Welcome to the second article in a five-part series titled Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe Resume Their Feud, as Leroy Watson and I try to put into words the rivalry that was Connors vs. McEnroe: At once belligerent, amusing, and sprightly, it is indeed one of the most intriguing duels in tennis history...
To read Pt. 1, the prelude, click here.
As Roger Federer walked out on the court, his all-black Nike ensemble glistened under the bright lights of Arthur Ashe stadium. If this was the most glamorous of majors, here was its shining star.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Roger Federer,” said the announcer, but the crowd needed no prompting.
It rose as one to salute the man who had furnished it with many a moment of tennis acumen over the years: artistry so pristine that his ruthless demolition of lesser opponents seemed almost benevolent.
New York loved him, and he returned the favor in full earnest. Even in his most difficult year yet, one where potent viruses and bulldozing young Spaniards dethroned him on courts around the world, Flushing Meadows had come through for Federer.
If Roger could win over crowds with his boyish charm and on-court elegance, his partner could make it go nuts with his flamboyance alone.
The audience erupted with uncontrollable excitement as Johnny Mac walked on to court to join his teammate, sporting a bandanna redder than his fiery temper of yore. Mellowed a touch from his racket-throwing days, McEnroe acknowledged the applause with a cheerful wave.
The arrival of Jimmy Connors in his snug shorts and hallmark sweater vest brought on a fresh bout of decibels from the stands, transporting his old rival through a time tunnel. “You cannot be serious,” yelled Johnny Mac, as Jimbo sauntered in, giving the audience a tantalizing taste of their longtime duel. “Just wait and see,” Connors retorted, teasing the crowd as it roared some more.
Only one man in the tennis world could tame a riotous crowd such as this one simply by the power of his presence. He’d subdued opponents and silenced mobs in the past by the mere act of wielding a racket. Flair so sublime was but worthy of deafening silence. Not today, however.
As Pete Sampras walked into the arena in his oversized white shorts and t-shirt, the audience went completely nuts, cheers drowning out the announcer’s voice. But no introduction was needed: holder of most major titles in the open era, Hall of Famer, King of Grass, and quite possibly, the greatest of all time.
As McEnroe and Connors continued to glower at each other, Roger walked up to shake hands with the icon whose record he was still chasing. Something that seemed inevitable just a couple years ago suddenly wasn’t quite as easy any more; if anything, this made his childhood idol even more larger than life. At least today he would have his chance against him.
The chair umpire conducted the coin toss. Rich Kaufman had had the best seat in the house for many an epic thriller at Arthur Ashe stadium—one that had often proved too close for comfort during Connors-Mac contests—but he knew it didn’t get better than today.
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