Thoughts about Tennis Tradition...

[bottle]

Amen. Great find with the interview. Listening to the elders gives perspective.

So why don't you do it?

[don_budge]

You have to listen to people like Fred. He was a vintage player who witnessed the classic era and the start of the modern era. He understood the wooden racket like only a vintage player can. You can see Fred's racket and the strings he played with in the Wimbledon museum. The modern player would be mortified at the thought of playing with such an antique. I would love to give the finalists of this year's US Open one of Fred's rackets each to play the final with. That would be fun to watch.

Amen. Great find with the interview. Listening to the elders gives perspective.

[stotty]

No...it was an error from the article itself. I posted the article in post #378. I thought it was a pretty good catch...and I still do. The Kinsey brothers played in the 1920's. I was aware of them because of my familiarity of Tilden. He discussed them in his book "Match Play and the Spin of the Ball" written in 1925. The Kinseys won the National Doubles Championship in 1924.

In that case, well spotted, old boy. I should have known. You have a mind like a bear trap.

You have to listen to people like Fred. He was a vintage player who witnessed the classic era and the start of the modern era. He understood the wooden racket like only a vintage player can. You can see Fred's racket and the strings he played with in the Wimbledon museum. The modern player would be mortified at the thought of playing with such an antique. I would love to give the finalists of this year's US Open one of Fred's rackets each to play the final with. That would be fun to watch.

[bottle]

No...it was an error from the article itself. I posted the article in post #378. I thought it was a pretty good catch...and I still do. The Kinsey brothers played in the 1920's. I was aware of them because of my familiarity of Tilden. He discussed them in his book "Match Play and the Spin of the Ball" written in 1925. The Kinsey's won the National Doubles Championship in 1924.

Kinseys. You don't need the apostrophe.

[stotty]

don_budge...Just Another Student of the Game

Interesting that I caught an error in the article. It should read the "Kinsey brothers" and not the "Tinsey brothers".

It may not have been an error. I cut and pasted the article and for some reason, when I saved the post, it generated double apostrophes and joined words together, etc. I had to unpick all the scramble so the article became readable.

Oddly enough, I watched of the men's closed county championships final just recently. One of the finalists had an accomplished skill set. He could volley quite and had good hands and feel. He was intelligent the way he went about his match play too. The irony was he lost. He lost to a far more brainless player who just had so much power. And that's my point and why I posted Fred's interview. A player can be as thick as two short planks yet win by virtue of brute force. This is where the game went pear shaped.

I watched the replay of Shapovalov v Tsonga the other day. I think the key thing in that match - as you said yourself in a post about Shapovalov - is his ability to wait and be patient. He doesn't pull the trigger too early. He reached a whole new level in that match. He looks a really difficult customer to play against. I hope he progresses well and goes deep into the tournament.

[don_budge]

don_budge...Just Another Student of the Game

Interesting that I caught an error in the article. It should read the "Kinsey brothers" and not the "Tinsey brothers".

[don_budge]

From the Horse's Mouth...Fred Perry

Video of interview...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96l7psRZVGY

The article...

https://www.tennis-prose.com/article...tennis-part-2/

[don_budge]

An Interview with Fred Perry, aged 85, in 1994...

“Look. This game is not complicated. If there is no footwork, there is no tennis. If you’re not secure in your footwork, you’re in trouble.”

“I played over 300 matches with (Bill Tilden).”

“To me… when you talk about the best player I ever saw …I say Bill Tilden. These professional boys today do not realize how much they owe to Tilden. He WAS tennis. He won this tournament (Wimbledon) three times. He only played here four times. The first professional, about 1928, was Suzanne Lenglen, the French girl, who got $25,000. They toured in the U.S. with Murray K. Brown, Vincent Richards, who had won the Olympics in Paris in 1924, and the Tinsey Brothers. The first year they made money. The second year they broke even and the promoter said, That’'s it. It was 1929 and the stock market crashed. The next year Tilden turned pro anyway after winning Wimbledon, and he really started the pro circuit as it is known today.”

Outstanding feature of Tilden’s game?

