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Quite aside from the effect on the gallery, I wish to state here
that when you are the favoured one in a decision that you know is
wrong, strive to equalize it if possible by unostentatiously
losing the next point. Do not hit the ball over the back stop or
into the bottom of the net with a jaunty air of "Here you are."
Just hit it slightly out or in the net, and go on about your
business in the regular way. Your opponent always knows when you
extend him this justice, and he appreciates it, even though he
does not expect it. Never do it for effect. It is extremely bad
taste. Only do it when your sense of justice tells you you
should.
The crowd objects, and justly so, to a display of real temper on
the court. A player who loses his head must expect a poor
reception from the gallery. Questioned decisions by a player only
put him in a bad light with the crowd and cannot alter the point.
You may know the call was wrong, but grin at it, and the crowd
will join you. These things are the essence of good
sportsmanship, and good sportsmanship will win any gallery. The
most unattractive player in the world will win the respect and
admiration of a crowd by a display of real sportsmanship at the
time of test.
Any player who really enjoys a match for the game's sake will
always be a fine sportsman, for there is no amusement to a match
that does not give your opponent his every right. A player who
plays for the joy of the game wins the crowd the first time he
steps on the court. All the world loves an optimist.
The more tennis I play, the more I appreciate my sense of humour.
I seldom play a match when I do not get a smile out of some
remark from the gallery, while I know that the gallery always
enjoys at least one hearty laugh at my expense. I do not begrudge
it them, for I know how very peculiar tennis players in general,
and myself in particular, appear when struggling vainly to reach
a shot hopelessly out of reach.
Two delightful elderly ladies were witnessing Charles S. Garland
and myself struggle against Mavrogordato, and Riseley at the
Edgbaston tournament in England in 1920. One turned to the other
and said: "Those are the Americans!"
"Oh," said the second lady resignedly, "I thought so. The tall
one [meaning me] looks rather queer."
During the Davis Cup match against the French at Eastbourne, I
went on the court against Laurentz in my blue "woolly" sweater.
The day was cold, and I played the match 4-1 in Laurentz' favour,
still wearing it. I started to remove it at the beginning of the
sixth game, when the gallery burst into loud applause, out of
which floated a sweet feminine voice: "Good! Now maybe the poor
boy will be able to play!"
For the first time I realized just what the gallery thought of my
efforts to play tennis, and also of the handicap of the famous
"blue-bearskin" as they termed it.
My favourite expression during my Davis Cup trip happened to be
"Peach" for any particularly good shot by my opponent. The
gallery at the Championship, quick to appreciate any mannerism of
a player, and to, know him by it, enjoyed the remark on many
occasions as the ball went floating by me. In my match with
Kingscote in the final set, the court was very slippery owing to
the heavy drizzle that had been falling throughout the match. At
3-2 in my favour, I essayed a journey to the net, only to have
Kingscote pass me 'cross court to my backhand. I turned and
started rapidly for the shot murmuring "Peach" as I went.
Suddenly my feet went out and I rolled over on the ground,
sliding some distance, mainly on my face. I arose, dripping, just
in time to hear, sotto voce, in the gallery at my side: "A little
bit crushed, that Peach." The sense of humour of the speaker was
delightful. The whole side-line howled with joy, and the joke was
on me.
I am always the goat for the gallery in these little jokes,
because it is seldom I can refrain from saying something loud
enough to be heard.
I remember an incident that caused great joy to a large gallery
in Philadelphia during a match between two prominent local
players. One of the men had been charging the net and volleying
consistently off the frame of his racquet, giving a wonderful
display of that remarkable shot known the world over as "the
mahogany volley." His luck was phenomenal for all his mis-hit
volleys won him points. Finally, at the end of a bitterly
contested deuce game in the last set he again won the deciding
point with a volley off the wood, just as a small insect flew in
his eye.
He called to his opponent: "Just a moment, I have a fly in my
eye."
The disgusted opponent looked up and muttered: "Fly? Huh! I'll
bet it's a splinter!"
