Get-Well-Soon for McEnroe? <i> Oh, Yeaaah </i>

Some people like John McEnroe, but some people . . . naaah . Some people would spend hundreds of dollars to see him hit a tennis ball, but some people would not pay a dime to seem him play, even if he used a disposable razor for a racket.

McEnroe was supposed to compete in the $315,000 Volvo tennis tournament at UCLA over the weekend, but Saturday he called in sick. Tatum O’Neal actually made the call, from their place in Malibu. A doctor drove out, asked McEnroe to turn his head and cough, then agreed that he was too ill to go to work.

This happens to working people all the time, but rarely with such effect. McEnroe’s default put Paul Annacone into the tournament final, and while Annacone is a pretty fine player--a Wimbledon quarterfinalist in 1984--he is not exactly boffo box office. Getting Annacone instead of McEnroe in the final is sort of like going to a Jacksons concert and finding out Michael couldn’t make it. It is still a good show, but not quite the same.

Furthermore, tickets purchased in advance could not be refunded just because McEnroe was unable to appear. You get your wager back at a horse race when the favorite is scratched, but you do not get a rebate at a golf tournament if Jack Nicklaus withdraws after nine holes. Sometimes life is fair, but sometimes . . . naaah .

Without McEnroe, the Los Angeles tournament lacked star power. The title match turned out to be a struggle between Stefan Edberg, a Swedish teen-ager who already has beaten Boris Becker, Ivan Lendl and Jimmy Connors this year, and Annacone, a 22-year-old New Yorker who is usually more successful at doubles.

Becker wasn’t here. Lendl wasn’t here. Connors wasn’t here. This was not exactly the tournament of champions.

What life it had, McEnroe gave it. His splendid play and his unpredictable nature supplied the sort of entertainment that made people want to watch. You never know what McEnroe is going to do or what he is going to say. You never know if he is going to make a dazzling passing shot or swat a TV camera or tell a line judge that he has the eyesight of Mr. Magoo.

The very people who dislike McEnroe for his attitude will be sorry when he is no longer around. Good tennis players are good to have, but only once in a while does such a colorful character come along. McEnroe might not even consider himself colorful, but he is. Compared to the rest, he is a yellow tennis ball; the others are only white.

The trouble with tennis is that “colorful” is discouraged. Wimbledon doesn’t want colorful. They want tennis to be as quiet and dignified as chess. They do not want yellow balls or orange shirts. They do not want players yelling at linemen. They do not want J.P. McEnroe to come to England and act like the prince of wails.

Some people do not like John McEnroe.

You are not reading such a person.

This tennis lover would have gone almost anywhere Sunday to see McEnroe play. This tennis lover would have rather gone to Malibu and watched McEnroe watch tennis on television than watch Edberg and Annacone play in person. And no offense is meant to the latter two gentlemen, who went at each other aggressively and did their level best to make the crowd forget McEnroe even existed.

While watching them play, there were thoughts about better places to be. It might have been nice to be in Baltimore, where New York Yankee Manager Billy Martin was walking around with a busted arm, possibly given to him by a couple of revenge-minded marshmallow salesmen. Then there was Las Vegas, where heavyweight champion Michael Spinks was still babbling about “hypnotizing and mesmerizing” Larry Holmes.

All such thoughts would have been dismissed if McEnroe had been able to get out of his sick bed. But it is certainly not his fault that he didn’t feel well, and any spectators who accused McEnroe of “disappointing” them by not playing had better not call in sick to their own bosses unless they are too weak to walk.

It is easy to disappoint people. The people who run the local television station that broadcast Sunday’s final between Edberg and Annacone probably were as disappointed as anybody that McEnroe could not play. Their ratings probably suffered a bit.

The Volvo people probably were disappointed, too. Not once during the telecast was the tournament described as Volvo’s event. This was not particularly surprising, seeing as how the first announced sponsor of the broadcast turned out to be Subaru.

As John McEnroe knows better than anyone, you cannot please everybody. McEnroe has pleased this person more than once, though, so hey, Tatum, tell him to get well soon. Those of us who like John McEnroe want nothing bad to happen to him, ever.