“His head. When you played Tilden, you had to think,” said Perry without hesitation. “I learned a great deal from him. See, when you played Bill, you never got anything you wanted. If you wanted it low, he gave it to you high. If you wanted it wide, he gave it to you close. If you wanted it fast he gave it to you slow. If you wanted to talk, he shut up. If you wanted to play silently, he talked. You were always thinking, and you had to think against Tilden.”

Thoughts on modern tennis?

“Today’s game, because of the equipment which limits them to certain things, is lacking a bit of thought. They use the technology to the absolute utmost for their own game, which is wonderful in its way. They play extremely well. But there are certain things they just cannot do any more with this equipment. We could never play like they do with our equipment, but they can’t play like we did with our equipment because we had to work for the opening much more. They can force it. Now when you force something and you make mistakes, you fall over. We never used to fall over. We never knew where the ball was going to come back; we knew where it wasn’t going to come back. See, we had the fellow on the run by the time he moved in. It’'s a different ballgame completely. The tournament tennis played today is show business. You’'re advertising this, you’'re advertising that. At the age of 20 you have a manager, you’ve got a lawyer, you’ve got a coach and a trainer, you’ve got a mother, you’ve got a father, a girlfriend. It’s an absolute business. They are extremely lucky today. And basically they owe it all to Bill Tilden.”

Beauty!!! The book is William Tilden II. Period.

[stotty]

An Interview with Fred Perry, aged 85, in 1994...

“Look. This game is not complicated. If there is no footwork, there is no tennis. If you’re not secure in your footwork, you’re in trouble.”

“I played over 300 matches with (Bill Tilden).”

“To me… when you talk about the best player I ever saw …I say Bill Tilden. These professional boys today do not realize how much they owe to Tilden. He WAS tennis. He won this tournament (Wimbledon) three times. He only played here four times. The first professional, about 1928, was Suzanne Lenglen, the French girl, who got $25,000. They toured in the U.S. with Murray K. Brown, Vincent Richards, who had won the Olympics in Paris in 1924, and the Tinsey Brothers. The first year they made money. The second year they broke even and the promoter said, That’'s it. It was 1929 and the stock market crashed. The next year Tilden turned pro anyway after winning Wimbledon, and he really started the pro circuit as it is known today.”

Outstanding feature of Tilden’s game?

“His head. When you played Tilden, you had to think,” said Perry without hesitation. “I learned a great deal from him. See, when you played Bill, you never got anything you wanted. If you wanted it low, he gave it to you high. If you wanted it wide, he gave it to you close. If you wanted it fast he gave it to you slow. If you wanted to talk, he shut up. If you wanted to play silently, he talked. You were always thinking, and you had to think against Tilden.”

Thoughts on modern tennis?

“Today’s game, because of the equipment which limits them to certain things, is lacking a bit of thought. They use the technology to the absolute utmost for their own game, which is wonderful in its way. They play extremely well. But there are certain things they just cannot do any more with this equipment. We could never play like they do with our equipment, but they can’t play like we did with our equipment because we had to work for the opening much more. They can force it. Now when you force something and you make mistakes, you fall over. We never used to fall over. We never knew where the ball was going to come back; we knew where it wasn’t going to come back. See, we had the fellow on the run by the time he moved in. It’'s a different ballgame completely. The tournament tennis played today is show business. You’'re advertising this, you’'re advertising that. At the age of 20 you have a manager, you’ve got a lawyer, you’ve got a coach and a trainer, you’ve got a mother, you’ve got a father, a girlfriend. It’s an absolute business. They are extremely lucky today. And basically they owe it all to Bill Tilden.”

[hockeyscout]

Dad and kid likely worked well together - talented passive aggressive kid (Tiger) with dad who has military backround and knew how to get everyone on track. Perfect combo. Thats what its all about as a sports coach or boss in a business - be exactly what that athlete or partner in your end success (an employee) needs and squeeze as much juice as you possibly can out of that orange. Tiger's dad did that big time, and I think the kid loved life when papa was around! What a great father - son deal.

[don_budge]

gary player on lessons

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0T-20-8FJk

Interesting interview overall. I saw this segment before the one on technology ruining the game. The comments have to be examined in context. He was talking about Tiger Woods and mentioned that perhaps if he had been left untinkered with he may have produced upwards of ten more Major Championships.

