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Pearson was so surprised and angered that he double-faulted for
deuce, and Johnson won the game. Johnson pulled even at 5-all,
before Pearson recovered his equilibrium, and finally won the set
at 17-15. Truly Pearson's lapse at Johnson's marvellous get was a
costly mental break.
Tennis psychology is far more than the effect of certain shots,
made or missed, on the player. One can sum up such things by
saying that every kill gives confidence, every error tends to
destroy it. These things are obvious. The branch of psychology
that is interesting is the reaction on the various players of
different courts, different crowds, and other players.
There is a peculiar atmosphere about the centre court at
Wimbledon that is unique in my knowledge of the game. Certain
players revel in it. The majority do not feel it, and since they
do not sense it, they find only the material disadvantages of
rather bad light, and much noise from the stand, and dislike the
centre court. Personally, I enjoy playing on the centre court at
Wimbledon more than any court I have ever stepped upon.
The traditions of the great players of the past, the notable
personages that make up the parties in the Royal Box and
Committee Box, the honour of a visit from their Majesties the
King and Queen, and, above all, the generous, non-partisan,
sportsmanlike attitude of the British public, make it a unique
privilege to enter the centre court in championship competition.
These things inspire the mind to an almost abnormal keenness. It
is this atmosphere that made N. E. Brookes, Anthony F. Wilding,
A. W. Gore, R. F. and H. L. Doherty more dangerous there than
anywhere else. It is this factor that spurs on J. C. Parke and A.
R. F. Kingscote to their greatest tennis to-day.
The great championship turf at Forest Hills, where the American
Championship is held, offers a unique contrast to Wimbledon.
The age of Wimbledon is its great attraction. It is the spirit of
youth, of progress, of business-like mechanical perfection of
management, and the enormous crowds and attendant enthusiasm that
is the chief attraction at Forest Hills. Fully 15,000 were
present on the closing day of the event in 1919. Orderly,
courteous, enthusiastic, but partisan, the American tennis public
comes out to cheer on its favourite. No people in the world
appreciate visiting players more whole-heartedly and none do more
for their comfort than the American people. It is partisan,
personal, sporting friendliness, warmer yet not so correct as the
manner of the British public, that the Americans give. We have
much to learn from our British friends. Yet I hope we will never
sacrifice the warmth of feeling that at times may run away with
us, yet in the main is the chief attraction of the American
people. It is this enthusiasm that spurs on the men to their
greatest efforts in the National Championship.
The Australian team, Norman E. Brookes, Gerald Patterson,
Randolph Lycett, and R. V. Thomas, who visited the United States,
in 1919, scored a unique personal triumph. The whole gallery
present at the notable match in the Championship, when Patterson
went down to defeat in a terrific 5-set struggle with W. M.
Johnston, rose and cheered Patterson as he walked off the court.
It was a real ovation; a tribute to his sportsmanship, and an
outburst of personal admiration. Brookes was the recipient of an
equal demonstration on his final appearance at Forest Hills. The
stimulus of the surroundings produced the highest tennis of which
these men were capable.
Yet in all championships it is the personal element that is the
moving factor. Personalities are the deciding force in
popularity. Patriotism is partially submerged in personality.
The Davis Cup matches bring out the gamest struggles in the
history of tennis. It is in these unique series of matches that
the fame of Anthony F. Wilding, Norman E. Brookes, J. C. Parke,
B. C. Wright, M. E. M'Loughlin, and others reached its crest. It
was the unselfish giving of one's best, under all conditions, for
the honour of the country that called out the finest tennis in
each man. Parke reached his crest in his memorable defeat of
Brookes. M'Loughlin has never quite equalled his marvellous game
of 1914 against Brookes and Wilding.
It is the psychology of patriotism that brings out this tennis.
Personality is submerged. Unity of purpose as a team, replaces
the object of personal glory that is the keynote of championship.
It is the friendly rivalry of sport, between such men as form the
backbone of tennis in each country, that does more for
international understanding than all the notes ever written from
the White House.
I could go on writing tennis psychology as explained by external
conditions for hundreds of pages, but all I want to do is to
bring to mind a definite idea of the value of the mind in the
game. Stimulate it how you will, a successful tennis player must
admit the value of quick mind. Do it by a desire for personal
glory, or team success, or by a love of competition in matching
your wits against the other man's, but do it some way.
