The Rosetta Stone

Howdy, everyone. I was happy to see so much good content when I logged onto my email yesterday, after another of those long days on the road. I went down to Miami on Monday to spend some time with Cliff Drysdale for a story that will run inTennis magazine's May tribute to 40 years of Open tennis (the era began in 1968, when Wimbledon made the landmark decision to allow "professional" tennis players to compete with amateurs, thereby ensuring that the very best players would take part in the very biggest of events).

Most of you know Cliff as the urbane, unobtrusive voice of ESPN's tennis coverage, which was about the only non-Grand Slam viewing game in town for most U.S. fans for many, many years. Did you know that Cliff worked the very first ESPN tennis telecast, in Week 1 of the now towering cable sports giant's existence?

And did you know that Cliff was one of the Handsome Eight who helped advance Open tennis by signing to play on Lamar Hunt's historic World Championship Tennis tour? How about his role as a founder, as well as the first president, of the ATP? That he was enmeshed in the controversy over apartheid and the Davis Cup? A booth-mate and good friend of the late Arthur Ashe?

Cliff is not merely a tennis commentator; he's like the Rosetta Stone of the Open game(where is the International Tennis Hall of Fame when you need it?).  I'll cover much of that territory in the magazine in May, but this was a thoroughly pleasant assignment. And that was partly because I go back a long way with Cliff. We both know where some of the bodies lie buried and probably even helped toss dirt on some of them.

Cliff picked me up at Miami International around midday on Monday, and promptly drove me over to the Brickell Tennis Club, one of the facilities with which he is involved. Over the years, an opportunity he stumbled into accidentally has turned into what he calls "a good little business." That would be Cliff Drysdale Tennis, an entity that manages tennis facilities, providing everything from teaching pros to club design and layout. It's an especially valuable service for high-end hotels and resorts, to whom tennis programs and facilities are less of an investment and profit center (hence the viability of the business for CDT) than an enticement for attracting guests and putting "heads in beds" - and signatures on room-service tabs and bills for other amenities.

We had a bite of lunch at a Thai-sushi joint, downtown, and then drove out to the Ritz-Carlton on Key Biscayne, which is a CDT facility. To Cliff, CDT is also another component in the ongoing battle to popularize and boost the profile of tennis. He all but throws his chest out as he talks about the good feeling he gets when he sees courts full of eager players - young and old, male and female, doing drills in a tennis clinic. All of Cliff's activities are connected to what became his life's work - advancing the tennis culture.

Those of you who, like me, dislike the ubiquitous Cyclone fences that surround most tennis courts (I always wonder, Hey, where's the concertina wire, guard tower, and giant searchlight?) will appreciate that Cliff likes to design his courts without them. Instead, he prefers shrubs and hedges around the perimeter of the court, and pale cotton netting hung from strategically placed pillars the color of buckskin. The overall effect is vaguely "classical" without crossing the line to Caesar's Palace contemporary. The netting keeps balls on court as well as any fence and or windscreen, but because the mesh is so open it all but disappears when seen from any distance. It's a strikingly nice alternative to fences. Who woulda thunk that there's a better mousetrap in this practical area?

"That combination is kind of our signature," Cliff said. "It make the courts much more appealing, don't you think?"

We went on to Cliff's condominium at the nearby Ocean Club. His apartment, about 15 floors up, has a killer view of open ocean on one side, and Biscayne Bay and downtown Miami on the other. The apartment is uncluttered and furnished with contemporary furniture. Cliff was twice married and presently lives with a long-time companion, Jill Olcott, who works in real estate. His significant extended family is represented by a discreet a handful of strategically placed photos, but there isn't a single tennis trophy on display, no Me With Rocket, or Me With Jack Nicklaus photo anywhere. Speaking of Jack - he is shortly flying Cliff and two other buddies up to Augusta National in his private jet, to treat them to a round of golf. It does not suck to be Cliff Drysdale.

"Jack really loves tennis," Cliff told me. "The best grass courts ever played tennis on are the ones at his house in northern Florida."

Some of you might be surprised to learn that Cliff is now 66. He's still clear-eyed, tall and lean, and when he folded himself into an armchair it was as languidly as a big cat. We talked for a long time, about  every subject under the sun. Sophisticated and articulate, he's a man on an even keel, emotionally.  Perhaps it's because he has known and overcome sorrow; Cliff lost his first wife, Jean, a fellow tennis player immortalized by Gordon Forbes in the wonderful memoir A Handful of Summers. Some of you know that Jean was Forbes' sister. Cliff's daughter, Kirsten, developed a rare degenerative spinal condition that left her paralyzed - a hard hand for a woman who's loved riding horses all her life, and still does.

Cliff grew up in South Africa, in a solid middle-class family, back when the tennis courts there were almost all grass (now, hard court is the official South African surface). He developed his two-handed backhand spontaneously. At the time, before the era of Connors, Borg and Evert, it was not nearly the popular shot it is now. It seems a good example of his individualistic nature, which was also manifest  in his decision at an early age to somehow get to the U.S. - something he eventually did on a tennis scholarship.

Cliff's trademark as a player was a white golf glove that he wore on his right, serving hand. Add his tighty-whitie shorts, trim build, and matinee-idol looks, you can see how a simpler world than our present one was Cliff's oyster. It's a wonder he didn't end up a dissolute playboy. But we're all entitled to regrets, right?

Seriously, though, Drysdale's major impact probably was the leading role he played in the struggle waged by the players and a burgeoning commercial (read "professional") insurgency against the International Tennis Federation. Like any other establishment, the ITF was reluctant to relinquish its hold (at the time, many said "stranglehold") on the game. As an activist and then first president of the newly formed ATP, Drysdale was on the point in a slew of political battles, the most significant of which was the Wimbledon boycott of 1972. It was, in retrospect, the showdown that shattered the ITF's attempt to exert more control over the players and events than it had a right to claim.

After our formal interview, Cliff and I did a few errands and then went to have dinner at Le Bouchon du Grove, a favorite with the tennis crowd (including French players) during the Key Biscayne tournament. Cliff is a regular there, and treated like a pasha. The parking lot attendant, a pleasant Colombian gentleman, excitedly told Cliff how he had found a back - way back - issue of World Tennis magazine, which included a Davis Cup report with a prominently featured photo of Cliff. In the restaurant, Cliff introduced me to the entire staff and we had a terrific meal. We talked about many things, including women.

After dinner, Cliff drove me to the airport. About 45 seconds after he dropped me at the American terminal, my cell phone rang. It was Cliff. He wanted to add a thought he had, right after dropping me off, to our conversation about wives. Then he told me something thoughtful and touching, but there was nothing surprising about that.