Tiger Woods seemed to lose his way when his father passed away. For sure...his father was behind the molding of the man and I think Tiger was a bit lost without him. He was relatively young to lose such an important figure in his life. Woods was going from coach to coach and who knows the real story behind the tinkering but there is an old saying that if it isn't broke don't fix it.

The golf swing is a rather complicated motion. Not that the fundamentals are so difficult to understand or even produce for a talented athlete. It's just that the thing seems to change on it's own and it never lasts forever. Players have to adapt to changes in their bodies and most difficult...in their mental and emotional state.

Gary Player is a fascinating interview. He goes on to say how he could have been invaluable to Tiger as his "mentor". That's what I took away. Look how the top players are going to older champions for the benefit of their experience. Most of all it is lonely at the top and these guys need someone to look up to and trust with their insecurities about their games or other personal matters. I am not so certain they are there solely for their coaching. That being said perhaps Player is right in this regard with respect to Woods. Woods sorely missed his father's stabilizing influence and as an older man it is possible that Player could have had a very positive influence on him. Woods could possibly have benefited from Player particularly as a black man playing in a white man's game. Gary Player being South African would have a pretty good handle on some of the complicated nature of the culture for Tiger.

[hockeyscout]

gary player on lessons

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0T-20-8FJk

[don_budge]

Thoughts About Tennis Tradition...


Listen to Gary Player talking about technology in the game of golf. It's a little like listening to don_budge. Thirty-five years ago I was talking about technology ruining the game of tennis and they couldn't imagine it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GweMaI6bmvI

What he says makes a whole lot of sense. He is only telling the truth.

[don_budge]

Thoughts about Tennis and Golf Tradition...

Tennis and golf are God's gift to mankind in terms of recreation. Both of these games tests the human being on every level of their humanness. Intellectually, physically, psychologically, emotionally...and even spiritually. The two are related if not distant cousins in the world of recreation. Spawn from the same creator it might seems on some level. Both games are games of shots and the metaphysics of the shot don't change over time. The fundamentals will always be the same. In today's modern times and times of professional sports much has been cast aside in the name of progress. Much as it happens in real life. These games metaphorically match the times with their mere existence. Adapting as to stay relevant. Like the human counterpart...it's the condition under which they are always played.

I like to look admiringly at the past at these games. At the competitors and the conditions under which these games were contested. Years ago...things were different as it was a different world in which we played. I remember playing tennis as a boy and a young man. Growing up with the great game of tennis at my side. No matter what the conditions...my trusty game was always there. But as in life...things change and so did tennis. Something was lost where most thought something was gained. It's the nature of life too...where the masses might see progress there are those that might hold out for something else. The less obvious. The spiritual.

Here is a video about one of golf's greatest competitors. Ben Hogan...the video is titles "Bantam Ben". Take a look at it. You don't have to be a golfer to appreciate the message. Much as you don't need to be a tennis player to appreciate a story about a character named Richard Gonzales. Ben Hogan is what you would call the ultimate "Game Guy". What is a "Game Guy"? Look it up in the dictionary and you will find the pictures of the likes of Hogan and Gonzales.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulYyosFu0ac

Last year I traveled to the United States of America twice. The country that I called home for the first fifty years of my life. I hadn't been home for twelve years and returning felt like a past life experience. I was reading "The Razor's Edge" on the plane home and finishing the final chapter in which the main character is describing the effect upon his life where he had spent some years isolated with Hindu swami's in India. Sitting next to me on the plane was an Indian man who just happened to be exactly the same number of years as I. He also happened to be a doctor/surgeon..and of course he was a Hindu too. He noticed the book that I was reading and we engaged in some conversation...he spoke to me of reincarnation and good and evil. How time works it's magic on the soul. I landed in America and I was caught in a delicious hallucination. A hallucination that included my own personal stuff and it was including the campaign for the Presidency between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. America's soul was being split in two...divided equally into two angry sides.