Do, not think that tennis is merely a physical exercise. It is a
mental cock-tail of a very high "kick."
CHAPTER VII. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MATCH PLAY
The first and most important point in match play is to know how
to lose. Lose cheerfully, generously, and like a sportsman. This
is the first great law of tennis, and the second is like unto
it--to win modestly, cheerfully, generously, and like a
sportsman.
The object of match play is to win, but no credit goes to a man
who does not win fairly and squarely. A victory is a defeat if it
is other than fair. Yet again I say to win is the object, and to
do so, one should play to the last ounce of his strength, the
last gasp of his breath, and the last scrap of his nerve. If you
do so and lose, the better man won. If you do not, you have
robbed your opponent of his right of beating your best. Be fair
to both him and yourself.
"The Play's the thing," and in match play a good defeat is far
more creditable than a hollow victory. Play tennis for the game's
sake. Play it for the men you meet, the friends you make, and the
pleasure you may give to the public by the hard- working yet
sporting game that is owed them by their presence at the match.
Many tennis players feel they owe the public nothing, and are
granting a favour by playing. It is my belief that when the
public so honours a player that they attend matches, that player
is in duty bound to give of his best, freely, willingly, and
cheerfully, for only by so doing can he repay the honour paid
him. The tennis star of to-day owes his public as much as the
actor owes the audience, and only by meeting his obligations can
tennis be retained in public favour. The players get their reward
in the personal popularity they gain by their conscientious work.
There is another factor that is even stronger than this, that
will always produce fine tennis in championship events. It is the
competitive spirit that is the breath of life to every true
sportsman: the desire to prove to himself he can beat the best of
the other man; the real regret that comes when he wins, and feels
the loser was not at his best. It is that which has made popular
idols of Anthony F. Wilding, M. E. M'Loughlin, and other famous
players. It is the great attraction of J. C. Parke, A. R. F.
Kingscote, W. M. Johnston, Andre Gobert, W. Laurentz, and many
other stars. It is the sign of a true sportsman.
The keen competitive spirit that stimulates a match player also
increases the nervous strain. This should be recognized by
tournament committees, and the conditions of play should be as
nearly standardized as weather permits.
A tournament committee should never keep a player waiting for an
important match to commence while they scour through the crowd
for linesmen. These necessary, and I trust useful, accessories to
every match of importance should be picked and on hand when the
players appear. A good linesman is a great aid to match tennis. A
poor one may ruin a great battle. Not only will bad decisions
turn the tide by putting a point in the wrong columns, but slow
decisions will often upset players, so they dare not play to the
line kept by slumberous linesmen.
A linesman should take his first judgment as the ball strikes. If
outside he should call "out" at once clearly, decisively, but not
too loudly; a yell is often a shock to the nerves. If the ball is
good he should remain discreetly silent.
The umpire should announce the score after each point in a voice
sufficiently loud to be heard by the entire gallery. His
decisions as to "lets" or balls "not up" should be made only loud
enough to ensure that they are heard by the players. The gallery
has eyes. Following each game, the game score should be called,
giving the leading player's name and the set being played. For
example, "Four games to three, Parke leads. Second set." About
every third game following the completion of the first set, an
announcement as to the winner of the first set is an excellent
idea. The umpire could add to the above announcement, "First set,
Parke, 6-3." This latter announcement is unnecessary when there
is a score board that gives full details of the match.
Tournament committees should see that all courts have sufficient
room behind the baseline and at the sides to insure a player
against running into the stops.
Galleries should strive to retain their appreciation and
enthusiasm until a point is completed, since noise is very
disconcerting to a player. However, all players enjoy an
enthusiastic gallery.
The players themselves must now be considered in relation to the
reaction of the match.
The first thing to fix firmly in your mind in playing a match, is
never to allow your opponent to play a shot he likes if it is
possible to force him to make one he does not. Study your
opponent both on and off the court. Look for a weakness, and,
once finding it, pound it without mercy. Remember that you do not
decide your mode of attack. It is decided for you by the weakness
of your opponent. If he dislikes to meet a netman, go to the net.