There was a certain young player who was notoriously lax in his
eyesight on decisions. He could never see one against himself. He
became noted in his own locality. He and another boy were playing
a team of brothers who were quite famous in the tennis world. One
of these brothers had a very severe service that the local
Captain Kidd could not handle at all. So each time the visiting
player served close to the line, the boy would swing at it, miss
it, and call "Fault!" There was no umpire available and there was
no question of the older team losing, so they let it go for some
time. Finally a service fully 3 feet in was casually called out
by the youngster. This proved too much for the server, who hailed
his brother at the net with the query: "What was wrong that
time?"
"I don't know," came the reply; "unless he called a footfault on
you!"
The assurance of some young players is remarkable. They know far
more about the game of other men than the men themselves. I once
travelled to a tournament with a boy who casually seated himself
beside me in the train and, seeing my tennis bag, opened the
conversation on tennis and tennis players. He finally turned his
attention to various people I knew well, and suddenly burst out
with: "Tilden is a chop-stroke player. I know him well." I let
him talk for about ten minutes, learning things about my game
that I never knew before. Finally I asked his name, which he told
me. In reply he asked mine. The last view I had of him for some
time was a hasty retreat through the door of the car for air.
I played my first match against J. C. Parke at Wimbledon in 1920.
The time before that I had been on the court with him was at
Germantown Cricket Club in 1911, when I acted as ball-boy in the
Davis Cup between him and W. A. Larned. The Junior members of the
club, sons of the members, used to consider it a great honour to
act as ball-boy in these matches, and worked every means to be
picked. I picked up much tennis in those days, for I have worked
at the ball-boy position for Parke, Crawley, Dixon, Larned,
Wright, and Ward.
CHAPTER IX. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SINGLES AND DOUBLES
Singles, the greatest strain in tennis, is the game for two
players. It is in this phase of the game that the personal
equation reaches its crest of importance. This is the game of
individual effort, mental and physical.
A hard 5-set singles match is the greatest strain on the body and
nervous system of any form of sport. Richard Harte and L. C.
Wister, the former a famous Harvard University football and
baseball player, the latter a football star at Princeton, both of
whom are famous tennis players, have told me that a close 5-set
tennis match was far more wearing on them than the biggest
football game they had ever played.
Singles is a game of daring, dash, speed of foot and stroke. It
is a game of chance far more than doubles. Since you have no
partner dependent upon you, you can afford to risk error for the
possibility of speedy victory. Much of what I wrote under match
play is more for singles than doubles, yet let me call your
attention to certain peculiarities of singles from the standpoint
of the spectator.
A gallery enjoys personalities far more than styles. Singles
brings two people into close and active relations that show the
idiosyncrasies of each player far more acutely than doubles. The
spectator is in the position of a man watching an insect under a
microscope. He can analyse the inner workings.
The freedom of restraint felt on a single court is in marked
contrast to the need for team work in doubles. Go out for your
shot in singles whenever there is a reasonable chance of getting
it. Hit harder at all times in singles than in doubles, for you
have more chance of scoring and can take more risk.
Few great singles, players are famous in doubles. Notable
exceptions to the above statement come to mind at once in the
persons of the Dohertys, Norman E. Brookes, and F. B. Alexander.
Yet who could accuse W. M. Johnston, R. N. Williams
(notwithstanding his World's Championship doubles title), Andre
Gobert, the late Anthony F. Wilding, M. E. M'Loughlin, or Gerald
Patterson of playing great doubles? All these men are wonderful
singles players, playing singles on a double court alongside some
suffering partner. The daring that makes for a great singles
player is an eternal appeal to a gallery. None of the notable
doubles players, who have little or no claim to singles fame,
have enjoyed the hero-worship accorded the famous singles stars.
H. Roper-Barrett, Stanley Doust, Harold H. Hackett, Samuel Hardy,
and Holcombe Ward, all doubles players of the very highest order,
were, and are, well liked and deservedly popular, but are not
idolized as were M'Loughlin or Wilding.
Singles is a game of the imagination, doubles a science of exact
angles.
Doubles is four-handed tennis. Enough of this primary reader
definition. I only used that so as not to be accused of trying to
write over the heads of the uninitiated.
It is just as vital to play to your partner in tennis as in
bridge. Every time you make a stroke you must do it with a
definite plan to avoid putting your partner in trouble. The
keynote of doubles success is team work; not individual
brilliancy. There is a certain type of team work dependent wholly
upon individual brilliancy. Where both players are in the same
class, a team is as strong as its weakest player at any given
time, for here it is even team work with an equal division of the
court that should be the method of play. In the case of one
strong player and one weaker player, the team is as good as the
strong player can make it by protecting and defending the weaker.
