Roy Emerson

[DougEng]

Doug,

I went to school with Chad and have worked with him on various projects. I've known him for over 12 years and he has been one of my closest friends.

Kyle LaCroix USPTA
Boca Raton

Small world!

I had the now impossible opportunity to spend about 45 minutes alone with Don Budge. I should have asked him more...but there were very interesting things I learned.

[don_budge]

The Aussie Sporting Philosophy of Life...For the Bloody Fun of It!

One more note I forgot to mention about Emerson. At one point during the cocktail reception, he asked a handful of students which grand slam they would most prefer to win. One brown noser said Australian open, hoping to get on Emerson's good side. Two said the the US Open. Roy Gasped. One bright young man exclaimed Wimbledon. Roy smiled and said "Absolutely". He then went on to state, and I'm paraphrasing here..."Really, the US Open. How can you handle that with all the noise? That's not atmosphere. Playing at Wimbledon, in all whites, with the crowd so respectful and silent, is the greatest ambiance and atmosphere a tennis player could ever experience"

Emerson was everything you'd expect him to be and more. Just a great guy.

Attached is a picture of he and I leading a round table discussion with students. Actually, he was doing the leading. I was supposed to moderate but he made my job easy as everything out of his mouth was brilliant and engaging. At the time thuis picture was taken, I believe Mr. Emerson was talking about playing on different surfaces. Clay, grass, Hard courts and Indoor wood.

Kyle LaCroix USPTA
Boca Raton

When you posted that "shameless plug" I knew that you were in for one of those moments in life that make a difference. They confirm what you already know...by engaging with others you can make a difference. I am thrilled for you. I had a feeling that you two would hit it off...we used to call it bonding. You had a great opportunity to get real close to the true passion for the real game of classic tennis. The ultimate respect for the game. Imagine that...in a game where love means nothing.

Introduction by Barry Tarshis (part 3)...Tennis For the Bloody Fun of It.

Looking back over the past nine months, I can recall with pleasure any number of conversations and situations, but none more so than the second day of the Palmetto dunes weekend. It was a very hot day in June and Rod and Roy, apart from working on an instructional film for most of the morning had put in a punishing day of exhibitions and teaching. At about four in the afternoon when the official part of the day was pretty much over, Rod and Mary invited me over to their villa for a beer. It was a typical Laver invitation. “Come over whenever you feel like. If we’re not there the door is open. Come in and get yourself a beer. We’ll be by soon.”

By five that afternoon about ten of us, mostly nontennis friends of the Lavers, were sitting around the small pool outside the villa when somebody, I don’t remember who, suggested a game of volleyball in the water. Everybody knows, of course, that it’s next to impossible to play a volleyball game in the water, especially when there is no net. But Rod was tickled by the idea. Within five minutes, he had constructed a makeshift net by rigging up one of those long poles you often see at private pools across the pool, supporting it tenuously to be sure, on two beach chairs. Then we were in the water (some of us over our heads) trying to come up with some workable rules. Again it was all Rod. After several abortive attempts to get a reasonable game going, he quickly devised three or four rules that took into account the logistical difficulties we were playing under.

And the remarkable thing was that we managed somehow to set up a little contest that was not only a lot of fun but reasonably interesting from a competitive point of view as well, all thanks to Laver. In that short space of time, he made me realize what he meant when he once said, “You can have a hell of a good time at something and still be serious about it.” Well, serious or not, by the time the team that Laver was on had shifted to the low-water side and this was their chance to come from behind...Rod, having created the game was giving Mike Narracott’s three year old daughter a swimming lesson. The volleyball game no longer commanded his interest.

About an hour later Roy Emerson arrived, looking as if he had just hiked across the Gobi Desert. Earlier that afternoon, we were supposed to have gone over certain sections of the manuscript but Roy politely begged off. He’d been up since seven that morning having gone to bed well after three. He had spent the morning with Rod working on an instructional film. That afternoon with the temperature in the mid 90’s he had conducted two clinics and played three exhibition matches. At three-thirty when we met to talk over the manuscript he was so tired he said, he could barely keep his eyes open and all he wanted to do was go back to his room and take a nap. He never made it. As he was walking out of the pro shop one of the participants in the tournament collared him and reminded him of a promise he’d made the day before at lunch that he would work with her serve for a while. within a half hour there were half a dozen or so people clustered around him at one of the courts. Emmo was giving another clinic.

