BARRY MACKAY - A SWELL GUY

Recently the tennis world lost one of the good guys - I'm sure there's some fellow out there that might have a bad thing to say about Barry Mackay, but I'm just as certain that he has long since forgiven him, such was the kindness and generosity that became as much his hallmark as that endearingly long face, booming voice, and broad shoulders that stood tall for years at tennis courts around the world.  

I won't belabor a semi-official biography about him - you can get that from Wikipedia or the various halls of fame where he has been, and will almost certainly be, inducted, after a long career that included an NCAA singles championship in 1957 (along with the one and only team championship that same year for the University of Michigan), a Davis Cup title for the United States in 1958, defeating the seemingly indomitable Australians in the the final, and a long career as an amateur, then as a ronin touring professional for Jack Kramer, then fully into the daylight of open tennis (although by then his best years were long behind him).

To be honest, I think what made Barry Mackay a really special person was the kind of thing that he did when I had the pleasure of meeting him in 1990 at what was then called the Sovran Bank Tennis Classic (previously the DC National Bank Tennis Classic, later the Legg Mason Tennis Classic, and what will be for the first time this year called the Citi Open).  I was a ball boy for the first time, and I had been wanting to be a ball boy ever since I first came to the tournament with my family in 1981, but circumstances had conspired to prevent it for 9 long years.  

When I finally did my first match, it was in the qualifying tournament, and I remember seeing Barry around the courts from time to time, saying hello to volunteers, shaking hands, and generally treating everyone like he had all the time in the world, even though he really didn't.  I had listened to his commentary on television over the years, and he seemed like a nice guy, but I never bothered to introduce myself, even though he seemed to know some of the other ball kids.

One night, I was scheduled to work a doubles match that was supposed to start at about 11:00pm.  All the match crew were tired after starting the day at 11:00am, and back then they didn't bother to feed us - for that we were on our own.  Our only respite from the hot sun and tiring work was water, occasionally Gatorade if the players happened not the use up their allotment for a practice, and a tent near what is now the hospitality and concession area today, that stunk so horribly from ever present puddles of standing water that you could probably stand-on with all of the gunk it had in it.

But we couldn't have cared less - we were so excited to be going onto the stadium court that we could hardly contain ourselves, because it was the first night session of the tournament and none other than my childhood idol Yannick Noah was entered in the doubles.  By then Noah was at the end of the best part of his career and the next year he would lead France to it's first Davis Cup title for 50 years, over a United States team that included Pete Sampras, Andre Agassi and the doubles tandem of Ken Flach and Robert Seguso.  But Noah was still fit as a fiddle and could do amazing things on a tennis court - especially in doubles.  As we waited for the players to arrive at the tunnel, staring out at the entrance like those kids at the end of the second Indiana Jones film, I heard that familiar booming voice over my shoulder.

Barry: "Hey kids!  How's it going!"
Us: "Good!"

Barry: "Boy this outta be a good one yeah? Yannick Noah - any of you ever seem him play before?"
Us: "No!"

Barry: "Oh, you're gonna enjoy it - he's a lot of fun. But hey, don't let him pull the ol' hot ball trick with you - you keep an eye out for that one!"
Us: silence and blank stares

Barry: "You don't know about the hot ball?"
Us: quizzical looks and more blank stares

Barry: "You ever notice how when a player's about to serve with new balls he always shows it to his opponent?  Well that's to keep from givin' em the ol' hot ball.  What you do is when you get a new can of balls opened up, you take one of 'em and push it way down deep in your pocket, and always keep another ball on top of it. Then when you're up against a break point or you've got a set point, you pull that bad boy out and 'BOOM'!
Us: uproarious laughter

Barry: "Okay kids - have fun out there!"
Us: "Thank you!"

I couldn't believe it!  It was hilarious, but could it be true?  Was he just telling us a story, or did he really do it?  Who knows...and who cares.  If he wanted us to not be nervous and enjoy ourselves, he really sent us on our way.  And I have to say that even though I was so tired I could have curled up and gone to sleep right behind the umpire's chair, I don't believe I've ever had so much fun on a tennis court before or after that wonderful moment.

And to me, that's what made Barry MacKay so special, and why I'm so sorry to have heard of his passing.  Because there are a lot of people in tennis pretending to be nice guys - there's always a camera around when they're signing autographs or attending a charity, and it's all well and good if it helps their image.