This pair should develop its team work on the individual
brilliancy of the stronger man.
The first essential of doubles play is to PUT the ball in play. A
double fault is bad in singles, but it is inexcusable in doubles.
The return of service should be certain. After that it should be
low and to the server coming in. Do not strive for clean aces in
doubles until you have the opening. Remember that to pass two men
is a difficult task.
Always attack in doubles. The net is the only place in the court
to play the doubles game, and you should always strive to attain
the net position. There are two formations for the receiving
team: one is the Australian formation with the receiver's partner
standing in to volley the server's return volley; the other is
the English and American style with both men back, thus giving
the net attack to the server. This is safer, but less likely to
produce a winning result unless the team is a wonderful lobbing
combination. Lobbing is a sound defence in doubles, and is used
to open the court.
I believe in always trying for the kill when you see a real
opening. "Poach" (go for a shot which is not really on your side
of the court) whenever you see a chance to score. Never poach
unless you go for the kill. It is a win or nothing shot since it
opens your whole court. If you are missing badly do not poach, as
it is very disconcerting to your partner.
The question of covering a doubles court should not be a serious
one. With all men striving to attain the net all the time every
shot should be built up with that idea. Volley and smash whenever
possible, and only retreat when absolutely necessary.
When the ball goes toward the side-line the net player on that
side goes in close and toward the line. His partner falls
slightly back and to the centre of the court, thus covering the
shot between the men. If the next return goes to the other side,
the two men reverse positions. The theory of court covering is
two sides of a triangle, with the angle in the centre and the two
sides running to the side-lines and in the direction of the net.
Each man should cover overhead balls over his own head, and hit
them in the air whenever possible, since to allow them to drop
gives the net to the other team. The only time for the partner to
protect the overhead is when the net man "poaches," is
outguessed, and the ball tossed over his head. Then the server
covers and strives for a kill at once.
Always be ready to protect your partner, but do not take shots
over his head unless he calls for you to, or you see a certain
kill. Then say "Mine," step in and hit decisively. The matter of
overhead balls, crossing under them, and such incidentals of team
work are matters of personal opinion, and should be arranged by
each team according to their joint views. I only offer general
rules that can be modified to meet the wishes of the individuals.
Use the lob as a defence, and to give time to extricate yourself
and your partner from a bad position. The value of service in
doubles cannot be too strongly emphasized since it gives the net
to the server. Service should always be held. To lose service is
an unpardonable sin in first-class doubles. All shots in doubles
should be low or very high. Do not hit shoulder-high as it is too
easy to kill. Volley down and hard if possible. Every shot you
make should be made with a definite idea of opening the court.
Hit down the centre to disrupt the team work of the opposing
team; but hit to the side-lines for your aces.
Pick one man, preferably the weaker of your opponents, and centre
your attack on him and keep it there. Pound him unmercifully, and
in time he should crack under the attack. It is very foolish to
alternate attack, since it simply puts both men on their game and
tires neither.
If your partner starts badly play safely and surely until he
rounds to form. Never show annoyance with your partner. Do not
scold him. He is doing the best he can, and fighting with him
does no good. Encourage him at all times and don't worry. A team
that is fighting among themselves has little time left to play
tennis, and after all tennis is the main object of doubles.
Offer suggestions to your partner at any time during a match; but
do not insist on his following them, and do not get peevish if he
doesn't. He simply does not agree with you, and he may be right.
Who knows?
Every doubles team should have a leader to direct its play; but
that leader must always be willing to drop leadership for any
given point when his partner has the superior position. It is
policy of attack not type of stroke that the leader should
determine.
Pick a partner and stick to him. He should be a man you like and
want to play with, and he should want to play with you. This will
do away with much friction. His style should not be too nearly
your own, since you double the faults without greatly increasing
the virtues.
I am a great believer in a brilliant man teaming up with a steady
player. Let your steady man keep the ball in play, and allow your
brilliant man all the room he wants to "poach" and kill. Thus you
get the best of both men.
