Honest John : Seven Years Removed From His Best Tennis, McEnroe Is What He Is--Volatile, Masterful and Soulful

When the bark of the autograph hounds can no longer be heard, when the racket of his tormented genius has been put down for the day, this is the John McEnroe the public rarely sees.

Painfully honest and bright. Gentle and polite. Funny and sunny. And -- dare we say it? -- sweet.

We love van Gogh because he painted beautiful pictures, but he painted in private, where nobody could see him break a canvas over his easel, so angry was he at his imperfection. Given a ringside seat, we might have cringed and complained that van Gogh didn’t whistle while he worked. We might have been repulsed by his lack of self-control.

Unfortunately, revulsion is what some people feel for McEnroe. He was both shy and young when his genius was uncovered, but unlike van Gogh’s, the nature of McEnroe’s craft was unforgiving: It required him to paint his brillant strokes in public. And when he raged, at his imperfections and those of others, the hot lava from his volcanic court eruptions blotted the beauty of his tennis. And for some, forever blackened his name.

Pity. Because although the boorish behavior McEnroe has exhibited on court is undeniably part of him, it is a very small part. But it is the public part, and therefore, the part with which he is most readily identified.

Some critics have surmised that McEnroe’s outbursts are a calculated attempt to upset his opponent. No way.

“Histrionics smacks of something that’s contrived -- gamesmanship,” said Arthur Ashe, ex-Davis Cup captain. “It’s not that. John can’t control himself at times. He is his own worst enemy.”

Today, seven years removed from his last U.S. Open and Wimbledon titles, McEnroe, 32, tries to be less so. He is married to actress Tatum O’Neal and an obviously thrilled father of three. But even as a supposedly wiser and more mellow McEnroe has attempted to rein in his court conduct, there is little evidence his tennis demons have been exorcised.

After a court tantrum at the Australian Open in January 1990, McEnroe became the first player thrown out for misconduct in the tournament’s 85-year history and the first player ejected for misconduct in any Grand Slam event since pros and amateurs began playing together in 1968.

By all accounts, McEnroe is a devoted father and husband. Despite his avowed purpose to recapture as much tennis magic as he can in his remaining time on the tour, Tatum and the kids, not tennis, are a runaway No.1 in his life. Although he has been embarrassed by some of his court behavior, although fatherhood and maturity have heightened his desire to set a better example, McEnroe is quick to admit that, “I’m not radically different. You just start to smooth the edges. I never felt bad about the way I was as a person.”

When you get right down to it, why should he? The only thing sneaky or deceptive about McEnroe is the variety of ways he hits a tennis ball. To judge him, or any athlete, by his court persona is not fair. Many public figures work hard on their image, but look below the surface and what you see might not be too pretty. McEnroe is quite the opposite. The closer you get, the better he looks.

Ashe: “The question I get asked more than any other, is ‘What is John McEnroe really like?’ Behind the question is, ‘Is he really like that?’ No, he isn’t. But then you’re at pains to explain, to make it sound convincing ... He has very solid instincts about life in general. He has a sharply defined sense of fairness. He’s a stickler for principle that he believes in. And he’s outspoken to a fault, bordering on the undiplomatic.”

Invariably, McEnroe is linked with Jimmy Connors, 38, the other great American male tennis player of the era. Despite Connors’ aversion to playing for his country -- he played Davis Cup only in 1976, ’81 and ’84 -- and penchant for crude court gestures, Connors, unlike McEnroe, has always known how to play to the crowd. When Connors cursed a linesman, it was always under his breath. When Connors began acting like a jerk on court, he’d make a loud joke, to make the crowd feel a part of things, get them on his side.

McEnroe didn’t indulge in such manipulative niceties. He was van Gogh painting flowers by the riverside. Alone. Absorbed in his art. Unmoved that people were watching.

Mary Carillo, a childhood friend of McEnroe’s, and now a tennis television analyst after a brief career on the women’s pro tour, says, “Connors was always much more aware of the circumstances. John played despite the fact there were 18,000 people watching, not because of it. John’s whole attitude was, ‘Shut up and let me play.’ My favorite quote of John’s is when he said he wanted to take tennis to a level that the average fan didn’t even understand. He wanted to try to take it to a level they couldn’t relate to.”

