Close encounters

Does everyone have a story about meeting a tennis player?

Sports Illustrated senior writer Jon Wertheim will answer your tennis questions every Monday. Click here to send a question.

Thanks to you guys, I spent a great hour or so this weekend reading about your chance encounters with tennis pros. First, thanks to the scores of you who wrote in with various stories. You stood alongside greatness, literally, when you looked over at the next urinal to find none other than Pete Sampras. You were on line at a Florida theater when Jennifer Capriati walked in and said, "Hey, everyone! It's me! Jennifer Capriati." You ate with Todd Martin and were getting on great, only to have your clueless companion tell Todd that he had a piece of lettuce stuck in his teeth. You saw assorted married pros with companions other than their spouses. (Those pesky libel laws prevent me from repeating names.) And those weren't even the winners.

As I mentioned last week, it's amazing how a player's singular act of graciousness sticks with the recipient for years and how profoundly it affects them. But it's also striking the lengths to which some fans will go for a brief brush with fame. (Note to the autograph hound who snuck into first class and woke up Sampras on a transatlantic flight: not cool.)

Anyway, the bad news is that, despite dozens of deserving entries, I had to winnow this down to a winner and five runners-up. The good news is that we'll have another contest again soon. If I chose your essay, e-mail me your info and I'll hook you up. The five consolation prizes:

1) September 1974: Lark Walters (a member of the UCLA women's tennis team) and I were helping freshmen move into our dorm when up walks Arthur Ashe, wearing a U.S. Davis Cup T-shirt. Arthur wanted to see his old room, which (I swear) happened to be my room during my freshman and sophomore years. It was a "special" room, slightly larger and better furnished than the others. (Being a star athlete at UCLA apparently has always had its privileges.) To my surprise, Lark did not follow us, and I began to converse with Arthur about his upcoming L.A. Open matches, the Davis Cup, how much I admired him, etc. As Ashe walked down the stairs, I complimented Lark on how "cool" she had been in the presence of greatness. "ARTHUR ASHE!," she screamed as she ran/hurdled down the dorm staircase faster, I believe, than a Roscoe Tanner serve or a Jimmy Connors return.
--John McHenry, Miami

2) I met Martina Navratilova near the harbor in Mykonos, Greece. I walked by her without realizing who she was. Once it dawned on me that my hero(ine) was walking in the opposite direction, I did an about-face, hurriedly passed her and turned again to meet her head on. When she approached me this time, she looked at me, smiled and said, "Too obvious. You can do better than that." She chatted with me a bit and made my day. She even waved to me when I saw her later at Super Paradise beach. Was she topless like everyone else? I'll never tell.
--Gerry Hail, Copenhagen

3) Tracy Austin was doing the TV commentary at a tournament I was attending. I had arrived early for a semifinal match, and the stadium was pretty much deserted. I wandered into the men's room, finished doing my thing, zipped up and was about to walk out when, all of a sudden, around the corner comes Tracy. She flew in wearing a bright red dress, so professional-looking, and was obviously in a hurry. I loved that moment of realization for her. She looked at me, then a quick check to my right where she saw urinals. I could see the calculations going on in her head. Something wasn't right. Then the eyes opened wide, her hands went to her face and the words "Oh my God" were uttered as she turned around. I just laughed and said, "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." Until now!
--Lee Bryan, Atlanta

4) I took my eight-year-old niece to Arthur Ashe Kids Day in New York. All she could talk about was having Serena Williams and Jennifer Capriati sign her ball. Once there, my niece decided that she wanted to stand in front of the players' lounge in an effort to get their signatures. Of course, we saw everyone (Monica, Jennifer, Jelena, etc.), and they all said, "Not right now, after practice." My niece looked at me and said, "I'll never get their autographs because they will be too tired after practice." With a sigh she said, "Let's go." At that moment, who should we walk into but Serena Williams. My niece immediately asked for her autograph, but the gentleman Serena was with stated, "No, not right now." But Serena stopped him by saying, "No, it's OK. Come here little girl." She signed the ball and entertained my niece's conversation about how she was her favorite player. We ended up walking with Serena to the practice court. Serena may not remember this encounter, but my niece will for the rest of her life. Once we returned to Maryland, she told everyone about meeting Serena and getting her autograph. That evening, my niece fell asleep hugging that ball, stating that Serena was her idol. I was happy for my niece. It's nice to meet your idol and not be disappointed.
--Davis Shannon, Maryland

5) Hopping in the train, following the women's semifinal at the U.S. Open, I grabbed the last available seat for my ride to the city. Next to me was the most attractive young blonde I have seen since my days of following the Nordic women's ski team. She graciously nodded hello, exposing a smile brighter than the Harry Winston bracelet adorning Serena's chiseled wrist. As the train departed, she put down her copy of Venus Envy and said, "Excuse me. May I tell you a joke?" Her perfect diction belied her obviously European heritage. Charmed and startled, I said, "Please, tell." Her bee-stung lips pursed, she uttered the words "knock, knock." Intrigued, I replied, "Who's there?" Her lips arched into a glorious smile as she replied "No one, really." It was then that I realized my traveling companion was the glorious Simonya Popova.
--Karl Miller, Phoenixville, Pa.

AND THE WINNER OF A NEW DUNLOP 300G IS...

