All Is Forgiven, He’s Unforgettable

At Wimbledon five years ago, after Jimmy Connors was eliminated early, I made the mistake of asking when he intended to retire. He gave me one of his best Elvis sneers and said: “I don’t know, but you’ll be the first one I call.”

Must be because we are both getting older, but I am really pulling for Connors. The only difference between us is, he’s getting better.

That match of his Monday against Aaron Krickstein was an all-timer. On his 39th birthday, Connors labored for five sets in front of the happiest New York mob since Paul Simon played Central Park. And Connors played such fabulous tennis, he might as well have had diamonds on the soles of his shoes.

We get so jaded in this business at times that I am almost ashamed to admit I was cheering aloud for Connors during the final tiebreaker.

The guy was dripping more than perspiration. He was dripping charisma. There isn’t anybody in tennis at the moment who remotely comes close to generating the excitement of Jimmy Connors, and I hope he keeps playing until he’s as old as Nolan Ryan or as fat as George Foreman, or both.

I refuse to call him Jimbo, because it makes him sound like an elephant. Besides, nobody his age should be called Jimbo. I wouldn’t have referred to President Carter as Jimbo. I wouldn’t have referred to James Stewart as Jimbo. Just plain Jimmy is fine.

And although I can’t help but wince when he abuses an umpire the way he does, again, maybe I’m getting more cynical, because it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. It’s like fighting in hockey or violence in boxing--after you object to something for 20 or 30 years and nothing changes, eventually you begin to bore yourself.

So, as long as Connors kept his language relatively PG-rated and didn’t, you know, try to swat the guy’s Adam’s apple with a two-handed backhand, I guess it was all right.

Besides, how could anybody not laugh at a guy who, a moment later, is winking at a TV camera and letting the entire world know that the whole thing is just a motivational put-on, like something out of pro wrestling?

I mean, if they’d let him, Jimmy Connors would come onto the court wearing a cape. Maybe walk off after the match with one of his entourage covering him with the cape, a la James Brown.

Connors played TeamTennis this summer, as did Martina Navratilova and others, and if they really want to get that sport some attention, they will provide the public with a clearer choice of heroes and villains. One team should wear light clothing, the other dark, and the latter should also consider masks.

After that Wimbledon fiasco, Connors went into a mini-rampage.

“What’s your hurry?” he asked, practically shouting. “Why are you in such a big hurry to get rid of me?”

Nobody had asked him why he didn’t retire. He had been asked when he planned to retire.

“What business is it of yours?” Connors howled. “Who are you, anyway? When are you going to retire? I’ll retire when I decide to retire, and until then it’s none of your . . . business!”

Lord, I love my work.

Anyhow, we cut to five years later, and Connors is out there plugging away on the French Open’s clay, spanking ground strokes as hard as he can. And when the match is over, it is plain to see that he has become the comeback player of the sport, even though he never actually went away.

And now, here he is at the U.S. Open, with 20,000 people singing, “Happy Birthday,” and Arsenio Connors is out there pumping up the volume all over the courtyard.

If he wants to win the Open, well, it’s fine by me. I root for Ryan, I rooted for Foreman, I’m rooting for Mark Spitz, I’m rooting for everybody who’s getting better instead of older. I even rooted for Burt Reynolds to win an Emmy, and he did. Younger people can always win the good stuff later.

Furthermore, it is high time that some major arena arranges a charity tennis match in which Connors and John McEnroe are locked inside a large cage, with the entire cash prize going to whichever player manages to get out alive.

At one point during his match, Connors said: “I feel better than I look.”

Funny, I usually do.

But I also know that I will feel even better if Jimmy Connors never retires from tennis. I hope he plays until the Japanese invent robot umpires.