Doubles is a game of finesse more than speed. The great doubles
players, the Dohertys, Norman E. Brookes, the greatest in the
world to-day, Roper Barrett, Beals Wright, and F. B. Alexander,
are all men of subtle finesse rather than terrific speed.
It requires more than speed of shot to beat two men over a
barrier 3 to 3 1/2 feet high with a distance of some 32 feet. It
is angles, pace, and accuracy that should be the aim in a great
doubles game. Resource, versatility, and subtlety, not speed, win
doubles matches.
PART III: MODERN TENNIS AND ITS FUTURE
CHAPTER X. THE GROWTH OF THE MODERN GAME
Lawn tennis is the outgrowth of the old French game of the courts
of the early Louis. It spread to England, where it gained a firm
hold on public favour. The game divided; the original form being
closely adhered to in the game known in America as "Court
tennis," but which is called "Tennis" in England. Lawn tennis
grew out of it.
The old style game was played over a net some 5 feet high, and
the service was always from the same end, the players changing
courts each game. It was more on the style of the present game of
badminton or battledore and shuttlecock.
Gradually the desire for active play had its effect, in a lowered
net and changed laws, and tennis, as we know it, grew into being.
From its earliest period, which is deeply shrouded in mystery,
came the terms of "love" for "nothing" and "deuce" for "40-all."
What they meant originally, or how they gained their hold is
unknown, but the terms are a tradition of the game and just as
much a part of the scoring system as the "game" or "set" call.
In 1920 the Rules Committee of the American Tennis Association
advocated a change in scoring that replaced love, 15, 30, 40 with
the more comprehensive 1, 2, 3, 4. The real reason for the
proposed change was the belief that the word "love" in tennis
made the uninitiated consider the game effeminate and repelled
possible supporters. The loyal adherents of the old customs of
the game proved too strong, and defeated the proposed change in
scoring by an overwhelming majority.
Personally, I think there is some slight claim to consideration
for the removal of the word "love." It can do no good, and there
are many substitutes for it. It can easily be eliminated without
revolutionizing the whole scoring system. It is far easier to
substitute the words "zero," "nothing," for "love" than cause
such an upheaval as was proposed. In my opinion the best way to
obviate the matter is to use the player's name in conjunction
with the points won by him, when his opponent has none. If the
first point is won by Williams, call the score "15, Williams"
and, with his opponent scoring the next, the call would become
"15-all."
If tennis loses one adherent, it could otherwise gain, simply by
its retaining the word "love" in the score, I heartily advocate
removing it. This removal was successfully accomplished in
Chicago in 1919, with no confusion to players, umpires, or
public.
However, returning from my little digression on the relative
value of "love" and "nothing," let me continue my short history
of the game. The playing of tennis sprang into public favour so
quickly that in a comparatively short space of time it was
universally played in England and France. The game was brought to
America in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Its growth
there in the past twenty-five years has been phenomenal. During
the last half century tennis gained a firm foothold in all the
colonies of the British Empire, and even found favour in the
Orient, as is explained in another portion of this book.
Tennis fills many needs of mankind. It provides an outlet for
physical energy, relaxation, mental stimulus, and healthful
exercise. The moral tone is aided by tennis because the first law
of tennis is that every player must be a good sportsman and
inherently a gentleman.
Tennis was recognized by the Allied Governments as one of the
most beneficial sports during the World War. Not only were the
men in service encouraged to play whenever possible, but the
Allied Governments lent official aid to the various service
tournaments held in France following the signing of the
Armistice. The importance of tennis in the eyes of the American
Government may be gleaned from the fact that great numbers of
hard courts were erected at the various big cantonments, and
organized play offered to the soldiers.
Many of the leading players who were in training in America at
the time of the National Championship, which was played solely to
raise money for the Red Cross, were granted leave from their
various stations to take part in the competition. Among the most
notable were Wallace F. Johnson, Conrad B. Doyle, Harold
Throckmorton, S. Howard Voshell, and myself, all of whom were
granted leave of two weeks or a month. Captain R. N. Williams and
Ensigns William M. Johnston and Maurice E. M'Loughlin, and many
other stars, were overseas. Official recognition at such a time
puts a stamp of approval on the game which goes far to justify
its world-wide popularity.
