The Wimbledon Final That Never Was . . .: ...And Other Tennis Tales from a Bygone Era - Softcover

Wood, Sidney; Wood, David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0942257847 ISBN 13: 9780942257847

Verlag: New Chapter Press,U.S., 2011

Inhaltsangabe

The only time in the history of Wimbledon that the men&;s singles final was not played is told in detail by the crowned champion in this illuminating tennis biography. Sidney Wood won the 1931 Wimbledon title by default over Frank Shields&;his school buddy, doubles partner, roommate, and Davis Cup teammate&;in one of the most curious episodes in sports history. Wood tells the tale of how Shields was ordered by the U.S. Tennis Association not to compete in the championship match so that he could rest his injured knee in preparation for an upcoming Davis Cup match. Three years later the story continues when he and Shields played a match at the Queen&;s Club for the Wimbledon trophy. Also included are a compilation of short stories that deliver fascinating anecdotes of the 1930s and a signature document of the play and styles of 20th-century tennis legends.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Sidney Wood was an American tennis player who was crowned men&;s singles champion at Wimbledon in 1931. He was also a singles finalist at the 1935 U.S. Championships, played for the U.S. Davis Cup team in both 1931 and 1934, and was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in 1964. David Wood is Sidney's son

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The Wimbledon Final That Never Was ...

... And Other Tennis Tales from a Bygone Era

By Sidney Wood, David Wood

New Chapter Press

Copyright © 2015 David Wood
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-942257-84-7

Contents

INTRODUCTION, 
1 • WHO AM I?, 
2 • EARLY YEARS, 
3 • THE WIMBLEDON FINAL THAT NEVER WAS ..., 
4 • THE PRIVATE UNDERSTANDING PLAYOFF, 
5 • FROM WIMBLEDON TO WALL STREET, 
6 • MY FAVORITE MATCH, 
7 • DOING LAUNDRY WITH DON BUDGE AND ARNOLD PALMER, 
8 • DAVE SELZNICK, 
9 • SHOOTING IT UP WITH GARY COOPER, 
10 • THE OTHER ERROL, 
11 • SCARECROW SERVER, 
12 • NEAR IMMORTALITY AT GRAUMAN'S CHINESE THEATRE, 
13 • CHARLIE CHAPLIN IN WONDERLAND, 
14 • REPLAY WITH FAY WRAY, 
15 • GROUCHO GETS BAGGED, 
16 • J. DONALD BUDGE, 
17 • ROOF TOP TENNIS IN MANHATTAN THE FOUNDING OF TOWN TENNIS CLUB, 
18 • THE FULL COUNT, 
19 • DAYS OF GRACE, 
20 • THE CASE OF ALTHEA GIBSON, 
21 • TENNIS WITH BOBBY FISCHER, 
22 • THE SHAH AND I, 
23 • THE FIRST US OPEN BOX SEATS, 
24 • SUPREME COURT, 
25 • ONCE I WAS GROSS AT ROLAND GARROS, 
26 • FREQUENT FLIER, 
27 • NEAR MISS, 
28 • DEPUTY WOOD, 
29 • THE HOTFOOT, 
30 • NUTS TO YOU, MRS. ASTOR, 
31 • PRACTICE IMPERFECT, 
32 • THE "DOUBLE-HIT" THAT COST JEAN BOROTRA THE 1927 WIMBLEDON TITLE, 
33 • HENRI COCHET – THE FRENCH CONNECTION, 
34 • FOOT FAULTS ... BEFORE AND AFTER, 
35 • FRENCH FRUSTRATIONS, 
36 • MARK MCCORMACK – THE ULTIMATE SPORTS MOGUL, 
37 • ADRENALINE, 
38 • ANALYZING THE GREATEST PLAYERS OF ALL TIME, 
39 • THE GREATEST STROKES AND SKILL SETS OF ALL TIME, 
40 • FRIENDSHIPS FOR A LIFETIME, 
EPILOGUE, 

CHAPTER 1

Who Am I?

People tend to remember my tennis name (if at all!), not as one of the top three or four American players of my time, but for the uniqueness of being Wimbledon's only winner by default. Even so, I was its youngest men's singles champion at the age of 19 for over 50 years and its youngest male competitor at the age of only 15.