If he wants you at the net, stay back and force him to come in.
If he attacks viciously, meet his attack with an equally strong
offensive.
Remember that the strongest defence is to attack, for if the
other man is occupied in meeting your attack, he will have less
time to formulate his own system.
If you are playing a very steady man, do not strive to beat him
at his own game. He is better at it than you in many cases, so go
in and hit to win. On the other hand, if you find that your
opponent is wild and prone to miss, play safe and reap the full
crop of his errors. It saves you trouble and takes his
confidence.
ABOVE ALL, NEVER CHANGE A WINNING GAME.
ALWAYS CHANGE A LOSING GAME, since, as you are getting beaten
that way, you are no worse off and may be better with a new
style.
The question of changing a losing game is a very serious thing.
It is hard to say just when you are really beaten. If you feel
you are playing well yet have lost the first set about 6-3 or
6-4, with the loss of only one service, you should not change.
Your game is not really a losing game. It is simply a case of one
break of service, and might well win the next set. If, however,
you have dropped the first set in a 2 out of 3 match with but one
or two games, now you are outclassed and should try something
else.
Take chances when you are behind, never when ahead. Risks are
only worth while when you have everything to win and nothing to
lose. It may spell victory, and at least will not hasten defeat.
Above all, never lose your nerve or confidence in a match. By so
doing you have handed your opponent about two points a game--a
rather hard handicap to beat at your best.
Never let your opponent know you are worried. Never show fatigue
or pain if it is possible to avoid, since it will only give him
confidence. Remember that he feels just as bad as you, and any
sign of weakening on your part encourages him to go on. In other
words, keep your teeth always in the match.
Don't worry. Don't fuss. Luck evens up in the long run, and to
worry only upsets your own game without affecting your opponent.
A smile wins a lot of points because it gives the impression of
confidence on your part that shakes that of the other man. Fight
all the time. The harder the strain the harder you should fight,
but do it easily, happily, and enjoy it.
Match play, where both men are in the same class as tennis
players, resolves itself into a battle of wits and nerve. The man
who uses the first and retains the second is the ultimate victor.
I do not believe in a man who expects to go through a long
tournament, going "all out" for every match. Conserve your
strength and your finesse for the times you need them, and win
your other matches decisively, but not destructively. Why should
a great star discourage and dishearten a player several classes
below him by crushing him, as he no doubt could? A few games a
set, well earned, would be a big factor in encouraging that
rising player to play in tournaments, while it would in no way
injure the reputation of the star.
Never hurry your opponent by serving before he is fully set to
receive. This is a favourite trick of a few unscrupulous players,
yet is really an unfair advantage. Do your hurrying after the
ball is in play, by running him to unexpected places in the
court. Should anyone attempt to work the hurried service on you,
after several attempts, proving it is intentional, let the ball
go by and say "not ready." The server will shortly realize that
you will take your time regardless of him, and he will slow up.
I do not advocate stalling--nothing is worse. It is a breach of
ethics that is wholly uncalled for. Play the game naturally, and
give your opponent full courtesy in all matters. If you do, you
will receive it in return.
Take every advantage of any and every weakness in your opponent's
game; but never trespass on his rights as regards external
advantages.
Personally I do not believe in "defaulting" a match. To "scratch"
or "retire," as the term goes, is to cheat your opponent of his
just triumph, and you should never do this unless it is
absolutely impossible to avoid. Sickness or some equally
important reason should be the sole cause of scratching, for you
owe the tournament your presence once your entry is in.
Match play should stimulate a player. He should produce his best
under the excitement of competition. Learn your shots in
practice, but use them in matches.
Practice is played with the racquet, matches are won by the mind.
J. C. Parke is a great match player, because he is not only a
great player but a great student of men. He sizes up his
opponent, and seizes every opening and turns it to his own
account. Norman E. Brookes is the greatest match player the world
has ever known, because he is ever ready to change his plan to
meet the strategy of his opponent, and has both the variety of
stroke and versatility of intellect to outguess the other the
majority of times. Brookes is the greatest court general, and, in
my opinion, the finest tennis intellect in the world. His mind is
never so keen and he is never so dangerous as when he is trailing
in an important match. He typifies all that is great in mental
match tennis.
