He’s All Work and All Play--Also All-World

It was the ninth telephone call of the day, and the phone lines to Florida were not good. Neither was the news.

“I’m not sure Boris wants to talk, at all,” said the press liaison for the men’s professional tennis tour. “We’re still negotiating.”

Boris Becker, Wimbledon champion/teen heartthrob/elusive interview subject, was coming to the desert to play in the Pilot Pen tournament this week, and it was widely known that he was off limits to the press.

Becker is managed by Ion Tiriac, whose welcome to a reporter was to say: “You are here. How much time do you need? You get 15 minutes. It’s 15 minutes or none. He must practice. After practice he must breathe. He must breathe or he will die.”

Of course, it’s part of Tiriac’s job to protect Becker. As Tiriac pointed out, in his version of new math, “For every one of you, there are 20 more.”

It all means too many distractions. This fierce front has scared off much of the tennis press and left Becker, Tiriac and his coach, Gunther Bosch, in relative isolation.

It’s a shame, because all three are charming, affable people. They just don’t want anybody to know it.

When Becker was asked if he disliked interviews, he smiled sheepishly and said: “No, I love to talk, but they don’t let me do it too much. We can sit here until they come to get me. It is fine.”

So much for the aloof image. If Tiriac is protecting Becker from the press, it’s only because the cascade that fell on Becker since he won Wimbledon at age 17 has left the West German reeling.

“My life since I won Wimbledon?” Becker pondered the question. “It’s a new life. It is so different that I think it’s like I’ve had a second birthday; the life is not the same. People come up to me and want to touch me, they want to see if I am the guy they saw on television.

“Ion told me after Wimbledon, ‘Your life will be changed.’ I didn’t believe him. I had to experience it for myself. It was surprising. In Germany, everything was OK what I did. In the press, I was never bad. I never had bad behavior, I never dressed badly. I’m not Jesus Christ.”

That admission may rate a newsbreak in Leimen, West Germany, Becker’s hometown. There, Becker got his start at a tennis club his architect father designed. They love Boris in Leimen. There, 25,000 cheered Becker as he rode a motorcade through the streets, and the Boris Becker song rang out: “Boris, Boris, in Wimbledon that was a day like never before, Boris King of Wimbledon.”

Well, it sounds good in German, and they worked so hard on it. The fanfare was almost too much for Becker. It was enough to send him back to his apartment in Monte Carlo. You know the one, in the same building as Mats Wilander and Joakim Nystrom, next door to where Bjorn Borg used to live, down the street from Tiriac’s place.

Becker says he likes jet-setting Monte Carlo. “There, I am the one doing the looking,” he said. “People don’t notice me.” Becker also can’t help but like how the government doesn’t remember to take his money away in taxes.

Yes, it’s a tax haven. He’s gotten that big. It is estimated he earned $3 million in 1985, his first year as a pro.

Becker isn’t asking much of his life at the moment. For him, life is something to do while he’s waiting for court time. There is no unrest, no dissension. To say Becker is consumed by tennis is like saying Fred Astaire used to like to dance. Tennis is Becker’s only business.

“Sometimes when I don’t want to work, I say to myself, ‘You are in the top 10, your family is healthy, life is great, all you have to do is practice and play tennis.’ So I work harder,” Becker said. “I miss tennis when I’m not playing or not able to play. It is difficult for me not to play. If I am in my hotel room, I am thinking about strategy or I am playing tennis in my room.

“Tennis is fun for me. I like it and I like to practice and I like to travel. When I can’t play, the first three or four days are difficult. Then, I get used to getting up at 10 in the morning. But, soon, I know I must work again.”

It was Becker’s thick, 6-foot 2-inch frame that first attracted attention. Tennis players are the only segment of society who can make golfers look like athletic brutes. Perhaps, since white clothes flatter the frail and flabby, tennis players have let themselves go in the fitness department. Thus, Becker’s disturbing trend of athleticism concerns the tennis community.

These are the people who are tsk-tsking while Becker dives and rolls around tennis courts. Concrete tennis courts. Players are taking one look at Becker’s scabby knees and wondering how their own legs will look in shorts. Tennis says Becker should cease with the acrobatics because it might bring injury to him. What is really being said is, “You want me to do that?”

It has been noted, perhaps correctly, that if Becker’s footwork were sharper, he wouldn’t have to dive around the court to get to the ball. It has been noted that Becker is slow afoot and moves with all the grace of a school bus.

“When I hear these things, it makes me want to work harder,” Becker said. “I think I am fast enough. I am doing this because I want to. I like to dive, it helps me. These people, they don’t know me. I am fighting all the time when I am playing. I want to win.”

This winning attitude, and his intensity on court prompted reporters to label him “Boom-Boom” and “Herr Becker” at Wimbledon. “I am a sportsman, not a soldier,” Becker said at the time, irritated by political images. “I came to play games, not conquer territory. . . . I’m just a tennis player. I am not political. I know what is going on in the world, but politics is too much. I want to concentrate on my tennis.”

That’s what he’s doing. While he’s here, he has lugged his West German Davis Cup team along to get ready for their matches against Mexico next week. Becker is playing tennis and getting ready to play more tennis. And Tiriac and Bosch are seeing to it that Becker has little else to worry about.

“We have always been like a team,” Becker said. “Three people and three brains. We talk things over. I have to say that without them, I am sure I would not be in the top five.”

It’s been more than 15 minutes, but not much more. Bosch comes by and says something to Becker in German. The interview continues. Tiriac approaches. His mouth is set, but his eyes are smiling. “Come now, Mr. Becker, you must practice.”

Becker is interested in how his friend Wilander is doing in a match against Ivan Lendl. Becker, who knows only that Wilander won the first set, thinks the Swede will win the match. Tiriac has been watching the televised match and knows Lendl has taken the second set, 6-1.

“What will you bet?” Becker says to Tiriac. “I say Wilander wins. I bet you a dinner.”

Tiriac considers this. “No, I will bet you a week of dinners Lendl wins.”

Tiriac wins. The interview is over, and Tiriac and Becker walk away, punching each other playfully.

The phone rings. “How did it go with Becker,” the press liaison asks. “Was it tough?”

Becker and Tiriac, tough? Nah.