8702010495
DETROIT FREE PRESS
870704
Saturday, July 04, 1987
STATE EDITION
1D
Photo
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION PAGE 1D
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
CONNORS GOES OUT HARD AFTER BIG GRAB FOR GLORY
WIMBLEDON, England -- He went out holding his racket, not his crotch, which
is a sign of maturity, I suppose. Jimmy Connors hasn't always been a grown-up.
But when he exited Wimbledon Friday, a semifinal loser to a young and
overpowering Pat Cash, he was given an ovation not only for today but for a
lot of yesterdays. He got the old man's cheer.
It happens. You get older, people forgive you. There was a time here when
a younger Jimmy Connors pulled all his tricks, his obscene racket, his curses,
his crotch-grab. When he lost to Roscoe Tanner in 1976, he jumped out the back
door and disappeared into a getaway car. When he lost to Bjorn Borg in 1977,
he said "I'll follow that SOB to the ends of the earth."
He never showed for Wimbledon's prestigious Centenary celebration of
champions, claiming his invitation was lost in the mail. He stormed around,
he yelled, he flipped this place the bird. And every youngster who comes to
Wimbledon now and is labeled some sort of "brat"' has James Scott Connors to
thank for it.
So be it. This was never his town, London, nor could it ever be for a kid
from the middle class neighborhoods around St. Louis, the son of a bridge
operator and a mother who dominated his life. "When I first came over here,"
he admitted Friday, after Cash's 6-4, 6-4, 6-1 drubbing, "I had a different
rapport with the people here than I do now. I had my attitude and they had
their attitude. We had a clash of attitudes. Where I come from, their
attitude didn't exist."
Is it deja vu?
But they were roaring for him Friday, roaring for his age (34) as much as
his effort. And at times, he actually smiled back. It was no fluke that
Connors was in this round against Cash, 12 years his junior. He played tough
matches all week, and before he ever took the court Friday, he had already
given this Wimbledon its finest moment so far: the come-from-the-grave fourth
round victory over Mikael Pernfors, whom he trailed, 1-6, 1-6, 1-4 before
catching fire. "The greatest comeback in Wimbledon history," people are still
whispering. That's a nice gift.
So he charged after Cash's volleys, and he raced to keep up with Cash's
serve, and it wasn't much of a contest because Cash, the Australian whiz kid,
was playing too well, too strong, too young.
The crowd knew it. They had seen it before: Thirteen years ago, a
21-year-old American embarrassed a 39- year-old Australian named Ken Rosewall
here -- beat him 6-1, 6-1, 6-4 to capture the championship -- and for all
intents and purposes, retired the old guy from the big time.
The kid was Jimmy Connors.
So when Connors' final shot went into the net, the crowd stood on its feet
for the loser as much as the victor. Connors was weaving a nice little fairy
tale here, a dash of Cervantes, a dash of Peter Pan. Nice, but ultimately
stopped. Tinkerbell flew off his shoulder, Friday. You would too if one of
Cash's forehands was coming at you.
And yet what goes around, comes around. Cash is known as a mini-Connors
back in his native Australia, a complainer, a sass, a temper. he's shown some
of that this week, with moody interviews and snide comments.
"Can you see yourself playing at 34 like Connors?" someone asked Cash after
his win.
"I hope not to be," he said.
"What would you rather do?"
"I'd rather be on the beach, reach 20 stone, and become a yobbo."
Yes. Well.
What?
'Get a hold on yourself' Here is the translation of that, at least what an
Australian journalist said: 20 stone is about 280 pounds. A yobbo is a guy who
drinks. Pat Cash would like to be Ralph Kramden.
Well. That's his business. Right now, we are left with Cash in the men's
final against Ivan Lendl, who beat Stefan Edberg in a battle-of-the-snooze
earlier Friday. Lendl has been accused of being mechanical, emotionless, a
robot. But at least he casts a shadow.
Edberg is so dull, when he put a towel over his head during a changeover
Friday, half the crowd thought he'd left the stadium.
Lendl against Cash. They have met before. Their most memorable duel came
in the 1984 U.S. Open semifinals, where Cash -- showing true Jimmy Connors'
inspiration -- heaved his racket into the crowd after losing in the fifth set.
Maybe he'll do it on Sunday. Maybe Lendl will, too. Then, we can leave to
see "Les Miserables." The theater version, not the tennis one.
Whatever. That's Sunday. On this day, the moment belonged to Connors, to
Father Time, to 16 years at Wimbledon and a crowd that finally appreciates him
for more than his outbursts.
I think in the final games against Cash, with the match nearly lost,
Connors gave the faithful a few from the old days. A yell. A finger. And yes,
once, the famous grab.
"Get a hold on yourself," he seemed to say.
He may be back.
CUTLINE
Jimmy Connors