V Is For Velocity

Whatever Happened To Service With A Smile?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I always obey highway speed limits. Always. But let me tell you about the time I was once clocked at 147 km per hour. Yes, that's right. At 147 km an hour. That's 91 miles per hour.

But I wasn't driving.

I was serving - a tennis serve.

You see, it was during the Australian Open tennis fortnight some years ago. While I checked out the tents that fringed the playing arena, my attention was drawn to one zone where any member of the public could rock up to have the speed of their service measured by the same mechanism that functions courtside for the stars.

From memory, you just paid a couple of dollars and you got three serves – and the pleasure of seeing your speed recorded on a huge digital screen.

Just the sort of callenge I love - and yes, I love a challenge or three.

I leant how to play tennis by hitting against the garage wall when I was a little fella. I went to Wimbledon from 1981 to 1987. Okay, so it was not in the role of competitor - I went there as a tennis writer, covering the tournament that I dreamed about as kid.


I've even got a couple of tennis trophies to my name. So I'm not just a mug player with two left feet. I can actually play. But allow me to get back to the story, instead of meandering.

It was a long line. It was a hot day. I didn’t have much time before play got under way at Centre Court. But as a clay courter with a decent serve and a (slightly) erratic baseline game, I just couldn’t resist the lure of a finite figure. So I stood there in the queue that didn’t really seem to be moving.

I was a bit self-conscious for the first serve. Pressure, y’know. All those people watching. Okay, so there were a couple of hundred spectators. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the digital screen flashed 142. That slow?

The second time around, the ball toss wasn’t perfect. I should have caught it and tried again. But equal measures of pride and stubbornness fuelled my attempt to make amends. Hmmmm. 135. Not good.

I really concentrated on the final serve. Racquet head steady. Knees flexed. Clean toss. Rotate at the hip. Wham. Surely that was up around the 170 mark. But it was only 147.

Dang speed cameras. Never work correctly when you want them to. Not happy when they say you're too fast. Even more disgruntled when they say you're too slow.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

String Quartet

Thank Goodness I Don't Have Tennis Elbow

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This sequence was shot some weeks ago, using the wonderful SMC Pentax-DA 1:2.8mm macro lens. I thought these would be perfect for this week's "string" theme, especially since I used to cover Wimbledon as a tennis writer.

You know the strings that criss-cross your tennis racquet? There was a story that Bjorn Borg's Donnay racquets used to be strung to such high tension that it was not uncommon for them to snap in the middle of the night, even before he had struck a ball with them.

Every grand slam tournament has its own racquet stringers and I once read an interview with a man who did the job at the Australian Open. He mentioned that players' representatives simply used to drop the racquets off to him, but occasionally one or two of the stars would drop by to thank him for a job well done.

The racquet in these shots is just a standard Wilson - and I took the shots in our front yard, not in a studio. I simply wanted to test the lens in normal conditions. That's why I started out by shooting the tiny knot that shows the end point of the racquet-stringing technique.

I thought the lens was really good, because it even showed up specks of dust on the racquet frame, so then I started shooting the mid-section of the stringed surface.

That's when I noticed something that I hadn't spotted with the naked eye. The magnificent lens was actually picking up minuscule pieces of fluff from the yellow Slazenger balls that I use.

Look carefully and you'll even see the light-and-dark pattern of the synthetic material that is used to string these racquets. And when I sat down to write this post, I recalled an interesting piece of tennis trivia. You see, yellow balls were introduced to make it easier for television viewers to follow the path of a ball on their screen.

So here's a trivia question, specially for you. Do you know when Wimbledon finally switched from white tennis balls to yellow tennis balls? Scroll to the bottom of this post for the answer.

(Trivia answer: Wimbledon introduced yellow tennis balls in 1986.)

Visit TNChick, the creator of Photo Hunt.

Seeing The Light

I Can See Everything, Thanks To My Ray-Bans

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I learnt a lot in my years as a tennis writer. Having dreamed about Wimbledon as a child, I never could have imagined that I would one day sit at Centre Court, covering the tournament as a fully accredited journalist. My first Wimbledon was in 1981, when John McEnroe finally dethroned Bjorn Borg and my last Wimbledon was in 1987, when Pat Cash thwarted Ivan Lendl in the men's singles final.

Like I said, I learnt a lot. I even learnt about road safety.

How so? Because I learnt how Ray-Bans can actually help you when you're on a dark desert highway (did I just say that?) or on a highway in really bad visibility or in appalling weather conditions.

How on earth did I learn this at Wimbledon? Simply by being observant. Even though the tournament is held in the European summer, characterised by the long evenings, there is often rain and cloud and the light can get rather murky, especially in the late afternoon. The first year I covered Wimbledon, I noticed that the linespeople really had to concentrate on their task even harder in cloudy conditions. But a few years later, I noticed that they all sported Ray-Bans, in bright sunshine and in overcast weather alike.

Curious, I asked why this change had taken place. From memory, I was told that it was official policy of the All-England Club. All linespeople were issued with Ray-Bans and they would wear them at all times. I was told that the quality of the Ray-Ban lenses would actually enhance the clarity of vision in bad light. A crucial white line on the fading grass of the hallowed courts would look clearer through the lenses than with the naked eye.

So the next time I was on a highway in bad weather - returning from Niagara to Toronto, I tried the experiment and immediately I could see the logic. Ever since then, I have always had a pair of Ray-Bans in my car.

