My Most Memorable Tennis matches

One certainty in a top-level tennis match is that you will definitely get some fantastic shots, ding-dong rallies and moments of heart-stopping tension. It’s what elevates the sport above most others. However, as in football, rugby, golf or whatever, a few will linger longer in the memory. Most are Wimbledon finals, the magical moments amplified by the association with the trophy-lifting glory at the end. There have been some real humdingers, men’s marathon five-setters and rollercoaster women’s three-setters but often the shorter ones are more memorable for the clashes in style and personality or in the historical significance of the result.

I recall the Men’s Singles showdown in 1974 between 21 year-old Jimmy Connors and the Aussie veteran old enough to be his dad, Ken Rosewall. In these times of Federer, Serena and Martina defying the ageing process, such an achievement would barely register but in the early Seventies it was astonishing. At the time I didn’t know who to support.  Connors was the brash youngster tearing up trees around the world with his all-action style while the popular Rosewall, at 39 despite two decades at the top spanning amateur and pro eras, had never won Wimbledon. They weren’t just chalk and cheese; it was like Connors was playing in colour against Rosewall in black-and-white. Well, in our household, all TV was in monochrome, but you get the picture!

Sadly, the short, slight Australian was no match for his youthful opponent and I found myself warming to underdog Rosewall as the game wore on. He won a mere six games. And yet it wasn’t quite a final hurrah. Amazingly, the two met again shortly afterwards at the US Open, also played on grass, but the winning margin was even greater, as Connors triumphed 6-1, 6-0, 6-1. The baton had been well and truly passed to the new generation. There was a slight hiccup the following summer when fellow American Arthur Ashe, then 31, upset the odds to great acclaim in a four-setter I also remember well. 

During Bjorn Borg’s five-year tenure at Wimbledon, classics were in short supply. His 1977 semi aganst Vitas Gerulaitis was an exception but I didn’t see it, presumably at school. The Swede’s 1980 defeat of John McEnroe is also held up as an all-time great but I was probably too disappointed in the outcome. I have fonder memories of the 1981 final in which McEnroe triumphantly ended Borg’s run with an emphatic volley.

Another inter-generational encounter which sticks in the mind occurred in 2001. Pete Sampras had won 31 consecutive matches and was seeking a record-breaking eighth Wimbledon singles title. In the fourth round he faced the 19 year-old number 15 seed from Switzerland by the name of Roger Federer. After five tight sets, Pistol Pete ran out of bullets and we all sat up and took notice of the long-haired, chubby-faced Swiss bloke with a broad white headscarf. Commentating, John McEnroe predicted he’d become the greatest ever. He wasn’t wrong.

Federer had to wait for his maiden Grand Slam because Britain’s Tim Henman edged him in the quarters. Tim’s next match was another one for my personal record books. Drawn against the wild card Goran Ivanisevic, the path was surely clear for the Brit to meet his Wimbledon destiny. In the event, rain delays and postponements, allied to the former finalist’s mental strength to achieve his own ambition, combined to send the Croat through after five gruelling sets.

That wasn’t a shock but of course we all love an unexpected ousting of a leading seed by a rank outsider. Most take place during working (or school) hours but that didn’t prevent me being distracted by the start of Paradorn Srichaphan’s defeat of reigning champion Andre Agassi in the second round of Wimbledon 2002, the conclusion of which I watched after the evening commute home. More recently, when Rafa Nadal was knocked out by the dramatically dreadlocked Dustin Brown I marvelled at the audacity and verve of the Jamaican-born German.

I don’t normally cheer for the Brits but I found myself supporting Heather Watson when I switched channels to see her close in on beating the all-conquering Serena Williams in 2015. Spurred on by a fiercely partisan and often highly disrespectful Centre Court crowd, the 23 year-old actually served for the match only for the top seed to reel off the last three games and proceed to win the whole tournament.