It was nearly six-thirty when he finally showed up at the Laver villa in the middle of an informal frisbee game. Tired as he may have been he joined in. Then somebody, I think it was Mary Laver, thought it might be appropriate to throw Roy, still in tennis clothes into the pool. My own feeling when I heard the idea being discussed was that if I were as tired as Roy Emerson looked the last thing in the world I would want was to be thrown into a swimming pool.

No matter. In Emmo went with a thunderous splash. Close by him in the water were three or four young kids squealing with delight. Roy stood up slowly. He wasn’t smiling and he wasn’t scowling. Shaking the water from his hair he reached into his pocket pulled out his watch, his dripping wallet, some keys, and some change. He laid them all on the side of the pool. He still hadn’t changed his expression. For a second, I wondered if he was going to leap from the water and personally manhandle everyone who had done the deed and when a look of absolute fury suddenly crossed his face I was convinced that this is what he was going to do.

But no. The angry look and the ear-shattering bellow that erupted from Emmo’s lips were nothing more than the beginning of a make believe sea monster game that he proceeded to play with the kids in the water for the next half hour. To this day, I can’t imagine what anybody might do, short of pouring sugar in his beer, that could make Roy Emerson angry.

[klacr]

When you posted that "shameless plug" I knew that you were in for one of those moments in life that make a difference. They confirm what you already know...by engaging with others you can make a difference. I am thrilled for you. I had a feeling that you two would hit it off...we used to call it bonding. You had a great opportunity to get real close to the true passion for the real game of classic tennis. The ultimate respect for the game. Imagine that...in a game where love means nothing.

Introduction by Barry Tarshis (part 3)...Tennis For the Bloody Fun of It.

Looking back over the past nine months, I can recall with pleasure any number of conversations and situations, but none more so than the second day of the Palmetto dunes weekend. It was a very hot day in June and Rod and Roy, apart from working on an instructional film for most of the morning had put in a punishing day of exhibitions and teaching. At about four in the afternoon when the official part of the day was pretty much over, Rod and Mary invited me over to their villa for a beer. It was a typical Laver invitation. “Come over whenever you feel like. If we’re not there the door is open. Come in and get yourself a beer. We’ll be by soon.”

By five that afternoon about ten of us, mostly nontennis friends of the Lavers, were sitting around the small pool outside the villa when somebody, I don’t remember who, suggested a game of volleyball in the water. Everybody knows, of course, that it’s next to impossible to play a volleyball game in the water, especially when there is no net. But Rod was tickled by the idea. Within five minutes, he had constructed a makeshift net by rigging up one of those long poles you often see at private pools across the pool, supporting it tenuously to be sure, on two beach chairs. Then we were in the water (some of us over our heads) trying to come up with some workable rules. Again it was all Rod. After several abortive attempts to get a reasonable game going, he quickly devised three or four rules that took into account the logistical difficulties we were playing under.

And the remarkable thing was that we managed somehow to set up a little contest that was not only a lot of fun but reasonably interesting from a competitive point of view as well, all thanks to Laver. In that short space of time, he made me realize what he meant when he once said, “You can have a hell of a good time at something and still be serious about it.” Well, serious or not, by the time the team that Laver was on had shifted to the low-water side and this was their chance to come from behind...Rod, having created the game was giving Mike Narracott’s three year old daughter a swimming lesson. The volleyball game no longer commanded his interest.

About an hour later Roy Emerson arrived, looking as if he had just hiked across the Gobi Desert. Earlier that afternoon, we were supposed to have gone over certain sections of the manuscript but Roy politely begged off. He’d been up since seven that morning having gone to bed well after three. He had spent the morning with Rod working on an instructional film. That afternoon with the temperature in the mid 90’s he had conducted two clinics and played three exhibition matches. At three-thirty when we met to talk over the manuscript he was so tired he said, he could barely keep his eyes open and all he wanted to do was go back to his room and take a nap. He never made it. As he was walking out of the pro shop one of the participants in the tournament collared him and reminded him of a promise he’d made the day before at lunch that he would work with her serve for a while. within a half hour there were half a dozen or so people clustered around him at one of the courts. Emmo was giving another clinic.

