, the olden days — just kidding — rivalries really came into their own.
JC: That was certainly a big part of our era. But remember it was TV that took tennis to another level. Fans suddenly liked watching me against McEnroe, Mac against Borg. Then Lendl came in, plus there were Vitas and Vilas.
IT: So the tube changed everything?
JC: It made tennis totally different. It gave tennis so much more importance and amplified all the characters and all the rivalries. A lot of us really didn’t like each other, you gotta remember that. But these days — even the way these guys simply go on the court or the way they go off the court — there’s a totally different feel. When I lost a match, I just really didn’t like it. And Mac, Nastase and Vilas were the same way. As for Borg, who knows what that guy was thinking?
IT: You and Arthur [Ashe] weren’t exactly buds.
JC: I really wasn’t friends with anybody. I hung with my own camp, just like a lot of other guys did. Only after our careers did we really spend time together. Now, all these guys are friends. The Spanish stick together. The Russians stick together. Everybody stays together. It’s certainly a different feel.

Once bitter rivals, Mac, Jimbo and Borg can now share a smile.

IT: And what about the fighting spirit of the American camp these days? Andre has long been a great fighter, but let’s face it, he’s in his twilight. And, despite a stunning string of big-match losses since last year’s U.S. Open, Roddick fights hard. But after that, the U.S. is running kind of thin. Is something missing?
JC: I don’t know what it is. There’s a certain intensity there to win. But there’s also a feeling that if they don’t do well this week, there’s always next week, or the week after, or some tournament down the line. In my day, every match, every point was the most important thing I could do. I didn’t want to slip. Tennis was different. There wasn’t as much money then. Now, the guys are making so much, and I’m happy for them. But that shouldn’t take the intensity or the rivalries away.
IT: But Lleyton Hewitt is still very much a spitfire. Do you see a little bit of yourself in our Aussie friend?
JC: I certainly like the way he plays, his grind-it-out attitude. That’s my kind of game. Somebody who never gives up and will do anything to make the match last five more minutes longer. That’s my kind of style. He certainly has that.
IT: Do you see a bit of the quiet Swede Borg in the Swiss clinician Federer?
JC: I don’t see a little bit of Bjorn in anybody. He was one-of-a-kind, right down to the way he played, his attitude, his grind and the way he went about it. But he never let anybody see it. He was always one-of-a-kind.
IT: Did that annoy you?
JC: A lot, because I didn’t have even a little bit of that.
IT: Was it John who got your juices going the most?
JC: No. Both of them. Both of them did, but in a different way. With Borg, it was very difficult to know exactly what he was thinking at any time. McEnroe, I knew exactly where I stood at all times. In a lot of ways, Borg was more dangerous to play. Mac and I had a lot of fun in our matches. The attitude we had toward each other made everything a lot better.
IT: But that attitude, that fire changed when the new generation — Sampras, Agassi, Courier and Chang — came along.
JC: Yeah, but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that when guys grow up and play the juniors together, they know each other from a young age, from the camps, the way Courier, Agassi, Sampras and Chang did. It seems like they all came up in the same group. I didn’t come up with anybody in any group.
IT: Now there are all these rules, the warnings and point penalties. God forbid if you dent your racket.
JC: That seems to be what tennis wants.
IT: Have the restrictions gone too far? Has a kind of control-freak mind-set taken...
JC: You could have every rule in the book out there in front of me and I wouldn’t go along with it. My emotions and the way I felt, I wanted you to see everything I did out there. When I was up, when I was down, when I was happy, when I was sad, when I was mad, it didn’t matter, I wanted you to know that because that’s just the way I was. I wasn’t afraid. If I can’t show you my emotions, if I’ve got to keep that in there, I’d have been dead a long time ago. I’d have had a heart attack somewhere along the line. I just didn’t feel like letting that affect the way I was as a person and the way I was as a player.
IT: Did Wimbledon at all piss you — whoops, sorry about my language, Jimmy. Wait, what am I saying? Look who I’m talking to. Anyway, were you at all put off by all the hush and the propriety?
JC: No, no. You know, saying it would piss me off is my kind of...
IT: Did all that throw you?
JC: No, there are some guys like Bjorn who fit in here very well. In New York, I fit in very well but he didn’t. So it’s just a matter of personality, how we played and the way we felt. When I would play Wimbledon, I felt comfortable. But I didn’t feel exceptional.
IT: A little bit out of sorts, as the Brits might say?
JC: A little bit hesitant in a lot of ways because of the tradition and the way things were done. But it looks to me like a lot of that has changed now. People now want to see David Nalbandian throw his racket out there because he got a raw deal and he’s missed a couple shots. They don’t want to see a guy slough it off and not care because it’s not that important. For me every point is important and it’s just a matter of letting players show you that.
IT: Andre Agassi is kind of in a world of hurt, taking cortisone shots pretty regularly. You had a great run at 39...
JC: I’m not telling anybody anything about what to do. Every time I have, I’ve paid the price. I’ll let everybody figure everything out on their own. But he’s 35 and still playing at a high level. He’s had a great run.
IT: Is it fun to come back to tennis and put your toes back in the water after a long break?
JC: I’m enjoying it because of the guys I’m working with. It’s easy for me to slide in there with John Lloyd, who has been my friend for years. And working with the BBC, they’ve allowed me to filter in and they’ve accepted me as I am. It’s a one-event opportunity — for them to see if they like me and to see if I like them.
IT: Still, it must have been great to get away from everything.
JC: Yes. My life for the last seven years has been exceptional.
IT: Did you learn a little bit about Jimmy Connors?
JC: I knew everything I needed to know about myself from Day One. I just had some family priorities that needed to be taken care of. All’s well in the end.
IT: Your mom and grandma are probably pretty proud of you.
JC: I can certainly look up at the Friend’s Box and see Andy Murray’s [anxious and enthusiastic] mom and know what she’s going through and what she’s feeling at every step that her son is taking.
IT: Do you ever occasionally have images of the first lessons you took out there on-court, the early hits or the famous time you finally beat your mom? [According to legend, after Jimmy won, he dashed to the net and apologized: “Gee, mom, that hurt. I didn’t mean to do that.” But his mother Gloria almost cried. “No, no, Jimmy,” she said. “Don’t you know this is one of the happiest days of my life?”]
JC: It’s tough for me to look back over my shoulder. What’s in the past is in the past. I was away from the game for quite some time. It’s gotten to the point where it almost seems that I never played. I’ve got too many things going for me right now in the present and the future. If I would ever stop and look back, then I’d do nothing but that. I don’t want to do that.
IT: There’s still a little bit of the tiger in Jimmy?
JC: In anything I do. That’s the way I do business. That’s the way I live my life. If I would ever lose that, it would be time for me to go. When I say “go,” I mean go all the way, not just leave. That’s just not me.

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