A great star is always at his best in a match, as it stimulates
his mental and physical faculties to the utmost.
Certain players are more effective against some men than others
who are not so good. It is the uncertainty of match tennis that
is its greatest charm. Two men may meet for tennis during a
season, and be so closely matched that each man will win two
matches and the score seem almost one-sided each time. It is a
case of getting the jump on the other player.
During 1919 Johnston and I met four times. Twice he defeated me,
once in four sets, and once in three, while the two victories
that were mine were scored in identically the same number of
sets. The most remarkable meeting of two stars was the series of
matches between R. L. Murray and Ichija Kumagae during the
seasons of 1918 and 1919. In the early stages Murray had a
decided advantage, winning from Kumagae consistently, but by
close scores. Early in 1919 Kumagae unexpectedly defeated Murray
at Buffalo in four sets. From that moment Kumagae held the whip
hand. He defeated Murray at Niagara-on-the-Lake a week later.
Murray barely nosed out the Japanese star at Cleveland in five
sets after Kumagae had the match won, only to have Kumagae again
defeat him in a terrific match at Newport in August.
Kumagae's game is very effective against Murray, because Murray,
essentially a volleyer, could not exchange ground strokes with
the Japanese star player successfully, and could not stand the
terrific pace of rushing the net at every opportunity. Kumagae
conclusively proved his slight superiority over Murray last
season.
Vincent Richards, who is not yet the equal of Murray, scored two
clean-cut victories over Kumagae during the same period. Why
should Richards worry Kumagae, who is certainly Murray's
superior, and yet not cause Murray trouble?
The answer lies in this style of game. Richards uses a peculiar
chop stroke from the baseline that is very steady. He can meet
Kumagae at his own baseline game until he gets a chance to close
in to the net, where his volleying is remarkable. The result is,
against Kumagae's driving he is perfectly at home. Murray is a
vicious net player who swept Richards off his feet. The boy has
not the speed on his ground strokes to pass Murray, who volleys
off his chop for points, and cannot take the net away from him as
he cannot handle the terrific speed of Murray's game. Thus
Murray's speed beats Richards, while Richards' steadiness
troubles Kumagae, yet Kumagae's persistent driving tires Murray
and beats him. What good are comparative scores?
Charles S. Garland always defeats Howard Voshell, yet loses to
men whom Voshell defeats. Williams proves a stumbling-block to
Johnston, yet seldom does well against me.
The moral to be drawn from the ever-interesting upsets that occur
every year, is that the style of your attack should be determined
by the man's weakness you are playing. Suit your style to his
weakness. A chop is the antidote for the drive. The volley is the
answer to a chop, yet a drive is the only safe attack against a
volley. The smash will kill a lob, yet a lob is the surest
defence from a smash. Rather a complicated condition, but one
which it would do well to think over.
The most dangerous enemy to R. N. Williams is a steady baseliner
of second class. Williams is apt to crush a top-flight player in
a burst of superlative terms, yet fall a victim to the erratic
streak that is in him when some second-class player plays patball
with him. Such defeats were his portion at the hands of Ritchie
and Mavrogordato in England, yet on the same trip he scored
notable victories over Parke and Johnston.
Abnormal conditions for match play always tend to affect the
better player more than the poorer, and bring play to a level.
The reason for this is in the fact that the higher the standard
of a player's game, the smaller his margin of error, the more
perfect his bound must be, and any variation from the normal is
apt to spell error. The average player allows himself more
leeway, and unknowingly increases his chances on a bad court. His
shot is not judged to the fraction of an inch in swing as is the
top-flight player, so a slight variation does not affect him.
Many a great match has been ruined by abnormal conditions. Rain
caused Williams' downfall to N. W. Niles in the 1917 American
Championships. Rain and wind marred a great battle between Gobert
and Johnston at Eastbourne in the Davis Cup in 1920.
The clever match player must always be willing to change his game
to meet conditions. Failure to do so may spell defeat.
It is this uncertainty, due to external conditions, that makes
comparative records so useless in judging the relative merits of
two players you know nothing of. Rankings based on mathematical
calculations of scores are absolutely useless and childish,
unless tempered by common sense.