I had never given much thought to remedying this impression until I started digging up a bunch of old records that Tennis magazine had requested for a story. I had retained draw sheets of most major tournaments from time immemorial, and when I fished out those of our U.S. Nationals, now the US Open, and saw myself seeded four years at No. 3, twice at No. 4, and once each at No. 5 and No. 6, over an eight-year span. I literally wondered for a moment whether some kind of crazy misprint had occurred. When I then got curious about my international record against the world's top 10, I was again startled and admittedly aglow at finding my one-on-one numbers were a lot more favorable than I'd realized. The only discovery that might top this would be something like a missing birth certificate materializing with a decade-later-than presumed nativity date.

In our day, to be chosen as one of your country's two Davis Cup singles players was every player's ultimate hope. As a married, depression-years' breadwinner from the time I was 21, paying the rent came before putting trophies on the shelf. Most all of my top-ranked U.S. opponents were holding down tennis-related jobs, permitting practice and tournament play for a good part of the year, but even as a full-time working stiff (though my own boss since 22), I did manage to steal away four times to Wimbledon or on Davis Cup team junkets, but never got within half a globe of Australia.

Most years, I would head east for our late August National Championships from my California gold and sulfur diggings, barely ahead of the first day of the tournament, figuring to adjust to the grass during the first round or two. But let me tell you, more than once I got bounced before I knew where I was. The clanking, metal-body 14-passenger Ford tri-motor planes, replete with sick bags, and ammonia capsules, rarely made it in even twice the 29 hours advertised, usually with risky Rocky-Mountain weather sleepovers on wooden benches at tiny airports. No alibis, only reciting one of the reasons I thought of myself as an underdog against my more frequently competing peers -- though I now may just consider re-writing my epitaph! Striving to maintain whatever tennis eminence one managed to attain in those no-pay-for-play years can't sound too glamorous, but I wouldn't trade a single season's memory for whatever goes for achievement and camaraderie today.

CHAPTER 2

Early Years

I was born on November 1, 1911 in a place called Black Rock, Connecticut, near Bridgeport. I don't remember much about the years before moving to California, but I was told that I spent four years on my back. I was a very sick young man with a variety of childhood diseases that in today's world of medicine is not serious. But back in the days when I was an infant, they were often fatal.

My father owned a mine out in Arizona which called for my early family life to be spent out West. As a youngster, I started to play tennis because I couldn't play other sports competitively. My mother took me out to play. I remember the first court I ever played on was at the mining camp made of crushed stone. I don't know if that influenced me to develop a short swing but that was the only way you could hit the ball.

My first racquet that I used to practice against the house wall, or I should say the windows (and I broke one occasionally), was one that my uncle Watson Washburn left in the closet when he went to Australia to play on the U.S. Davis Cup team with Bill Tilden. (Uncle "Watty" subsequently became captain of the U.S. Davis Cup team.) His racquet was sitting there in the closet and I picked it out. That heralded my departure from being a budding pianist (my mother was teaching me music at that time). I was never sure if she was totally happy with the change, but I was.

My tennis was played almost all in California until I was about 13. The first time I saw my uncle Watty, I was fifteen and about to play in the National Junior Championships. My first real competition was in California and one of the most thrilling prizes I won was a turkey, which probably described the way I played in those days, but, this was a handicapped mixed doubles tournament in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, and I lived in Berkeley. I won the prize to everyone's dismay because I was literally as high as the net. I was an infant in size. I really didn't grow into my final huge stature of 5' 9 3/4 until I seemed to get out of all these physical problems.

I brought the turkey home by ferry, which was then the means of transport between San Francisco and Berkeley, as the Golden Gate Bridge, Bay Bridge or even Alcatraz had not been built yet! I remember my mother completely broke up. She already had a turkey cooked, but nobody could believe that I was going to bring home the bacon, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphor, or simile. That was a big thrill because it was really an upset that I should win anything at that size. It was a grown-up mixed doubles tournament and I was the only "infant" in it.

I literally lived in tennis shoes at that time. This is what happens when you have had health problems. You're just dying to excel at something to bring you out of the rut that you have been in. To give you a little...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: New Chapter Press,U.S.
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2011
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0942257847
• ISBN 13: 9780942257847
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 190
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
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