It was 37 years ago and I was just a little guy, but I still vividly remember the scene that Sunday morning. I had made my way downstairs in my parents' Minnetonka home at 8 a.m. sharp for an eagerly anticipated date with our television. There I sat just a few feet away on 1970s-style brown plush carpet, watching in rapt attention as NBC opened its broadcast of the Wimbledon men's final, timpani drums booming the unforgettable theme song and commenter Bud Collins spinning the lore of "breakfast at the Big Dubblya."
The camera behind the dark green fabric backstop of Centre Court peered through the double wooden doors into the foyer of the All England Club. Gold and silver trophies fashioned into chalices, cups and plates adorned the walls, along with names of a century's worth of past champions. Above the doors was inscribed a verse from Rudyard Kipling, a final reminder for competitors before taking the court:
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same.
Four-time champion Bjorn Borg appeared, laser-focused and stoic, ever the Swedish Ice Man, with his trademark headband maintaining a semblance of control over his long, sandy hair. He held an armful of Donnay rackets — of the wood variety — against his pin-striped Fila shirt that was worn skin-tight on his lean, muscled torso.
Close behind was his antagonist — brash, young New Yorker John McEnroe, "Superbrat" as the British press and fans nicknamed him. He was carrying something, too — a large chip on his shoulder. Beneath the red headband circling his curly mane was a pouty face and eyes that darted about like a cornered animal.
White-coated attendants took possession of their racket bundles and escorted the foes through the doors onto Centre Court, where they made it halfway to their respective chairs before turning to bow to the duke and duchess of Kent in the royal box.
One of the most memorable matches in Wimbledon history — all tennis history, for that matter— was about to commence. The lefthanded McEnroe serve-and-volleying and chip-and-charging with abandon, and Borg whipping topspin passing shots from the far reaches of the lawn. Mac saved five championship points to win a marathon fourth-set tiebreaker 18-16. But it was Borg who would drop to his knees after one last backhand pass, prevailing 8-6 in the fifth.
Wimbledon has a way of reaching deep into the soul. Stepping off the side streets of this suburban London village and through the black wrought-iron gates of the club transports you into a kind of ethereal oasis from the outside world. The historic matches that take place therein are fueled by the storied traditions, stuffy protocol and stunning surrounds, inspiring generations of players and fans.