I used to work in the tennis department at Paragon Sports in Manhattan. It was in the early '90s, and every year around the time of the U.S. Open we'd have a few pros past and present come in and promote the event (and Paragon's prices, of course.) Well, on this particular day we had Bjorn Borg signing autographs for an hour. About 15 minutes in, a rather eccentric-looking man with a huge mustache, glasses and a hat came up to me and said, "You don't really think Borg was all that good do you?" I answered, "Yes." He smiled and asked me to let him know when the autograph line was almost done so he could get Borg's autograph. With about five people left on line, I called him over. When he got to the front he started insulting Borg in English and the security guards walked up to the man to stop him. Then he started speaking Swedish, pulled off his hat, glasses and mustache, and it was MATS WILANDER. Borg started laughing hysterically, and Mats was having a blast. All of a sudden, a line for Mats' autograph was out the door, and Borg waited on line to get one for himself. Mats came to me afterward to say thanks -- he told me that for years Borg and he had had this thing about playing practical jokes on each other. He also gave a few of us tickets to the Open. Wilander is the nicest pro player I've met, and this was one of the funniest days of my life. It was not only a chance encounter with one pro, but two.
--Stelio Savante, New York

Onward...

As expected, last week's rankings of the best female players elicited passionate disagreement. Some themes crept up repeatedly:

A) "It's hard to argue against putting Steffi Graf at the top ... but I still think there needs to be a rather large asterisk next to her name, given the two-plus years that were stolen from Monica Seles in her prime due to the stabbing."

Rebuttal: I don't think any of us would dispute that but for a madman with a boning knife, Seles wins more than nine Slams and Graf fewer than 22. But it's hard to devalue a player's accomplishments over a hypothetical.

B) "Come on. Chris Evert trumps Seles."

Rebuttal: Not unreasonable. My defense: If they're both in their primes, Seles wins. And while Monica, of course, has won only one Slam since Hamburg, she has been a top-five player for the better part of the past seven years.

C) "Capriati would be fortunate to be remembered as half the player of Hana Mandlikova. Must be your liberal bias all over again."

Rebuttal: Mandlikova over Capriati? I can live with that. Mandlikova, I believe, never got to No. 1, but she did win four Slams to the Capster's three. Plus, you have to give bonus points to a player who allegedly didn't invite her husband to her wedding party.

Can you tell me where I can find a copy of Geoff Grant and Mark Keil's documentary Beyond the Baseline? Keil was hired in August by Indiana University as the assistant men's tennis coach. My buddies want to see his film.
--Zach Rocha, Bloomington, Ind.

Beyond the Baseline just got accepted at the L.A. Film Festival, but the best way to get a copy is to contact Geoff directly. E-mail him at ggrantman@aol.com. Tell him a) that I sent you and b) that your Kilroy's/Nick's fund is dwindling. Maybe he'll cut you a deal.

Last week you had a question asking what state has produced the most tennis pros. How about this trivia question: What state has more tennis courts per capita than any other? The answer is Vermont. Is that weird or what? Can you think of a reason why that's so?
--Earl Strickler, Houston

The "per capita" thing gets you every time. How many people live in Vermont? Eleven. A lot of wealthy East Coast types have second homes in Vermont, some of whom no doubt have courts. Of course, there's also that inextricable link between tennis aficionados and maple syrup lovers. Speaking of New England ...

Do you think there will ever be another WTA tournament added somewhere in New England? The Pilot Pen appears to be such a great success, but we are desperately craving another tournament. One is definitely not enough.
--Stephen Stolfors, Belmont, Mass.

I wouldn't set my heart (pronounced: hat in that cloying accent) on it. But don't complain. At least you have New Haven. Pity the folks in the Midwest who have nada. No Chicago, no Detroit, no Minneapolis, no Sheboygan, no nothing. (Though the Cincinnati event, which will remain intact, we're pleased to report, might be become a joint event soon.) There's nothing in Texas, the Rocky Mountain state or the Pacific Northwest, either. (Don't be surprised if Portland gets a Tier II one of these days: The combination of tennis-loving Paul Allen, being in Nike's backyard and the year-end championships down the coast a ways is intriguing.) The WTA, understandably, doesn't want to spread the schedule too thin with events, nor does an international tour want too many events in one country. Still, you'd think major cities like Boston, Chicago and Atlanta could at least get the sanction to hold a Tier IV and try to build it up.

I know I'm being a little premature (then again: Nadia Petrova!?!?), but don't you think Martina Hingis would make a wonderful tennis commentator? She's incredibly candid, seems to study tennis rankings and new developments better than anyone else, and I feel like she would be amusingly snarky in dissing some of her younger competitors. What do you say? She'd be a heck of a lot more interesting than some genuinely sweet, but genuinely stiff commentators I could mention (you know who I mean).
--Billy Herrold, Anchorage, Alaska

You're absolutely right. Hingis, bless her heart, is still uncorrupted by PR pablum and athlete clichés. Lord knows she would be as disarmingly candid and forthright in the booth as she is in press conferences. But, as you note, her real strength is her perceptive tennis mind. Not only does she see things that elude all other players, but she also has an encyclopedic memory for scores, rankings, seedings, etc. Ask her about an early round match from five years ago and she will give a point-by-point synopsis.

Incidentally, the difference in players with regard to memories of past matches is always amazing. If Hingis is on one end of the continuum, Anna Kournikova is on the other. In Montreal, Kournikova beat Saori Obata and remarked that Obata was a little tricky because she had never before seen her play. A diligent and dashing Canadian tennis writer looked it up and, lo and behold, 18 months earlier, Kournikova had beaten Obata in Tokyo in a match that ended 6-4 in the third set.