From Rosewall to Federer

The first professional tennis match to which I ever recall paying any amount of attention was the 1981 Wimbledon men's final. I didn't watch any of it (I was not yet seven years old at the time) but I remember hearing the result from my dad as we drove from our summer cottage in Old Saybrook, CT, to my grandparents' in nearby Madison. John McEnroe beat Bjorn Borg that day in four sets, but something about Borg -- maybe it was his exotic name -- made me a fan of his. He soon retired, though, and my allegiances then gravitated to Ivan Lendl, who also had a cool name, but who was also the natural alternative to the current popular favorites, McEnroe and Jimmy Connors.

I stayed a Lendl fan through his domination and eventual decline, but as he faded from the top, I gained appreciation for two veterans who by the early '90s represented the bulwark against the overhyped upstarts Agassi, Chang, and Courier: Boris Becker and (especially) Stefan Edberg. The fact that they played an attractive serve-and-volley style was another point in their favor. By that point, too, I was mature enough to appreciate Edberg for his demeanor and sportsmanship. As Becker and Edberg neared retirement, I became a fan of two diametrically opposite players: Yevgeny Kafelnikov, a baseliner with a flattish two-handed backhand who had about as much charisma as Lendl (which is to say, very little) but whose game resembled my own; and Patrick Rafter, a respected sportsman who was the last great serve-and-volleyer but whose game was nothing like mine. It was quite frustrating watching Kafelnikov waste his talent for most of his career. Rafter, on the other hand, had occasional highlights including two U.S. Open wins and two Wimbledon finals, and occasionally surpassed the twin titans of his era, Sampras and Agassi, but he ultimately gave in to injuries and burnout.

My next pair of tennis heroes resembled the previous two: one of them had a game like mine coupled with a rather unlikable personality, and the other was a classicist's delight whose demeanor I admired but whose game sharply contrasted with mine. The former was Lleyton Hewitt, whose counterpunching, retrieving style provided me with a model to emulate. On the other hand, Roger Federer took up Rafter's mantle as a gentleman of the game. While Federer has gone on to greatness, I got on his bandwagon (as with Lendl's) before he became dominant. In fact, one of the hallmarks of my pro tennis heroes is that they have always been slightly below the top players, as least in terms of hype, when I began liking them. I've never been naturally drawn to the upstart who's currently the most popular.

I'm still hoping Hewitt will bounce back from his injury troubles, but if he fades from the scene, the guy next in line to replace him in my affections is probably Andy Murray. While he's matured a great deal and seems like a fairly intelligent guy, what really appeals to me about Murray is his game, the way he can win without having huge weapons, but by playing good defense and making his opponent uncomfortable during points, taking away his foe's rhythm. That's something I can apply to my own game, and I'll look forward to seeing Murray's career develop.

Before closing, I should mention a couple of players who really reflect my idea of the ideal tennis pro, but who retired soon after I was born. The great Australian tennis stars of the 1950s and '60s, in my mind, are like the British middle-distance runners of the 1970s and '80s -- they are like Olympic gods, whose reign represents the epogee of a sport in a way that can never really be recaptured. The two greatest of the Aussie champions, of course, were Rod Laver and Ken Rosewall, whose rivalry set the standard for Borg v. McEnroe, Sampras v. Agassi, and Federer v. Nadal. As with track's Coe and Ovett, I don't know whom I'd have favored had I been around in their day. Laver -- the Federer of his era -- had more natural tennis genius, and he has my keenest admiration as a winner and a sportsman. But I suspect I'd have been partial to the durable Rosewall, whose endurance, court coverage, and generally defensive game match my on-court style. In addition, Rosewall represents the quintessential tennis sportsman. From his classically sharp outfit of tennis whites to his perfectly clipped and combed hair to his needle-precise strokes, Rosewall formed the image of everything a tennis pro should be. His will to win was unequaled, too. For a stretch of years in the 1960s he was the best player in the world, and he was a contender at major championships for over two decades, a span no player can match. Ken Rosewall: the progenitor of the long line of my professional tennis idols.