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Inside Tennis April 1981 cover

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FIRST SERVE: april 2001

Against All Odds: 20 Years of IT

An aging actor with jet-black hair and a big grin is in the White House. The Go-Gos are on the radio and the Soviet Union is frozen in place, an in-your-face Goliath that couldn't be budged. Those were the "good ol' days," when Napster was just some drowsy kid who liked to sleep, the NASDAQ was an East Coast tech school and "computer chip" was that nerdy kid down the block, who liked to fidget with widgets. Of course, Bill Gates hadn't even come out of the gate yet and Britney, Serena and Anna K. hadn't emerged from the womb. Hip-hop was just an innocent game a kid in a blue jumper named Lewinsky played on the sidewalks of Beverly Hills. And most people figured yuppies were just those lovable little dogs, who yapped a bit too much.

"Do you really want to launch this thing on a shoe string? Your enthusiasm is fine, but face it, you've got about a 98 percent chance to fail." box
As for me, I was just an unemployed writer with an old car, a new idea and nothing to lose; a doesn't-have-a-clue dreamer who wouldn't listen. After all, an all-knowing expert cautioned me, "Do you really want to launch this thing on a shoe string? You know a magazine focused on just one topic, in just one region, isn't exactly a sure-fire formula for success. And isn't the tennis boom [of the '70s] fading fast in our rear view mirrors. Your enthusiasm is fine, but face it, you've got about a 98 percent chance to fail."

But I loved tennis, writing was my passion and I had been around sports and publications all my life. Never mind that I had no office, no staff, ridiculously little capital and my cross-court top-spin backhand was, shall we say, suspect.

But so what, I was a high risk, "no-net" kind of guy; an entrepreneur willing to go anywhere or talk to anyone; a bit of a true believer who didn't hesitate to sidestep the implications of any reality. The dreary stats of the publishing trade were merely life's little unforced errors; seventeen hour work days were meaningless let cords to be brushed aside. There was a mission at hand, a mountain to be scaled. And so brave investors stepped forward. Wide-eyed staffers came on board. Sure, our no-frills office suffered a leaky roof. But, as a work place, it sure beat my kitchen table. Soon, some of the hotshots of the sport even deemed it acceptable to talk with this unknown magazine that (now here's a laugh) called itself "Inside Tennis." Local shops soon said "Sure, why not," and bought ads. Then mighty adidas endorsed our concept and much to our do-you-believe-in-miracles glee reserved the ad space on our back cover for the next two years! So eventually, thanks to so many, on a gray cold spring morning in a dank, dirty print shop on an anonymous San Francisco corner, I stood nervous and transfixed as a clunky old press - loud and leaking oil, tired and devoid of any grace - began to labor. "Come on," I whispered. "Push, push, push."

Inside Tennis April 2001 coverbox
And so it did! And at 11:47 a.m. IT was born. Admittedly, it was a challenging birth. We had to stop the presses (yikes, there was a typo on the cover.) Typeset the old-fashioned way and layed out by hand, our first cover featured a barely discernible image that appeared to be more of a Rorshach inkblot concoction than an up-beat tennis graphic. Still, IT had a pulse and a future. In our first issue, the legendary coach Tom Stow complained that, "McEnroe's behavior is a disgrace to the game, a tragedy for teaching professionals." And when he reflected on the young Andrea Jaeger, he noted, "If I had said a few years ago that there would be a 15-year-old-child who was as good as any player in the world, they'd have put me in the Napa State Mental Hospital." Okay, we botched a few names (Jimmy Conners and Larry and Steve Stefanski.) Still we noted that a young, bushy-haired Foothill College sophomore, Brad Gilbert, was the early-season favorite for the California Community College Championship and we noted with authority that Stanford's Dick Gould "hasn't done a bad job." Ads toted Nikes for $19.99, Wilson rackets for $40 and Dunlop balls for $3.

Amazingly, 20 years later the cost of balls is about the same. But, over the years there's been plenty of change. Although Agassi has lost his hair and switched from Streisand to Shields to Graf; although Davis Cup has lost some of its allure and serve-and-volleyers are now an endangered species, the four stone pillars of the game-Wimbledon and the U.S., French and Australian Opens-remain very much in place. Plus, many a stalwart of California tennis (think Barry MacKay, Dick Gould and Peter Herb) is no longer in place. And all this time, tennis has endured senseless violence (Seles' stabbing) and inexplicable losses: the passing of Vitas Gerulaitis (too young); Tim Gullikson (too decent) and Arthur Ashe (too good and wise). The sport has been energized by two glittering break-out clusters-the class of '87 with Sampras, Agassi, Courier and Chang - and wave after wave of women's competitors - the Spice Girls (Serena, Venus, Hingis and Kournikova, plus Lindsay). Over these 20 years, four rivalries have shaped the game: Evert vs. Navratilova, Agassi vs. Sampras, men's vs. women's tennis and tennis vs. its country club cousin-golf. Speaking of country clubs, their longstanding hegemony over tennis has repeatedly been challenged over the past two decades. Culturally, a couple of rebels without portfolios-McEnroe and Connors-repeatedly bombarded the enclaves of refined civility. Ashe tweaked the (what's the problem, life is good) sensibility of the privileged and the incomparable Williams clan, in their bold, brash way, simply sidestepped traditional bastions.

All the while, IT ventured forth - toting our notepads, tape recorders and cameras - to record, with some whimsy, the wit and wisdom of this sport. Willing to ask cutting-edge questions when some others might hesitate, we often tackled taboo topics or revealed the curious mindset of a game which embraces controversy with a certain addictive ferocity; a sport which increasingly-from Dubai to Kauai, from back-court league matches to the nearly $18 million U.S. Open-has more money, fans and rules than ever.

In this dot.com era, Napster, Bill Gates and computer chips are all household names. And hopefully, after all these years, Inside Tennis (at least in sports circles) is a bit of a known commodity. More importantly, we hope we've made a meaningful contribution without losing our zest to reveal and amplify the fun and foibles of an inspired game.