The Will to Win: Wimbledon Champ at 43

It happened in 1957: Budge Patty (left) and I were Wimbledon champions.

“Game, set, and match.”

I cannot remember whether or not I actually heard the umpire say these words. There seemed to be a second of suspended time between the fact and the realization. Dimly I was aware of cheering crowds as I stood on the baseline, relaxed my limbs, flexed and unflexed my toes.

My glasses were steamed and blurred from my exertions in the blazing sun. I took them off and became conscious of my hot sticky hands. I put away my spectacles and rubbed my hands on my shorts.

Then it hit me. With Budge Patty I had at last won a title at Wimbledon and I was forty-three years old. That, I thought, would give them something to put in the record books.

The year was 1957.

The screaming and cheering of the crowds finally got through to me and I looked around at a white dazzle of waving hands, paper hats and handkerchiefs. Some spectators were even jumping up and down in the stands.

Seventeen thousand British people had apparently gone mad with joy over the triumph of an American. I felt a little…