He did more than that. So amazing was McEnroe in his prime, he did things even other great players, like Ashe, couldn’t relate to.

“John,” said Ashe, “is the most talented player I’ve ever seen. Not only could I not dare to do the things he does, I wouldn’t even dare to try them. Some of the best moments of my tennis career were watching him play.”

Watching McEnroe was certainly more pleasurable than playing him. Slicing and dicing with a touch to kill for, McEnroe overwhelmed opponents with his tennis genius. He certainly overwhelmed Bjorn Borg, driving him from his No.1 ranking and into retirement after defeating him in the 1980 and 1981 U.S. Open finals.

But even as Borg was doubting his reason for living if he could no longer be No.1, McEnroe was doubting his own reason for living if No.1 was all he could be. All this inner torment, with nothing to show for it but money and trophies and strangers pawing at him? This was happiness?

Until his tennis demons drove him to tour sabbaticals, until his realization that he needed much more drove him to love, marriage and fatherhood, until the new graphite rackets drove top-level tennis away from McEnroe artistry and athleticism toward pure Schwarzenegger power, John McEnroe -- yes, even without opening his mouth -- was tennis’ equivalent of the greatest show on earth.

And he didn’t have to work overtime to get there. When other top players began hiring fitness trainers and nutritionists, when Connors and Martina Navratilova were extolling the virtues of the Haas diet, McEnroe was asked if he, too, was on the Haas diet.

“I’m on the Haagen-Dazs diet, “ McEnroe said.

And he was, too. He wasn’t arrogant about it. Sometimes, he seemed almost a trifle embarrassed. While other players were adapting rigorous three-hour daily training sessions, McEnroe, with his pasty face and stick figure, got his extra exercise playing doubles with Peter Fleming. They beat everyone. But the 6-foot-5 Fleming, a big server but an otherwise unremarkable singles player, never lost sight of his part in the equation. In their heyday, Fleming was asked who was the best doubles team in the world?

“John McEnroe,” Fleming said, “and whoever he plays with.”

It’s not that way now. McEnroe, the last of the Top 10 singles players to regularly play doubles -- he loved the teamwork and camaraderie -- doesn’t play doubles any more.

He’s not even sure how much longer he’ll play singles.

“It depends what week you ask me,” he said.

Beginning with a victory in the United Technologies Classic at the Hartford State Armory in 1978, McEnroe has won 77 singles titles, including four U.S. Opens and three Wimbledons. But with his primary focus on spending time with Tatum and their children (Kevin 5, Sean 3, Emily 3 months), he sometimes finds it hard to get consistently motivated, the way athletes striving to recapture greatness must. He’s down to winning about one tour event a year and hasn’t won a Grand Slam in seven, although he did have a marvelous run at the 1990 Open before losing in the semis to Pete Sampras, the eventual champion.

“I don’t believe I’m ever going to be on top (No. 1) again,” McEnroe said. “That’s an illusion, to believe that. That wouldn’t be a dream come true, because I don’t even dream about it. I know I’m not the player I was, day in and day out, and that bothers me every day of my life.

“I really believe I should be closer to the level I was at the (1990) U.S. Open, more consistently. But when I go home and do (non-tennis) things, my interest sort of wanes. You have to put more time in with less results, and that’s hard to accept. You have to accept losing to people you have no business losing to, but it’s all for the better cause (of improving).”

Unlike some athletes, who know and care little about their sport’s history or about other sports, McEnroe is an avid fan. One summer, New York Post sports writer Maury Allen, working as the official scorer, denied Dwight Gooden a no-hitter by ruling a questionable Mets fielding play a hit. The next day, when McEnroe walked into his Open post-match press conference and espied Allen in the audience, McEnroe shouted, “How could you call that a hit?”

Unlike the Rickey Hendersons, who act as if the world begins and ends with them, McEnroe not only has a great sense of history, he has heroes. The quiet Australian, Rod Laver.

And Borg. Even when McEnroe was young and most likely to explode, he tried never to misbehave during a match with Borg, because he respected him so much. McEnroe loved the thrills and competitive heights their classic Wimbledon matches forced him to. He loved having a great champion like Borg to measure himself against. A lesser champion than McEnroe might have said good riddance when Borg bolted from tennis. A lesser champion would have thought, ‘Great, this makes everything easier for me.”