But how many of those guys do you think would bother telling a great story like that to a ball kids crew at 11:00pm on a Monday night in Washington, DC - 3,000 miles from his own home in California and what may as well have been a million miles away from a camera?  All that just to make us feel good before we went on court.

Rest in peace, Mr. MacKay...and thank you.

GOOD-BYE TO THE BLOGOSPHERE

I'm tempted to say good-bye to the tennis blogosphere, and I'll tell you why.  Just take a look at this post at "All Court Game Tennis Forum".

At issue here is whether Roger Federer is genuinely a nice guy, or whether he's just being nice to these ball kids in case he has to play them one day.

That's right - he's looking for an edge his game doesn't give him by being (fake) nice to ball-boys.

It's hard to take this medium seriously when you see comments like this, but this is merely the tip of the iceberg. I can take it if someone doesn't like Federer - a lot of champions have been considered to be contrived or pre-meditated in their antics, and it's not out of the realm of possibility that Federer's antics, while cloaked in niceties, is in part intended to make him everybody's the nice guy on tour.

My point:  big deal.

The last time I checked, unless we're talking about figure skating, you don't get points for personality in sports. There's a Nancy Kerrigan-esque phenomenon at play here, because a lot of athletes paint themselves to be more likeable than they really are.

But you still have to hit straight. You still have to have game. And you can't fake it for 4 years. You can get a few victories here and there, but you can't dominate one of the most competitive sports in the world by cheating/cajoling/faking your way to 12 grand slam titles. It just doesn't happen. Eventually, somebody better than you, who just doesn't give a rat's ass about your image, comes along and beats you. And typically sooner, rather than later.

I think the most interesting thing going on here is the common traits of all the Fed-haters out there:

1. Invariably their favorite player is either Sampras, Agassi or Roddick, and they are motivated either by a disdain for the quickness with which their idol has been replaced in the tennis world as best/favorite player on tour or the iron grip Federer has over their preferred combatant.
2. Invariably they seek to point out all of Federer's supposed faults - that he's arrogant, selfish, manipulative, etc., in order to (continue to) convince themselves that someone else is a more worthy champion. As if the above three "other" favorites were angels.
3. This is the kicker: if you don't agree with them whole heartedly, then you're a sap who's been played by the tennis media and the Federer PR machine - they are, in fact, the only keepers of the truth!

I don't think it's an exaggeration to suggest, particularly based on item # 3 above, that this is really a cult. The idea, that only they know the truth, and that anyone who doesn't agree with them is either a gullible stooge, or a part of the conspiracy, laughable at best and paranoid delusional at worst. It's exactly like, thinking that your local minister is Jesus Christ, and anyone trying to convince you otherwise is trying to destroy you and your faith, or are yet to bask in the glorious truth of your knowledge.

Mass suicides have been committed this way.

It's not hard to imagine that these people are little more than mentally imbalanced losers, who have nothing better to do than to commiserate with like-minded losers. But then again, I am knee-deep in the blogosphere myself...so that just can't be right!

But I know enough to know that no matter how you cut it, no matter what excuse you come up with, Federer is an extraordinary tennis player, and has been for 4 years. I've always wondered why athletes are always saying, "...they can't take that away from me." Now I know - when you win something, the only thing they can't say about you is that you didn't win - but they can say a hell of a lot more - good and bad - and if you get too caught up in the good, one day, the bad will replace it, and in a sense they've "taken away" the good things they used to say about you.

But if you win, you win, and they can't take that away from you no matter how hard they try. But boy are they trying hard to take it away from Federer.

I like Roger Federer as a tennis player - I learn a lot from watching him play, from his shot making to his shot selection to his movement and versatility. I think he's a great player. And for saying this, I'm castigated in the lunatic fringe of the anti-Federer blogosphere because to appreciate these qualities in Federer is to have been duped by the Federer religion.

I came to the blogosphere to see if I could find intelligent discussion on tennis topics, but it turns out that you have to look carefully, because sometimes what you'll find, in the dark recesses of the internet, where most dare not go, is a collection of anti-Federer enthusiasts, with misplaced energy, and a pathetic dedication to reveling in their own sorry, and deranged view of the tennis world.

I, for one, am done with them.