It was nearly six-thirty when he finally showed up at the Laver villa in the middle of an informal frisbee game. Tired as he may have been he joined in. Then somebody, I think it was Mary Laver, thought it might be appropriate to throw Roy, still in tennis clothes into the pool. My own feeling when I heard the idea being discussed was that if I were as tired as Roy Emerson looked the last thing in the world I would want was to be thrown into a swimming pool.

No matter. In Emmo went with a thunderous splash. Close by him in the water were three or four young kids squealing with delight. Roy stood up slowly. He wasn’t smiling and he wasn’t scowling. Shaking the water from his hair he reached into his pocket pulled out his watch, his dripping wallet, some keys, and some change. He laid them all on the side of the pool. He still hadn’t changed his expression. For a second, I wondered if he was going to leap from the water and personally manhandle everyone who had done the deed and when a look of absolute fury suddenly crossed his face I was convinced that this is what he was going to do.

But no. The angry look and the ear-shattering bellow that erupted from Emmo’s lips were nothing more than the beginning of a make believe sea monster game that he proceeded to play with the kids in the water for the next half hour. To this day, I can’t imagine what anybody might do, short of pouring sugar in his beer, that could make Roy Emerson angry.

After having met Mr. Emerson, I could totally picture the scene and can see him doing exactly this. Not surprised. But yeah, I wouldn't touch his beer.

Kyle LaCroix USPTA
Boca Raton

[don_budge]

Only the Special...

After having met Mr. Emerson, I could totally picture the scene and can see him doing exactly this. Not surprised. But yeah, I wouldn't touch his beer.

Kyle LaCroix USPTA
Boca Raton

Introduction by Barry Tarshis (part 4)...Tennis for the Bloody Fun of It

Happily, I think the spirit of that afternoon is evident throughout Tennis for he Bloody Fun of It. We have tried to be informative in this book, but we have tried harder to make it fun. There are no gimmicks in the book...just a lot of good, solid advice for players at every level on how to play the game better and how to enjoy it more in the process. No two players in the game today, to my mind, are more qualified to talk about tennis in this regard. For if there is one thing I’ll always remember about each of the weeks I spent with Rod and Roy at a Laver-Emerson Tennis Holiday it is the number of people I met who went home on the final day feeling much better about themselves than when they arrived. Tennis is one sport that gives people this opportunity. Hopefully, Tennis for the Bloody Fun of It will make it all the more possible.


Well that is it for the introduction to "Tennis for the Bloody Fun of It". The book reads like the author describes it. There are many wonderful black and white photo's of Emerson and Laver...when they were young.

I am tremendously happy for you and your experience. I know how you are. Like a big kid...meeting one of the legends. Perhaps he was from an era before the period of tennis that you are most familiar with. You say you are from the Becker, Edberg et al era. Well now you know. The reality of things. No knocks against your contemporaries...but they are mere virtual images from the beginnings of shock and awe tennis. The Aussies were a big link in the chain. Hopman was the coach. He still is...in my model of tennis coaching.

I wish that you could see this book, Kyle, that my friend...my "new" coach Rolf has lent me. It is old and it smells of age. You might say that Rolf is a little old and crusty too. The book and Rolf are antiques in the eyes of modern coaching...the science of playing tennis. The book has some great pictures of the Laver continental gripped backhand. It even has a picture of Lew Hoad in it. It's only tennis for the bloody fun of it. And that is what it was meant to be. That is all that it is. You met a man...who fought his way to the top enjoying every moment of it. Once he got there he could still scream at the top of his lungs...fun, fun, fun...if you are not having fun it is your own fucking fault! Like a sea monster in the pool of life!

Some might mistakenly believe that I am stuck in the past. They couldn't be farther from the truth. I know the score. Give me American tennis...I will have the cup home in five years. To stay. I am Superman. Roy Emerson is living proof. Great smile Kyle...I wish that I could smile like that. I know what you mean about being different too. You see...I am a little too dark. My skin that is. Not my soul. But I used to get teased and harassed quite a bit for it when I was young. It left an impression on me. But I have a voice for radio...so I have been told. It only made me stronger. It gave me attitude. A positive one. A warrior's mentality. It made me special. Just like you. I guess in a sense we are all special.

I live in the country now...in the woods too. I only come out when I have to. I know how you feel...how happy meeting Roy Emerson made you. What a wonderful experience. I think he certainly got a kick out of you too...you big lug. God bless. All of you. Just for the bloody fun of it!!!