I attended one of the most baffling events of my so-called career last night, showing up at the New York Athletic Club’s Man of the Year dinner honoring John McEnroe. Soon after wandering into the cocktail reception, I found myself wondering, “Who are these people?”
I didn't recognize a soul until I finally bumped into a former TENNIS Magazine colleague, Norman Zeitchick, who was no less baffled than I. Then we encountered Andre Christopher, the editor of TennisWeak (whoops! *Tennis Week*, which, in all seriousness, is one our favorite tennis periodicals). Eventually, Chris Widmaier of the USTA joined us, and we four lonely souls did a little catching up.
Soon we were shepherded into the enormous NYAC gym, where a fine dinner would be served under fluorescent lights that provided the unique ambience of a men’s room.
Then weird got weirder still.
As I searched the dais, I saw exactly two faces I recognized—those of Ted Robinson, McEnroe’s broadcasting boothmate, and Peter Fleming. Fleming was Mac’s doubles partner in the glory years, and he made the trip all the way from London in order to make a few remarks about John. Stand-up guy, that Fleming, especially when you consider that he was officially transformed into chopped liver when in a fit of candor he uttered the celebrated line: “The best doubles pair in the world is John McEnroe and anyone else.”
I also learned that the club had invited all the usual suspects, including Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi, but I didn’t even see, oh, Joe Journeyman, much less a Jimmy Connors, Bjorn Borg, or Sampras.
That wasn't such a big deal; these guys are all busy and loathe to travel after having done it for so long. I also learned that Agassi politely declined to attend the function because the honoree had not bothered to send him a personal invitation.
I can’t blame Andre, who made a good point in absentia. If Mac didn’t feel it was important enough to contact Andre personally, why should he show up to make a speech about what great friends they are?
Then again, maybe John didn’t feel this event was important enough to make a point of asking Andre to attend. The fact that the entire function seemed to occur in a parallel universe (one without tennis) underscored that possibility.
Oh, I also recognized former New York mayor David Dinkins on the dais. He too was scheduled to speak. But Dinkens shows up anywhere they’re serving up a free meal and some choice courtside seats. He’s America’s Official Tennis Guest!
Pat McEnroe showed up, too, but it turned out that we peons at the regular tables were not allowed to set foot on the dais. So I never got a chance to say hello to Pat, or to the head of the clan, John Sr., and his ever charming wife, Kay.
I was seated at a nearly empty table with Norm, Lloyd Grove (a gossip columnist for the New York Daily News), and two very nice people who were fun to be around: Dorie Kussas, a producer for NBC’s Today Show, and Jeff Goldin, a fellow fly-fisherman and rock-and-roll impresario who owns the Hook, a rock venue in the suddenly very hip Red Hook section of Brooklyn.
The dinner seemed destined to drag on forever (did I really need to sit through the scheduled list of five testimonials—plus a video tribute—to the great Johnny Mac?), so I slipped out. I ended up in the same elevator as Mark McEnroe, the brother you never hear about, who’s morphed in about 15 years from a big lug of a guy into a man as lean—and gray—as his celebrated bother.
Mark, who’s got three kids of his own and works in finance (venture capital), was escorting Pat’s wife, actress and chanteuse Melissa Errico, to a taxicab (more on that in the future).
I reminded her that Pat and I had co-authored Tennis for Dummies, that great text to which Western civilization owes so much. Melissa confessed that shortly after she married Pat, she went out and bought another in that series of books, Cooking for Dummies.
Unfortunately, the book got burned, along with the pot roast, one day. I swear, that’s what she told me . . .
OK, so why did I write this post?
In order to be able to run this picture, of course. And in case you're wondering, that is indeed Patty "the Warrior" Smyth, dressed as a typical New York fashionista (all black). And how about swashbuckling Tony Danza!
Now click on the picture and yes—you can e-mail your thanks to Chris Chung through our contact tab.
OK, we outta here . . .