The question of the fitness of conditions of play can never be
standardized. In America you play only if clear. In England
sometimes when clear but more often in rain, judging by the
events I swam through in my recent trip. A match player should
not only be able to play tennis, but should combine the virtues
of an aeroplane and a submarine as well.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PHYSICAL FITNESS
Physical fitness is one of the great essentials of match play.
Keenness can only be acquired if the physical, mental, and
nervous systems are in tune. Consistent and systematic training
is essential to a tournament player.
Regular hours of sleep, and regular, hearty food at regular hours
are necessary to keep the body at its highest efficiency. Food is
particularly important. Eat well, but do not over-eat,
particularly immediately before playing. I believe in a large
hearty breakfast on the day of a big match. This should be taken
by nine-thirty. A moderate lunch at about one o'clock if playing
at three. Do not eat very rich food at luncheon as it tends to
slow you up on the court. Do not run the risk of indigestion,
which is the worst enemy to dear eyesight. Rich, heavy food
immediately before retiring is bad, as it is apt to make you
"loggy" on the court the next day.
It is certain injury to touch alcoholic drink in any form during
tournament play. Alcohol is a poison that affects the eye, the
mind, and the wind--three essentials in tennis. Tobacco in
moderation does little harm, although it, too, hits eye and wind.
A man who is facing a long season of tournament play should
refrain from either alcohol or tobacco in any form. Excesses of
any kind are bad for physical condition, and should not be
chanced.
Late hours cause sluggishness of mind and body the next day. It
is very dangerous to risk them before a hard match. The moving
pictures immediately before playing tennis are bad, owing to the
eye strain caused by the flicker of the film and the strong light
of the camera. Lead a normal, healthy life, and conserve your
nervous force wherever possible, as you will need it in the hard
matches.
"Staleness" is the great enemy of players who play long seasons.
It is a case of too much tennis. Staleness is seldom physical
weariness. A player can always recover his strength by rest.
Staleness is a mental fatigue due often to worry or too close
attention to tennis, and not enough variety of thought. Its
symptoms are a dislike for the tennis game and its surroundings,
and a lack of interest in the match when you are on the court. I
advocate a break in training at such a time. Go to the theatre or
a concert, and get your mind completely off tennis. Do your
worrying about tennis while you are playing it, and forget the
unpleasantness of bad play once you are off the court. Always
have some outside interest you can turn to for relaxation during
a tournament; but never allow it to interfere with your tennis
when you should be intent on your game. A nice balance is hard to
achieve, but, once attained is a great aid to a tournament
player. I find my relaxation in auction bridge. I know many other
players who do likewise. Among them are Mrs. Franklin Mallory,
Wallace F. Johnson, W. M. Johnston and Samuel Hardy.
The laws of training should be closely followed before and after
a match. Do not get chilled before a match, as it makes you stiff
and slow. Above all else do not stand around without a wrap after
a match when you are hot or you will catch cold.
Many a player has acquired a touch of rheumatism from wasting
time at the close of his match instead of getting his shower
while still warm. That slight stiffness the next day may mean
defeat. A serious chill may mean severe illness. Do not take
chances.
Change your wet clothes to dry ones between matches if you are to
play twice in a day. It will make you feel better, and also avoid
the risk of cold.
Tournament players must sacrifice some pleasures for the sake of
success. Training will win many a match for a man if he sticks to
it. Spasmodic training is useless, and should never be attempted.
The condition a player is, in is apt to decide his mental
viewpoint, and aid him in accustoming himself to the external
conditions of play.
All match players should know a little about the phenomenon of
crowd-psychology since, as in the case of the Church-Murray match
I related some time back, the crowd may play an important part in
the result.
It seldom pays to get a crowd down on you. It always pays to win
its sympathy. I do not mean play to the gallery, for that will
have the opposite effect than the one desired.
The gallery is always for the weaker player. It is a case of
helping the "under-dog." If you are a consistent winner you must
accustom yourself to having the gallery show partiality for your
opponent. It is no personal dislike of you. It is merely a
natural reaction in favour of the loser. Sometimes a bad decision
to one play will win the crowd's sympathy for him. Galleries are
eminently just in their desires, even though at times their
emotions run away with them.
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