Many years previously I enjoyed watching the graceful young Evonne Goolagong beating the legendary Margaret Court in 71 and, again, nine years later when the now-married Evonne Cawley beat Turnbull and Austin before recapturing the title against Chris Evert Lloyd. I rarely watched the women’s final because until 1982 they were scheduled for the Friday, but in 1980 I was home from university. In 2004 I was also available to applaud the 17 year-old Maria Sharapova’s momentous thwarting of Serena Williams. This was before the humble lissom-limbed Russian became an annoying American gruntaholic, much like her opponent.

A couple of epic Wimbledon finals from the Nineties also stand out, each involving Steffi Graf. The first was the German’s nailbiter against Jana Novotna in ’93 then, two years later she survived another three-setter against the Czech before being pushed all the way in the final by the tenacious Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario. 

The men have also produced some lengthy classics. I’ve already mentioned the Pasarell-Gonzales marathon from ’69, up there (almost!) with the Apollo 11 mission to the moon just a few weeks later. In those days, tennis was still too professional to be granted Olympic status but by 2016 the sport had become a popular part of the Games. I admit I haven’t watched much of the competition but did catch bits of a wonderful contest between champion Andy Murray and the likeable but injury-prone Argentine Juan Martin del Potro. The latter had lost a gruelling five-setter versus Federer in London four years earlier and had eliminated Djokovic in the first round in Rio. In the final, the Brazilian heat played a part and poor del Potro could hardly lift his racket at the end. A great game played in an even greater spirit.

Back to Wimbledon and in 2010, an unheralded first-round tie turned into a chapter of Grand Slam history that can never, ever be surpassed. It wasn’t tremendous tennis, but it certainly captured the imagination of all of us who tuned in, as enthralling as any 3 nights-a-week TV soap opera. It pitched the tall American 23^rd seed, John Isner against the French qualifier and one-time Wimbledon junior champion Nicolas Mahut, neither of whom I’d heard of at the time. I watched for ages on the second evening, struggling to comprehend how Mahut refused to succumb to the Isner serve before bad light stopped play at 58-all. After more than eleven hours, Isner finally broke through on the Thursday afternoon to win 70-68 in the fifth. Not only were both players physical wrecks but an IBM technician had been drafted in to enable the electronic scoreboards to keep up with the games tally! Unbelievable. Since then, Isner has scooped numerous ATP titles helped by his awesome ace count and has participated in quite a few other five-setters. Mahut never made it in singles but has become one of the most accomplished doubles exponents on the tour.

Nowhere near as long but possibly even more absorbing was the so-called Clash of the Champions in 1992. Ex-winner Pat Cash was a wild card entry and an injury-affected John McEnroe out of the seedings but it was a tasty second round match-up and it delivered in spades. Amazingly, Mac went all the way to the semi-finals where he bowed out to Agassi and sadly never played the tournament again.

McEnroe had played many grudge matches against Jimmy Connors around the world. I had bad memories of his loss at Wimbledon in 1982 but they were eclipsed by McEnroe’s straightforward revenge two years later. Games involving players who make no secret of mutual hatred are often highly attractive. This year’s second rounder reuniting third seed Rafael Nadal and the dashing but deeply unpleasant Nick Kyrgios provided fireworks galore and I’ve never previously seen Nadal so pumped up in victory so early in the tournament.

Over the years there have been countless games which have been memorable for others but had passed me by. Ah, if only I had stayed at home last weekend to witness Simona Halep’s comprehensive slaying of Serena!  Fortunately I was persuaded to watch Roger Federer’s final against Nadal back in 2008 and found it impossible to leave before the end. Including rain delays the match spanned more than seven hours, with actual play lasting almost five. But this wasn’t just about the duration; it was the sheer mesmeric quality of tennis both players produced. My household was predominantly in the Spaniard’s camp, which made Federer’s eventual defeat, 9-7 in the fifth, even harder to take but at least I can say I watched the drama unfold well into the evening, a true classic.