So today, as I sat down to write a post for Sky Watch Friday, I uploaded some great sunset photos that I took recently. Then I thought about some of the comments and emails from people who had read my ABC Wednesday post J Is For Journey, in which I mentioned that I had donned my Ray-Bans ("sunnies", as we call them here in Australia) when I drove home from Sydney to Melbourne this week.

And at that point, I decided to scrap the post with pictures of the beautiful colours and the striking hues across the sky, in order to share this road safety hint that I learnt during my career as a tennis writer.

Maybe you have a great road safety tip that you would like to share .... even if you didn't learn it at Wimbledon.

Trivia Pur$uit

The first Wimbledon tournament was held in 1877, to raise money for a pony-drawn roller for the All-England Club's croquet lawns. The pony roller can still be seen near the stop netting on Centre Court - because it is too wide to remove through the exits.

Finding Bjorn Borg In Kathmandu

Scoop Interview With A Shy, Retiring Star

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

It's the weekend of the Wimbledon finals, so there can be no better time to tell this story.

In January 1983, a young tennis writer looked disbelievingly at his newspaper. Bjorn Borg, having played six consecutive Wimbledon finals, had suddenly retired. Just months earlier, the 24-year-old tennis writer had covered Wimbledon for the first time, watching Borg, with eleven grand slam victories, lose the All-England title to John McEnroe.

Borg then tried to persuade the Association of Tennis Professionals that he needed to cut back the number of tournaments. The ATP said if he chose to do so, he would need to qualify for the grand slams. But Borg baulked at this. He wanted guaranteed entry into the four grand slams. The ATP would not budge. So Borg did the unthinkable and retired.

The young tennis writer blinked in disbelief at the headline in the morning paper. Borg was gone. Literally and metaphorically. He was going from Bangkok to Kathmandu for R&R. Despite the early hour, the journalist rang his managing editor to ask permission to travel to the Nepalese capital, Kathmandu, immediately.

``What are your chances of an interview,'' asked his managing editor.

``Truthfully, about one per cent,'' confessed the youngster.

``Get on a plane,'' said his boss. But that was just the start of the saga ...

Wimbedon referee Alan Mills with Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe.

There were no e-tickets back then, no online reservation system. The journalist scurried to get on the Thai International flight that would be carrying Borg from Bangkok, via Calcutta, to Kathmandu. He might be able to do the interview on the flight. Nope. No luck. The flight was full. There was already a long manifest of standby passengers.

Instead, he booked an Indian Airlines flight later that afternoon. Having cleared Customs in Kathmandu, he went straight to Borg’s hotel, only to be thwarted again. Borg, his girlfriend, his coach and friends had gone to the upmarket Timbertops retreat.

Undeterred, the journalist walked briskly to the Timbertops booking office where a booking agent said she could not possibly divulge confidential information about the resort's clients. The kid explained the importance of his mission. He already knew Borg was at Timbertops. Now he needed to get there himself. Eventually, the booking agent said Borg and his entourage were returning the next afternoon.

The kid asked if he could get a flight to Timbertops. No, said the agent. The flight was purely a courtesy arrangement for Timbertops guests. And besides, the daily flight had already left and returned. But he was given unprecedented permission to board the next morning’s flight and return on the same plane, giving him access to Borg.

He was up at dawn the next morning, hours before the departure time. But he could hear the heavy rain drumming on the hotel roof. That was not a good sign. Sure enough, at the airport he was told that the light plane was grounded because of the weather. Delayed? No, cancelled altogether. Thwarted, he could do nothing but wait for Borg’s return (by bus) to Kathmandu. That night, he missed Borg by less than a minute, arriving at the tennis player's hotel as he and his travelling companions left for a night tour and a meal.

Next morning, half an hour before Borg left the hotel to fly out, the journalist took one last chance, ringing Borg directly. Yes, said Borg, he would do the interview.

The world exclusive was picked up by every international newsagency. But the journalist still meets people who remember his magazine feature about the interview that almost never happened.

Donnay, the brand made famous by Borg's endorsement of their racquets.

Trivia Pur$uit

Austrian tennis player Hans Redl played at Wimbledon between 1947 and 1956 despite losing an arm during World War II. He served by tossing the ball up with his racquet.

Trivia Pur$uit

Between 1973, when Bjorn Borg made his Wimbledon debut, and 1982, when he lost to John McEnroe in his sixth consecutive singles final, the Swede won 41 consecutive matches at the spiritual home of tennis. In that decade, only four people ever beat Borg at Wimbledon - Roger Taylor, Ismail el Shafei, Arthur Ashe and finally, McEnroe himself.

Swearing-In Ceremony

McEnroe Was Such A Well-Heeled Champion

After I posted the earlier picture caption about my gardening boots (see below) I remembered a great ad slogan for Nike, back in the days when John McEnroe was carving up every opponent on Wimbledon's historic grass courts. I was a tennis writer at the time and jeepers, it was a great era to be reporting a sport I had played since I was a kid. I guess I got to see the golden era, the rivalries between McEnroe-Borg-Connors, Navratilova-Evert-Graf, Lendl-Becker-Edberg at close quarters. Of course, the most outspoken was the superbly talented McEnroe. And the Nike slogan was so simple yet so memorable: ``John McEnroe swears by them''.

Trivia Pur$uit

And now, just for something a little bit different! Instead of giving you snippets of trivia as I normally do, I want to make this segment a bit more interactive. So, this time I’m going to ask you a question instead. Here goes, folks. Who was the first German-born player to win the Wimbledon men’s singles title? Leave your answers in the comments section and I’ll give extra points for witty responses.