I saw family and friends that I hadn't seen for twelve years. I found myself swirling in a culture that seemed to be traveling at the speed of light compared to that of the Swedish culture that I have found myself adopted by. The freeways were churning and the businesses and restaurants were cha-chinging around the clock it seemed. Out of the madness I was fortunate to catch up with my life long friend...The Ugly American...and we managed a couple of rounds of golf together. He hadn't changed...he smoked and I got high watching.

Towards the end there was an unfinished piece of business to take care of. I wished to see my old tennis coach. A man who was like a second father to me and a person in my life that I surely needed and in some ways I am sorry that I didn't dedicate myself to his teaching more than I did. But this is life and this is how it transpires. We do what we do and then we look back and sometimes we wonder. My father and I drove to his home clear on the other side of town and once we had found the apartment or condominium I walked into another time warp. How many years had it been since I had seen this beacon of my youth? But here he was some 87 years old or so and inside he didn't seem to have changed at all. After touring his home we headed out to go to lunch but first there was a stop he wanted to make. The tennis court. We hit some balls in ninety something degree heat and he had some pearls to give me about the game...about teaching the game. The return of serve and the overhead he expounded on...he is still relevant.

We batted the ball back and forth a bit. I used all of my power of control to deliver the ball to him one bounce waist high. We hit a couple of serves. He actually aced me on the first ball...he hit a rather surprising slice to my backhand in the deuce court. Me being left handed. Just like old times. Old, old times. So many years ago. A lifetime. A past life.

So anyways...I run the risk of being or sounding sentimental or melancholy. Nostalgic. It's nearly against the law to be nostalgic nowadays. Perhaps it has always been this way and it is only now that I have transgressed to the other side of life. But the old tennis coach really hits me right in the heart. I remember those old days...I was a wild and bewildered youth and he was a stern yet patient...tough yet gentle mentor. I still hear his voice in my head. Some of the scenes from the past go whirring in the dizzying hallucination from then to now.

He gave me something when I left that day. Some words that he had come across that somehow struck him the way that things struck him. He was a rather upright fellow...he is a rather upright fellow. Time and conditions will not change him. Age will not change him. He may be hobbling from the knee replacements...the hip replacements. The shoulder replacement. But to me he is a Bionic Man...one for all of the ages. My coach. The only coach that I would have taken on tour if I had the chance. His knowledge and reverence for the great game of tennis second to none...in my eyes.

Here is what he gave me on that hot July afternoon in the year of 2016. In the midst of all of the nonsense. The American "election". An election where the votes don't count. The fix is in...always. Here are the words that he gave me. My coach is a devout Christian but I never once remember him interjecting his religious faith into any conversation until it was all said and done. Then he would casually mention his church...and his faith. So here they are...the words he gave me. "A Game Guy's Prayer".

A GAME GUY'S PRAYER...Author Unknown

Help me to be a sport in the little game of life. I don't ask for any place in the lineup; play me where You need me. I only ask for the stuff to give you a hundred per cent of what I've got. If all the hard drives come my way I thank You for the compliment. Help me to remember You won't let anything come that You and I together can't handle. And help me to take the bad breaks as part of the game. Help make me thankful for them.

And, God, help me always to play on the square, no matter what the other players do. Help me to come clean. Help me to see that often the best part of the game is helping other guys. Help me to be a "regular fellow" with the other players.

Finally, God, if fate seems to uppercut me with both hands and I'm laid up on the shelf in sickness or old age, help me to take that as a part of the game also. Help me not to whimper or squeal that the game was a dream-up or that I had a raw deal. When in the dusk I get the final bell, I ask for no lying complimentary stones. I'd only like to know that You feel I've been a good guy.

As read by Mel Allen on Edward R. Murrow's Person to Person program on CBS television.

In God We Trust...Amen.

[don_budge]

The Yips, Shanks and Chili Dips...Yikes! The Claw Grip...Yippee!