McEnroe did not think that at all. He was crushed. He felt spurned, like a jilted lover. How could Borg leave? They had such a great thing going. Not just for the sake of the rivalry and their own competitive juices. For the sake of the game.

The good of the game has always meant a great deal to McEnroe. Even now, as he waffles while pondering his retirement, it’s clear McEnroe is weighing not only what his leaving will mean to him and his family, but what it will mean to the game.

“Tennis is not the most exciting sport in the world,” McEnroe said. “It needs a little oomph.”

Where he can, McEnroe provides that oomph. Not as an ego trip. As a responsibility. The game, he says, gives top tennis players so much, especially what McEnroe considers to be obscene amounts of money. The least they can do is give something back.

Charity work? That’s one of the few subjects McEnroe isn’t quick to expound on. Says Ashe, “He does a lot.”

The most visible way McEnroe gives something back is by playing Davis Cup. While Connors was coming up with one excuse or another for not playing for the U.S., it was McEnroe who almost singlehandedly restored the U.S. Davis Cup team to some of its former glory. McEnroe, who won both his singles matches as the U.S. defeated Spain in the Cup quarterfinals in June at Newport, R.I., has played Davis Cup for 11 years. His match record (singles and doubles) is 56-9.

“John will go down in history as America’s greatest Davis Cup player,” said Tom Gorman, team captain. “But it’s the little things he does that brings the team together.”

When McEnroe and Brad Gilbert won their singles matches to give the U.S. a 2-0 lead over Spain, a victory by the doubles team of Rick Leach and Jim Pugh would clinch. Although the U.S. was a shoo-in to win one of the singles matches on the last day, thereby clinching the victory, McEnroe said he really wanted Leach/Pugh to win so they would feel part of the victory.

This is the man the Brits call McBrat?

Growing up in Douglaston, an upper middle class section of Queens, N.Y., McEnroe was an all-around athlete. He loved the camaraderie of team sports, especially soccer. He misses that in tennis and thinks athletes who grow up just playing tennis are “weird.” By playing doubles and Davis Cup, McEnroe recaptures some of the joys of team sports. He finds it mind-boggling many young American tennis players have such a cavalier attitude about playing for their country.

McEnroe didn’t play Davis Cup in 1985 or ’86. He and Connors played Davis Cup together in 1984, losing to Sweden. Ashe says Connors’ conduct -- not McEnroe’s -- was so out of line that the USTA drew up a Code of Conduct future team members had to sign.

Connors never played Davis Cup again. McEnroe -- “that’s one of the few times I was innocent” -- refused to sign the Code. After it had been abolished, he rejoined the team. In July 1987, at the Civic Center, McEnroe, just back from a seven-month sabbatical, played and lost a 6-hour, 39-minute match to Germany’s Boris Becker. It was the longest -- and greatest -- match in Davis Cup history.

It tells you something about McEnroe that when he is asked his biggest regrets, the first thing he says is, “I wish I had risen above the politics” (of the Code) and played Davis Cup in those prime years.

“It was a black eye on American tennis,” McEnroe said wistfully. “At the time, Jimmy and I weren’t even really speaking. I wish Jimmy and I could play (Davis Cup) now, because we get along so much better now.

“It’s a special feeling to play Davis Cup any time. I’m just sorry I missed out on some of those matches. I went through my own growing period. If I’m called now, I’m going to play. Period. Unfortunately, I may not be getting the call. But I’m available. Before, I got the call every match. I’m glad I’m in this position now. I can go out with my head high if I never play another match.”

He’d love to win one more Grand Slam event. His performance at last year’s Open -- he said he blew his chance by getting “overexcited” -- renewed those hopes. Putting it all together for a two-week run, winning one more biggie, that he still dares to dream. But whether he does or doesn’t, how will he know when to quit?

“It’s a tough call,” McEnroe said. “Who’s to say Bob Hope should be on every NBC show that exists? I think he’s on because he’s still alive. Show people, you love that (longevity), in a certain way. But on the other hand, people sort of resent it. Timing is essential. But there’s something to be said for respecting the elders, and learning from them.

