Welcome to the first article in a five-part series titled Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe Resume Their Feud. As any tennis fan knows, Jimbo and Mac had one of the edgiest feuds in tennis history. Karthika M., my co-author and muse, has agreed to help me tell the story of how the two tennis legends brought their long-dormant feud to the forefront once again...
John McEnroe picked up the phone one day, bored that he had nothing much to do until the U. S. Open commenced in a couple of weeks.
“Who do I wanna prank today?” he said out loud, though no one else was around.
It only took a few seconds for him to make a decision: “CONNORS!”
He buzzed Jimmy’s house, but got no answer.
“That horse’s ass is running the streets,” he said mischievously. “But I bet he’s got his cell phone on.”
He dialed up his old nemesis and started needling him right away.
“I hear you’re about broke now and need to get back into coaching,” he sneered. “How’s that working for you?”
“Quit being a d*ck, Big Mac,” Connors retorted. “You know damn well I’m not hurtin’ for cash. So what the hell do you want, anyway? Just breakin’ my b*lls, man?”
“No, I’m just wondering what you do with yourself all day long,” Mac shot back quickly. “I don’t see you around much, now that Roddick dumped you like a pregnant girlfriend.”
McEnroe could practically hear the smoke coming out of Connors’ ears.
“Mac, you got 30 seconds. I repeat, what the f*ck do you want?”
“I just wanna do dinner with you, man,” McEnroe replied, sounding sincere. “Meet me at Nobu around 7 o’clock.”
“You buying?” Connors spat.
“Yeah, since you’re broke!” McEnroe chided.
There was no reply.
“So, we got a date?” Johnny Mac asked. “Hello? Are you still there?”
McEnroe looked at his phone and realized that Connors had hung up.
“Guess that’s a yes, you PRICK!” he exclaimed to no one in particular.
As the two tennis greats sat in a booth at Nobu, measuring each other suspiciously over sushi, it occurred to Connors that perhaps he would like to get back into coaching. What were all these struggling young studs waiting for?
Meanwhile, McEnroe was busy playing his alliance with Roger Federer to the hilt.
“I found some flaws in his groundies last week,” he bragged. “Roger is going to put a serious hurting on some poor schmuck at the U.S. Open. His backhand is money once again.”
“Uh huh, I bet,” said the obviously distracted Connors.
“And when he gets done winning the Open,” McEnroe continued, “we’re gonna hop a space shuttle and ride to Mars to get some Martian poontang.”
“Oh yeah, I bet Fed will love that,” was the dubious reply.
“And when we get back, I’m gonna get you on a tennis court, Jimmy, and kick your f*cking ass like no one has ever done before. I’m gonna beat ya like your Daddy should have.”
“Sure man, whatever you—” Connors started. He realized what he was about to agree to.
“What the hell did you just say?”
“You heard me, Connors.”
“Okay, Mac, that’s enough. Too damned much, actually. Fun time is over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” McEnroe intoned.
“It means that you’re gonna have to get off my ass, or else pay the price.”
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