The tennis world lost many of its best in that titanic struggle.
The passing of so many from its ranks left gaps that will be hard
to fill.
The gallant death of Anthony F. Wilding in Flanders cost the game
one of its greatest players, and finest men. I had not the
pleasure of knowing Wilding personally yet I, like all the tennis
world, felt a sense of keen personal loss at his heroic passing.
Wilding was a man whose sterling qualities gave even more to the
game than his play, and tennis is better for his all too brief
career.
America lost some of its finest manhood in the War, and tennis
paid its toll. No player was a more likeable personality nor
popular figure among the rising stars than John Plaffman, the
young Harvard man who gave his life in Flanders fields. I cannot
touch on the many heroes who made everlasting fame in a bigger
game than that which they loved so well. Time is too short. It is
sufficient to know that the tennis players of the world dropped
their sport at the call of War, and played as well with death as
ever they did on the tennis court.
The War is over, please God never to return, and the men are back
from their marvellous task. The game of War is done, the games of
Peace are again being played. Tennis suffered the world over from
war's blight, but everywhere the game sprang up in renewed life
at the close of hostilities. The season of 1919 was one of
reconstruction after the devastation. New figures were standing
in prominence where old stars were accustomed to be seen. The
question on the lips of all the tennis players was whether the
stars of pre-War days would return to their former greatness.
The Championship of the World for 1919 at Wimbledon was anxiously
awaited. Who would stand forth as the shining light of that
meeting? Gerald Patterson, the "Australian Hurricane," as the
press called him, came through a notable field and successfully
challenged Norman Brookes for the title. Gobert and Kingscote
fell before him, and the press hailed him as a player of
transcendent powers.
The Australian team of Brookes, Patterson, R. V. Thomas, and
Randolph Lycett journeyed home to the Antipodes by way of America
to compete in the American Championship. Meanwhile R. N.
Williams, W. M. Johnston, and Maurice E. M'Loughlin were
demobilized, and were again on the courts. The American
Championships assumed an importance equal to that of the
Wimbledon event.
The Australian team of Brookes and Patterson successfully
challenged the American title-holders in doubles, Vincent
Richards and myself, after defeating the best teams in America,
including W. M. Johnston and C. J. Griffin, the former champions.
Speculation was rife as to Patterson's ability to triumph in the
Singles Championship, and public interest ran high.
The Singles Championship proved a notable triumph for W. M.
Johnston, who won a decisive, clear-cut, and deserved victory
from a field never equalled in the history of tennis. Johnston
defeated Patterson in a marvellous 5-set struggle, while Brookes
lost to me in four sets. M'Loughlin went down to Williams in a
match that showed the famous Comet but a faint shadow of his
former self. Williams was defeated in sequence sets by me. The
final round found Johnston in miraculous form and complete master
of the match from start to finish, and he defeated me in three
sequence sets.
Immediately following the championship, the Australian-American
team match took place. In this Brookes went down to defeat before
Johnston in four close sets, while I succeeded in scoring another
point by nosing out Patterson by the same score. Thus 1919 gave
Johnston a clear claim to the title of the World's Premier Tennis
Player. The whole season saw marked increase in tennis interest
throughout the entire world.
I have gone into more detail concerning the season of 1919 than I
otherwise would, to attempt to show the revival of the tennis
game in the public interest, and why it is so.
The evolution of the tennis game is a natural logical one. There
is a definite cycle of events that can be traced. The picture is
clearest in America as the steps of advancements are more
definitely defined. It is from America that I am going to analyse
the growth of modern tennis.
The old saying, "Three generations from shirt sleeves to shirt
sleeves," may well be parodied to "Three decades from ground
strokes to ground strokes." The game of tennis is one great
circle that never quite closes. Progress will not allow a
complete return to the old style. Yet the style, without the
method of thirty years ago, is coming back in vogue. It is a
polished, decorated version of the old type game. It is expanded
and developed. History tells us that the civilization of the old
Greeks and Romans held many so-called modern luxuries, but not
the methods of acquiring them we have to-day. Just so with
tennis; for the ground. stroke game was the style of the past,
just as it will be the style of the future; but the modern method
of making ground strokes is a very different thing from the one
used by the old-time stars.
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