Monica Seles

Randomly choose a number from 1-4.

I.  Better if the violence happens offstage as in Greek drama. Just give me the plot, the facts. The nine-inch boning knife, the deranged fan of Steffi Graf coming out of the stands, the attempted killer walking free. Catharsis means the purging of pity and fear, what spectators should feel.  Ok, ok. I just felt stunned, and then, like everyone, I went on with my life. Monica Seles?  Wasn’t she the one who was stabbed?

II.  One by one, a whole bag of Oreo cookies. Run a dozen 400 meters back to back, then train for three hours more. What’s on TV? What’s in the fridge? Are there any Pop-Tarts left? Overeating one way to cope with violence. Raped, stabbed, depression, doubt, numbness, withdrawal . . .  How many struggle against demons we guess at but never know? How many, like Monica, come out free and clear on the other end?

III.  The joyous all-out control-abandon-release of her ground strokes. The two pitched (uw whee) of gruntscream gruntscream gruntscream. Two hands of both sides, the forehand indistinguishable from the backhand. No one hurled more arms legs body mind propeller hips shoulders pinwheel buzzsaw grunt backhand scream forehand scream ferocity joy crazed ball machine double time triple time missiles torpedoes Monica’s game like a military weapon that even Leonardo with all his imagination could not have invented for the women’s game. 

IV . From 91-93 captured seven grand slams. Three straight French, three straight Australian.  Youngest ever in history to win the French open at 16 years old. Ranked #1 in 91 and 92. If not for being stabbed on the court in 1993, how many grand slams would Seles have won?

*This story was originally published in Mulberry Fork Review.

Art Announcement: If you know anyone in the tennis or arts community who would like to create an original drawing or painting in response to this writing on Monica Seles by Feb. 15, 2020, I will plan on including it (if appropriate) in a future post on “Tennis Players as Works of Art.” If you are interested, please send an electronic image of your original work to linebarg14@gmail.com.  If you have any questions, just let me know.

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Bjorn Borg

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Original Drawing by Leonardo Luque

I wanted to be Ringo Starr one year for Halloween. Long hair, girls screaming, rock star. A few years later I wanted to be Borg. Long hair, headband, topspin, rock star. No one burned as brightly for five or six years. The Angelic Assassin, beatific like the beats, then simply beat, burned out, retired at 26. Five consecutive Wimbledon titles. Four consecutive French Opens, six overall. The best on grass like Sampras or Federer, the best on clay like Nadal. Best on the fastest surface: serve and volley, attack. Best on the slowest surface: patience, long rallies, endurance, ground strokes. Never before a human being like that. “They should send Borg away to another planet,” said Nastase. “We play tennis. He plays something else.” Racquets strung so tight the strings break, ping like guitars or violins in the middle of the night. Is I magen (Ice in the stomach). Pulse rate in the 30s, a myth, of course, like the stories of Odin, Frigg, Thor, Balder . . . 

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Ken Rosewall's Backhand

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Original drawing by Leonardo Luque

The older ones who knew would stop and watch. The younger ones have almost forgotten. Rosewall’s slice backhand as repeatable, as simple, as breath itself.  If you could hit it at 22, you could hit it at 70, at 80. Easy on the body, the mind. Not slice, as most say, but struck almost flat with backspin as subtle as the Dao itself: soft yet hard, power yet touch, yin and yang. Rosewall’s backhand can go anywhere; it can do anything or nothing at all:  down the line, cross-court, dink, lob, approach shot, passing shot, rally shot, forcing shot . . . Oldest major singles champion at 37, ranked number 2 in the world at 40 years old.  Longest gap between first major and last major in three different grand slam championships: Australian, French, US Open. 5 foot 7, 145. Muscles, breath, elegance. Not color and flash, but simplicity, artistry, line. Poussin, Botticelli, the aging Matisse. As tennis players get older, as their bodies become ghosts of their former splendor, they all dream of Rosewall’s backhand.

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If you wish to leave any comments on “Ken Rosewall’s Backhand”, please click “comment” below. If you’d like to be notified of upcoming posts, feel free to contact me at linebarg14@gmail.com.