Serbian siren

Wednesday, 23rd January 2008

Taki lives the High Life

Long before my time, Gussie Moran was the reigning queen of looks — I used to practise with her after she had retired — and, although Gussie was a sexpot, she had nothing on the Serbian siren. When I was competing during the mid-Fifties and early Sixties the women players were not lookers, except the two Budding sisters from Germany, Edda and Ilse, but both preferred top-ranked players rather than lowly old me. The one lady I had my eye on was Margaret Osborne duPont, a great doubles player and Wimbledon doubles champion many times, but she told me I was much too young for her and ‘certainly much too wild’. Now that I’ve finally found my dream female tennis player, I have as much chance of landing her as a Brit has of winning a grand slam.

Which is not to rub it in, but if Andy Murray had fewer adviser-hangers-on he might make it through a round or two. I write this on Sunday, one week before the final, but Nadal looks to me to be the winner over Federer this time. The Serbs, of course, are my favourites, because their game developed while the brave war hero Bill Clinton was bombing the hell out of their small country. Ivanovic was then hitting against the sides of an empty swimming-pool. Last year she was the fourth seed and finalist in the Roland Garros tournament. Adversity breeds toughness, so if Britain wants sporting heroes she should declare war on Uncle Sam.

And speaking of winners, my prediction is that ten years down the road the top four English football teams will have only black and Latin players. Such is the greed of, say, Chelsea, that their manager Avram Grant is loudly complaining about the timing of the African Cup because it deprives Chelsea of some of its best players while they compete for their countries. This is amazing cheek. It would have been amazing even back in the good old days of imperialism. Why should Africa change its schedule in order to suit an undeserving Russian oligarch?

Mind you, sport sure ain’t what it used to be. Watching professional footballers who make millions and in their leisure time get drunk and beat up weaker souls is enough of a turn-off. In America, NBA basketball players are infamous for breeding children out of wedlock and beating up on those who conceive them. An American football superstar has had nine children with nine different women (most of whom are suing him for child support), but when the African–American puts on his helmet and runs on to the pitch, the mostly white stadium goes bananas. Give me the Bobbies, Charlton and Moore, any day. Or Jaroslav Drobny, Budge Patty and Vic Seixas, Harrison Dillard, Mel Patton and Mal Whitfield, and my favourite Bob Mathias. All strange names to you youngsters, I’m sure, but great champions in their time. Radix omnium malorum est amor pecuniae, or something like that, meaning the love of money is the root of you-know-what.

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Sharon Reid

January 24th, 2008 11:57pm Report this comment

You said it all perfectly. Nidzovic is a siren and a very nice one. Fingers crossed that she does beat Sharapova. (Nadal unfortunately as you will know lost last night - but he was very respectful about it). And as for the ghastly Bill Clinton - again perfectly said. Let's hope his equally ghastly wife does not make it to the White House. And no - I am not a Serb. I am a New Zealander.

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