What’s Better for the game?
By Craig Clifford and Randolph M. Feezell
ABW Senior Writers

As tennis fans we always look forward to the first part of the summer, when two of the greatest international sporting events take place back to back, the French Open and Wimbledon. But in the commentary this summer there was a recurring theme that we find disturbing: the idea that players doing war dances after winning a big point, showing their emotions, blowing up at the chair umpire is "good for the game."

A case in point: Judging by the numbers, Pete Sampras is arguably the greatest tennis player who ever lived, certainly one of the top four or five. His service motion is so fluid and effortless, watching it is therapy for the soul. His grass-court game is a combination of brilliant artistry and the absolute confidence that no one can beat him. And yet he gets hammered over and over for not showing his emotions. When he does occasionally let loose, McEnroe rattles on for the next three or four games about how great it is to see Pete show his emotions. In order to be great you have to act like McEnroe did?

Also, we were repeatedly told that in order to be competitive you have to turn your opponent into an enemy, that you have to hate or at least intensively dislike your opponent. When the Williams sisters met in the semi-finals of Wimbledon, they had that piece of pseudo-wisdom shoved down their throats by every commentator in the business. You have to have that killer instinct. Chris Evert, who is generally a great proponent of sportsmanship and respect for opponents, even took this line. Of course, we shouldn’t forget that Chrissie’s fierce competitiveness earned her the title of the Ice queen. Venus, to her credit, responded, Serena’s my sister, and I love her. End of discussion.

McEnroe and Evert were great champions, and, on one level, they know what they’re talking about. In athletic competition of that caliber there is an emotional intensity that is, I imagine, not unlike the emotional intensity of literal combat. It’s also true that what distinguishes great champions from the rest of us is an intensity of will, an absolute confidence in their own ability, an ability and a willingness to exploit their opponents’ weaknesses, physical, psychological, and spiritual. And, conversely, some athletes, in spite of their physical prowess, just don¹t have it, that elusive bit of the mind and spirit.

But let’s be more precise here. The emotional intensity that Chris Evert and John McEnroe know about from experience doesn’t have to manifest itself in outbursts that are directed at referees and opponents or gestures that show disrespect toward them, even if indirectly. No mercy, a common sports cliché these days, should apply to the contest for points. No athlete should give away points. But strutting around like a bantam rooster after winning a point shows disrespect, not competitiveness. And walking onto the court with a fiercely competitive attitude doesn’t mean you have to dislike, detest, or hate your opponents. Opponents, after all, are the ones who make it possible for us to play. Good opponents who are fiercely competitive push us to excel. On one level, the level of the athletic competition, they deserve no mercy; on another level, they deserve our respect and our gratitude for the opportunity they extend to us. Let's recall that McEnroe tended to blow up considerably less when he played Borg because he had so much respect for his great rival. What would McEnroe have been if he hadn’t had Borg to compete against? And Chris Evert speaks with nothing but admiration of Martina Navratilova, her lifetime tennis rival and, as a result of that rivalry, her good friend. It’s not easy to articulate these issues, but we need to be careful. Competitive fierceness is admirable; but not only does it not require disrespectful behavior toward opponents, or a personal dislike of them, it demands respect for their competitiveness, without which our own competitiveness would be meaningless.