Rob Bogaerts / Anefo
When he wrote the following diary entry in 1973, 30-year-old Arthur Ashe had already carved out a distinguished place in sporting history, not just as a formidable tennis player, but also as a pioneering African-American athlete in a predominantly white sport. With the US Open and Australian Open already under his belt, he was now competing in the South African Open, breaking barriers as the first Black professional to participate amidst the stark racial divide of apartheid. Although he lost in the final to Jimmy Connors on this day, Ashe’s competitive spirit remained undaunted, and two years later he would go on to defeat Connors in a remarkable victory at Wimbledon, becoming the first and only Black man to win the title.
The Diary Entry
Monday, November 26 – Johannesburg
This is my tenth final of 1973, but only my first since the summer.
Connors beat me the only time we have ever met, in the finals of the U.S. Pro at Boston in July, but I played quite poorly that night and still lost a close match. There are certain inherent advantages I enjoy in our match-up, so I have a fair right to be confident, even if Connors has played brilliantly down here. My best strokes go to his weaknesses. My backhand is better than his forehand, so I’ll play him down the line a lot, or right down the middle, and refuse to give him the angles he likes. Also, because he likes to work with speed, I’ll try to vary the pace on my shots. I expect to attack his second serve, and lob him a lot, because his overhead is lacking. I’ll hit over the ball too. Okker’s underspin set the ball up in this light air and let Connors control it too well.
The center court was packed again. All records are being broken, and the total attendance won’t fall too far short of 100,000. The crowds today were completely behind me too. It was even so embarrassing at one point in the second set that I had to plead with the fans not to applaud when Connors made mistakes. Much of the response is probably misleading, of course. Cheer for the black boy and assuage your guilt feelings. Some of the same people who supported me so warmly on center court today will tomorrow behave despicably toward some poor black man. And the South Africans have no special lien on that behavior. Madison Square Garden’s best Knick fans will act the same way. These people live in two different environments, and I can’t explain it except to say that the human is a creature of paradox. I think of the pathologist who cuts up some stiff and then washes his hands and comes home and pops into bed with his wife.
My first reaction to Connors was how strong he is off the ground. This is his recognized forte, of course, but I was even more impressed than I expected to be. Still, his serve was nothing special, and I had him to break point in each of his first three service games. Unfortunately, I got the break only in the last of those games, and by then I was down 1-4; he broke me twice. I chased him the rest of the set, but never quite caught him: 4–6.
I also let him get me down in the second set at 2-1 when I reached rock bottom on my serve. But at last I began to work an occasional lob in, and also in here, I found that I could hit with him off the ground. I broke him quite easily for 4-all and went ahead 5 4 and 6-5.
At 30-all on his serve in this game, I threw up a fine lob, caught him going the wrong way and had the set point, but he pulled off a beautiful backhand cross-court that just got past my racket, and then he served his way into the tie-breaker. That was a disaster; I lost the first six points and 7-2. And after that, you could feel that the air had gone out of the match. The third set went to Connors 6–3, with only one break, but I never was really in it. They will have to wait another year for a black man to be champion of South Africa.
Further Reading
Ashe’s diary of the 1973-74 tennis season was published in 1975 by Houghton Mifflin with the title, Portrait in Motion: The Arthur Ashe Diary (with Frank Deford).
Also…
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