The Winner Takes It All...(ABBA 1980)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92cwKCU8Z5c

I don't wanna talk about things we've gone through,
Though it's hurting me, now it's history
I've played all my cards and that's what you've done too,
Nothing more to say, no more ace to play
The winner takes it all, the loser standing small
Beside the victory, that's her destiny

I was in your arms thinking I belonged there,
I figured it made sense, building me a fence,
Building me a home, thinking I'd be strong there,
But I was a fool, playing by the rules
The gods may throw a dice, their minds as cold as ice,
And someone way down here loses someone dear

The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall,
It's simple and it's plain, why should I complain


But tell me, does she kiss like I used to kiss you,
Does it feel the same when she calls your name
Somewhere deep inside you must know I miss you,
But what can I say, rules must be obeyed
The judges will decide the likes of me abide,
Spectators of the show always staying low

The game is on again, a lover or a friend,
A big thing or a small, the winner takes it all

I don't wanna talk if it makes you feel sad,
And I understand you've come to shake my hand
I apologize if it makes you feel bad
Seeing me so tense, no self-confidence

The winner takes it all
The winner takes it all

I guess the lyrics speak for themselves. Winners and losers. Don't get caught on the wrong side of that line. The lyrics say it all.

"The gods may throw a dice, their minds as cold as ice, And someone way down here loses someone dear..." Spoken deep from the land of Scandinavia. Their minds as cold as ice.

Agnetha is a dead ringer for my wife when she was young. They used to mistake her for Agnetha in Gothenburg back in the day. Do I repeat myself? Of course I do. I am a tennis teacher. Its the nature of the beast.

ABBA...it was a different time. No cell phones. The reality constructs were beyond us. It was simpler. We could take so much for granted. Only questioning the obvious. Yeah...the winner takes it all. But still the loser has a choice. Quit or reinvent. Soldier on. Dust off...bite the bullet. Live to play another day. To love another day. Lord have mercy!

I just love this song. The winner takes it all. It's true isn't it? Do you play golf? Do you know what a shank is? Do you know what the yips are? Shanks, skulling the ball, hitting it fat, chili dipping. 10splayer knows what I am talking about. At least in the beginning of this discussion. I might lose him with the philosophical angles...but I doubt it. He's a perceptive fellow. Sensitive too.

If you have the shanks in your chipping. If you cannot make solid contact and contract the yips therefore alternating between variations of skulled shots, hitting it fat...repetitive chili dips. You lose your appetite. Not only for golf but you feel like a loser. There isn't a worse feeling...partcularly if you consider yourself a winner. ABBA is singing a song about love...losing at love. A bitter feeling also.

Some things make me talk about the darkest that life has to offer. It always is in the background. After suffering a devastating blow you get gun shy. You know the consequences. You understand there are times when you are feeling with your feet...where's the bottom? You ask yourself...is there a bottom? A couple of years ago my dog Frankie died. Two and a half months later...on my birthday the wolf Dylan fell deathly ill. He died two weeks later. God...how I loved those animals. I asked myself over and over...where's the bottom? Is there a bottom? Life does that to you. I've been a loser before. I'm not too ashamed to admit it. Married twice now...divorced around eighteen times now.

Most of the time...I am what you would call a realist. I am the first to have discovered that the glass is never half full or half empty...it's never one or the other. Never forget...it is half full AND half empty. Don't give me that shit about being an optimist or me being a pessimist. It's just the way it is.

But this business of not being able to make solid contact with the short shots on the golf course is completely miserable. My God...shanking is the Devil's play. Unable to stop hitting the ball ninety degrees to the right. On such a short swing. It's a simple thing...isn't it? Ok...the shanks are cured and suddenly it is impossible to make solid contact with the golf ball with your wedges on the short little swings. You hit behind the ball...that is called hitting the ball fat and your shot comes up woefully short of your target. It's embarrassing for a swing connoisseur. Or instead of hating it fat...you hit it thin and skull the ball and it goes rocketing by your target. How fucked up is that? Thoughts become comments...you mention hanging yourself in the barn. Never really meaning it...it is just an expression as to just how fucked up the feeling is. To be such a loser. A psychological mess.

These things happen to golfers. It's a curious phenomenon. The greatest of all golfers become afflicted. It's a test of your resolve. A test of your character. A test of your faith in God. It's an existential question mark planted right in the middle of your being...your cerebral cortex. It's a yip. An involuntary jerk in your hand or hands. In my case it is my right hand. On touchy little shots. Shots I used to revel in...using the built in touch that I developed in tennis to hit daring shots around the green. But suddenly it disappears and these ugly shots suddenly come into play. It's the devil I tell you...feeling possessed. Now I know what Dostoyevsky wrote about in his wonderful epic work..."The Devils".