“It’s difficult to walk away from something you’ve been doing 25 years. You know that, the rest of your life, you’ll never have the same moments you had (in tennis). That’s hard to deal with.

“At a certain point, you have to realize that by staying, you’re hurting your own psyche. In a way, you hurt the way people feel about you. You have to cut your losses. When people get onto something, they don’t let go. (What if) people in the press start commenting, ‘He should stop, he should stop.’ It shouldn’t have an effect on me, but it may have an effect on me and my family. In sports, the desire to hang on is extremely strong, because it’s such a great way to make a living.”

He sure doesn’t need the money. He’s richer than some Third World countries. And besides, the money was never the big thing with McEnroe. He cost himself hundreds of thousands of dollars by playing Davis Cup when he could have been playing more lucrative -- but meaningless -- exhibitions. Early in his career, South Africa offered him a $1 million guarantee to play a tournament there. McEnroe, because of his oppositon to apartheid, said ‘no.’

“He turned them down on principle,” Ashe said, admiringly. “It wasn’t a negotiating ploy. And he didn’t lose any sleep over it.”

Like most fathers of three preschoolers, McEnroe loses sleep over his kids.

“They’re more interested in where the nearest gift shop is,” McEnroe said, “how many toys they get each day.”

For McEnroe, the gifts are those moments when he flashes the form that made him a legend.

“There are (only) moments, they’re not every game,” he said. “That’s what happens when you get old. I used to feel on top of it from the first point. Before, I could wake up five minutes before the match and get right into it. At a young age, it’s your whole life.

“I’m more accepting of it (his court limitations), but I’m not happy about it. On a mental level, to keep doing it and doing it. I’m sure when you write a story, after awhile, there’s a grind to it. You say, ‘Wait a minute. Am I doing as well as I once was?’ There are so many things to do in the world. You’ve been doing one thing your whole life. It’s hard to make that transition. It’s that fear of the unknown. You have a tendency to hang on too long.”

McEnroe’s scorching honesty and openness, combined with his unique talent and tormented court behavior, make him one of the era’s most intriguing athletes. But off the court with McEnroe, unlike Connors, confrontation is not a one-way street.

Connors, raised by his mother and grandmother with what Ashe says is an “us against the world” mentality, is very defensive, rarely lets his guard down. Ask him why he is the way he is and he’s 80-20 to bite your head off. On and off the court, Connors delights in portraying himself as a street-fighter and people lap it up, much to the amusement of Ashe and other pros.

McEnroe’s racket may not be quite the magic wand it once was, but he still has a poet’s soul. Unusual among male athletes, McEnroe speaks with a heartfelt love for his parents, his wife and his children that goes beyond the usual cliches. There is a softness, a romance in his voice, as he speaks about how they’ve helped him grow.

“To have two sons, and then a daughter,” he said, “it’s such a beautiful mix.”

And when the mix isn’t so beautiful, when there are problems getting along, as McEnroe once had with Becker, McEnroe sought out Becker so they could sit down and work things out. The only way John McEnroe will talk behind your back is if you insist on turning it.

But you know what one of the best things about McEnroe is? He’s not stuck on himself. He realizes that he, like all of us, is a work in progress. Unlike many people with his fame and bank account, McEnroe looks at himself in the mirror -- hard -- and when he doesn’t like what he sees, he tries to do better. Would a jerk do that?

He tries to tone down his court behavior. Ten years ago at a Davis Cup match in Cincinnati on an otherwise quiet Sunday morning, captain Ashe, the very pillar of proper decorum, was so furious with McEnroe he told him if he didn’t stop acting up -- immediately -- the U.S. was going to forfeit his match. Ashe calls it, to this day, “the absolute worst moment I ever had in my tennis life.”

McEnroe behaves better these days. But sometimes, he slips.

“In tennis, there’s not a lot of interesting personalities, and they dwell on the people who are,” McEnroe said. “I look at that as a compliment. I set a good example in most respects. Not all respects.”

Lamenting the cookie-cutter kids who seemed to be peopling the tennis circuit, Connors once said, “Borg didn’t copy anybody. I didn’t copy anybody. McEnroe certainly didn’t copy anybody.”

He got that right. As perhaps the most talented -- and the most publicly tormented -- tennis player ever, John McEnroe stands alone.