significant time in the eighty-year history of the Cup, with its national and international prestige waning. The best players did not care to play, and attendance had dwindled at many matches. As much as I regretted its loss of prestige, I knew that I had certainly had something to do with the evolution in tennis that had weakened the Davis Cup. I had been one of the leaders in expediting changes that had altered the face of tennis.
Tennis had needed to change, because the world had changed. When my international career began around 1963, very few players earned a living from the sport. Amateurs could not play with professionals, who were shut out from the Davis Cup and from all the major tournaments. After mounting pressure, all of that ended one day in April 1968 in Bournemouth, England, when Mark Cox played Pancho Gonzalez in the British Hard Court Championships, the first sanctioned tournament for both professionals and amateurs. The Open era of tennis began. Later that year, when I won the first United States Open and received only $280 in expense money, I was still an amateur and a gentleman player, a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army happy to be able to make the payments on my beloved Ford Mustang. Tom Okker lost to me in the final, and took home $14,000. Tom was a gentleman, too; but he was also a professional who could accept prize money.
Between 1968 and 1981, professional tennis exploded in popularity. As a leader of the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP), the players’ union founded in 1972 (I was president in 1974–75), I saw the fireworks intimately. No one was well prepared for the transition from the closed amateur (or “shamateur,” as some called it) to the open era—not the International Lawn Tennis Federation (ILTF), as it was then called, nor the Big Four (the governing bodies of the American, French, Australian, and British championships). Fearful that they would lose control of the game and the players, the ILTF (later shortened to ITF) and the Big Four pursued a reactionary strategy, impeding us at almostevery turn. In my judgment, they resisted change in defense of privilege and a stuffy conception of the traditional. In the end, they lost control.
If the governing bodies were not ready, neither were most of the players. For many of us, the deluge of money led to confusion and an unholy scrambling after dollars. Certain values and standards that had bonded players in my earlier years as a professional—certain codes of honor and a spirit of cooperation and camaraderie—disappeared. In some ways, the youngest players arrived in a world in which the very concept of values and standards was unknown or quaint and obsolete, like wooden racquets or the white tennis balls on which Wimbledon insisted long after the superiority of color had been demonstrated.
I wonder how much we, the leaders of the players during this transition, contributed to the fall. I can’t forget, for example, in light of my concern for the Davis Cup, that one of the main blows struck by the ATP in the name of freedom for players was at the expense of the Davis Cup. In 1973, we boycotted Wimbledon after Nikki Pilic of Yugoslavia was barred from taking part in the tournament by his country because he refused to play in a particular Davis Cup match. The ILTF, reactionary to the core at the time, backed the Yugoslavian Tennis Federation’s banning of Pilic. Our view in the ATP was that a tennis player had the right to play or not to play in the Davis Cup. The ILTF and Wimbledon would not budge from their position of supporting the suspension, and the British courts refused to intervene. We carried out the boycott.
Aided by private promoters such as Lamar Hunt and power brokers such as Donald Dell and Jack Kramer, we prospered. The number of tournaments increased to such an extent that it was difficult to keep track of them. The prize money grew amazingly. (Some people would say obscenely; I wouldn’t. Although I
Tennis had needed to change, because the world had changed. When my international career began around 1963, very few players earned a living from the sport. Amateurs could not play with professionals, who were shut out from the Davis Cup and from all the major tournaments. After mounting pressure, all of that ended one day in April 1968 in Bournemouth, England, when Mark Cox played Pancho Gonzalez in the British Hard Court Championships, the first sanctioned tournament for both professionals and amateurs. The Open era of tennis began. Later that year, when I won the first United States Open and received only $280 in expense money, I was still an amateur and a gentleman player, a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army happy to be able to make the payments on my beloved Ford Mustang. Tom Okker lost to me in the final, and took home $14,000. Tom was a gentleman, too; but he was also a professional who could accept prize money.
Between 1968 and 1981, professional tennis exploded in popularity. As a leader of the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP), the players’ union founded in 1972 (I was president in 1974–75), I saw the fireworks intimately. No one was well prepared for the transition from the closed amateur (or “shamateur,” as some called it) to the open era—not the International Lawn Tennis Federation (ILTF), as it was then called, nor the Big Four (the governing bodies of the American, French, Australian, and British championships). Fearful that they would lose control of the game and the players, the ILTF (later shortened to ITF) and the Big Four pursued a reactionary strategy, impeding us at almostevery turn. In my judgment, they resisted change in defense of privilege and a stuffy conception of the traditional. In the end, they lost control.
If the governing bodies were not ready, neither were most of the players. For many of us, the deluge of money led to confusion and an unholy scrambling after dollars. Certain values and standards that had bonded players in my earlier years as a professional—certain codes of honor and a spirit of cooperation and camaraderie—disappeared. In some ways, the youngest players arrived in a world in which the very concept of values and standards was unknown or quaint and obsolete, like wooden racquets or the white tennis balls on which Wimbledon insisted long after the superiority of color had been demonstrated.
I wonder how much we, the leaders of the players during this transition, contributed to the fall. I can’t forget, for example, in light of my concern for the Davis Cup, that one of the main blows struck by the ATP in the name of freedom for players was at the expense of the Davis Cup. In 1973, we boycotted Wimbledon after Nikki Pilic of Yugoslavia was barred from taking part in the tournament by his country because he refused to play in a particular Davis Cup match. The ILTF, reactionary to the core at the time, backed the Yugoslavian Tennis Federation’s banning of Pilic. Our view in the ATP was that a tennis player had the right to play or not to play in the Davis Cup. The ILTF and Wimbledon would not budge from their position of supporting the suspension, and the British courts refused to intervene. We carried out the boycott.
Aided by private promoters such as Lamar Hunt and power brokers such as Donald Dell and Jack Kramer, we prospered. The number of tournaments increased to such an extent that it was difficult to keep track of them. The prize money grew amazingly. (Some people would say obscenely; I wouldn’t. Although I
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