Listen to Ben Hogan here talking to Gene Sarazon on Shell's Wonderful World of Golf. He has the yips. He's playing against Sam Snead. He also had the yips and invented a myriad of ways to get around it. Those nasty little jerks...involuntary twitches. Damn things! Hogan is playing a perfect round of golf tee to green but he cannot make a putt for birdie. At 19.20 watch as he struggles to get his nerves under control and he holes the damn thing. Gene Sarazon has the following exchange with him:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7URngrpvb8

Gene: "You've played twelve holes. You've hit every green. You've had putts for eagles and birdies and you finally holed a putt."

Ben: "It was unbelievable. I couldn't believe it. I must of hit it on the right jerk Gene."

Listen to the rest of this. What the hell...watch the whole thing. Two golf legends with the sweetest swings. Look how the tip of the golf club points at the target like Roger Federer's forehand. The tip of the racquet...more white light. While you are at it look at this video that I have posted a number of times..."What is the most important thing in the golf swing is...by Ben Hogan and Sam Snead." It's classic stuff. An interesting discussion. Listen to Ben Hogan...he's a shaman. A "Swing Shaman". In this explanation he describes the problem that I have with the short shots. A disconnect between my movement to the ball when attempting short swings.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4w2kX2aVlI

It's Good Friday here in Sweden. The Lord gave his only Son. Jesus Christ. Somehow today when I went to the golf club...it was snowing a light snow. Phil Collins sings of "the evil of a snowflake in June" in a song called "Mad Man Moon". Listen to this song. Phil Collins killing it. As always.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3W-uOQ41n8U

"Was it summer when the river ran dry
Or was it just another dam
When the evil of a snowflake in June
Could still be a source of relief
Oh how I love you, I once cried long ago
But I was the one who decided to go
To search beyond the final crest
Though I'd heard it said just birds could dwell so high

So I pretended to have wings for my arms
And took off in the air
I flew to places which the clouds never see
Too close to the deserts of sand
Where a thousand mirages, the shepherds of lies
Forced me to land and take a disguise
I would welcome a horse's kick to send me back
If I could find a horse not made of sand

If this desert's all there'll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me
A fall of rain ?
That must have been another of your dreams
A dream of mad man moon"

You see how I am...rambling as a Mad Man Moon. A lunatic by definition. Jumping from stone to stone. The water rippling beneath my feet inviting me to trip and fall. An invite to doubt my self. There's a point though. My God...my Good Lord there's a point. From winners to losers. From God to the Devil. From Hogan to Federer. Shamans. Illusions...reality. All points in between. Today...I am ecstatic. Good Friday...thank you Lord for giving your only Son.

The evil of a snowflake in April...in Sweden. Could still be a source of relief. Did I stumble across a cure...for the shanks, the chile dips, the fat shots, the skull shots? Could it be so simple? The Claw Grip. Amazing!!! It completely takes the right hand out of play.

I realized in my practice that I could chip with just my left hand on the club. Like a slice backhand...a simple motion. The simplest of all motions. So I tried barely having my right hand on the club. Zero grip pressure...just on for the aesthetics. The look of a two hand grip. But alas...just the presence of the right hand being there was enough to reduce my chances of solid ball contact to zero. In my head. I couldn't get my head around it...whenever my right hand was on the grip. I was resigned to chipping one handed which certainly would have made me an anomaly around the golf club. But somehow there was an idea...I don't really know why I thought of it.

Some golfers resort to what is called a "Claw Grip" when they are putting. Sergio Garcia and Phil Mickelson for example. Obviously many of these are probably suffering from the "jerks" as Hogan put it so delicately. I tried it with my chipping stroke. VOILA!!! Every single swing produced solid ball contact. Not one with funny business. No shanks, no fatties, no thinned...no fucking chili dips. I will pray tonight that this is the cure. Thank you Lord. Trust in God.

Good Friday to all...Happy Easter. He gave us his only Son. Never forget this. Hold this in your heart to know what love is. God Bless.