What a cool guy

"Never heard of him," I replied when B asked if I knew of Whitney Reed.  He had just read a piece about him and was determined to obtain a copy of 'Unflappable, The Life and Times of Whitney Reed'.  No longer in print, he had to scramble around on EBay and other places to get one.  But score one he did.

Whitney Reed was an incomparable tennis player in the 50s and 60s and B knew all about him.  In fact, he is the closest B has ever come to having a sort-of idol.  Back in the days when professional tennis was actually fun, Reed knew how to have it.  As B read, he laughed out loud and often said, "listen to this," as he related one hilarious escapade after another. 

"You know, all I ever wanted to be was a tennis bum," B admitted.  "I remember back in the late 50s, Whitney Reed came to Montreal for a tournament and just for the sheer love of the game and the heck of it, gathered a bunch of us ball boys and wanna-be's and gave us the clinic of our lives.  That's where I learned all my shots," he added.  He still deftly unleashes them, much to the consternation of his decades-younger, base-line pounding opponents.   

Yesterday, with B still in Houston, I picked up the book.  Could not put it down.  I learned that Reed was much more than a wild tennis bum.  He was top of the heap.  Born in 1932 in Oakland, California, he was ranked No. 1 in the US 1961 and always in the top 10.  During his career, he had wins over Rod Laver, Roy Emerson, Neale Fraser, Chuck McKinley, Frank Sedgman, Manuel Santana, Gardner Mulloy, Art Larsen and Alex Olmedo -- all enshrined in the International Tennis Hall of Fame. 

"Whitney was at his very best when he was still a tad inebriated from the night before and just starting a hangover," says author and long-time friend C.F. Stewart.  Apparently, he would start badly -- seeing three balls coming over the net ("when you see three, focus on the middle one") -- get his focus, slide into "the zone" and proceed to cream his opponent.  He loved wine, women and song before, (during) and after a match and indulged himself in all three with gusto.  

Often carousing until 3 or 4 a.m., he would amble out onto the court and begin to weave his magic.  "We will never see a player move about the playing surface and half-volley winners from any spot on the court.  No one lobs off of the volley anymore and that was Whitney's signature shot.  Players today occasionally hit the ball between their legs while running away from the net; Whitney hit the ball between his legs while running toward the net," says the book.  

"The tragedy for those who truly love the game (like B) is that there are no Whitney Reeds on the horizon.  There is too much money at stake.  Today if a player shows promise, he or she ends up at the Bollettieri Academy with the best facilities known to man.....There is no room for a fun-loving, irreverent, insouciant type of player.  It's all about money and computer rankings."  I think the last delight might have been Ilie Nastase, who B saw in Bermuda playing Jimmy Connors.  At one point, Connors hit a 50-foot lob.  Nastase, waiting for the ball, ran into the stands, passionately kissed a woman, ran back onto the court, returned the lob with a smash and won the point. 

Tennis was more than a match in those days; it was theatre. 

Back in Whitney's day, players would play for beers as well as prize money.   One day they would be hanging out with the rich and famous on the Riveria, the next with regular club players in a seedy, local watering hole.  It was all about the love of tennis at any level and the drive to win.  It was also about talent and Reed had it in spades.  The book is filled with tales of him jumping out of bedroom windows, into swimming pools, showing up at Wimbledon having forgotten his racket in the back of a taxi the night before, borrowing tennis clothes because his luggage hadn't shown up..........but all the time the guy won. 

Much to my father's chagrin, tennis and I never really clicked.  I was a swimmer and you either did one or t'other during a Canadian summer because indoor courts didn't exist.  My father and his cronies played well into their eighties and always had fun.  In the early days, the club where they played didn't serve alcohol on Sundays, but I remember my Dad putting a couple of beers into his bag to enjoy after a match on a sunny Sunday.  

B always was and remains an enthusiastic tennis diehard.  One of his greatest fears about moving to Calgary was where to play tennis?  He quickly found the 100-year-old Calgary Tennis Club and is now the director of courts and grounds.  Well, of course he is; I go for the fun events.   

As for Whitney Reed?  Wish I had known him.  Oh, by the way, he is still going strong, playing senior's and celebrity tournaments at 81.