The Tournament

by John Clarke

  ‘Nothing,’ she smiled.

  The fifth set consisted of Picasso hitting the ball even harder, thereby lengthening the pauses generated by Beckett. He achieved everything except a victory and Beckett won the match by successfully resisting defeat.

  There will also be drinks from the upper shelf in Ireland and doubles at the BBC tonight following the performance of Louis MacNeice, who has never got past the first round of a tournament before. ‘Normally I’m playing against Auden,’ he said. Today he played classic tennis to see off the Italian Carlo Levi.

  ‘I’m on some sort of medication,’ said MacNeice. ‘So how I got up today I don’t quite know.’

  Levi was philosophical. ‘Louis is underrated,’ he said. ‘Normally he’s playing against Auden.’

  It is not clear what MacNeice is on medication for. ‘They won’t tell me,’ he said. He is undergoing tests and so far only problems associated with pot-holing and liver dysfunction have been ruled out. ‘If I knew what the problem was,’ said the silken Ulsterman, ‘I wouldn’t be on medication and I wouldn’t be in the same half of the draw as Auden.’

  There were some difficulties late in the day during the match between the elegant Indian Jiddu Krishnamurti and the pigeon-chested Englishman Little Bertie Russell. Krishnamurti doesn’t hold with concepts such as ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘in’, ‘out’ or ‘fault’. He also refuses to concede that the aim of the game is ‘to win’. Russell believes the game’s administration must be ‘transparent and democratic’. Both players agreed that balls would not be called ‘in’ or ‘out’ or ‘fault’ but ‘good shot’, ‘bad luck’ and ‘sorry’. They agreed that the umpire for their match must come from a dissident faction in an African nation not dependent on international capital.

  As a consequence their match began ten minutes late with a great deal of mutual goodwill and a Nova Scotian in the chair. There was some suggestion that Nova Scotia is not in Africa although this was dismissed by Krishnamurti who does not accept the term ‘in’. The Indian played ‘good shot’ tennis in the first set, strayed into an amount of ‘bad luck’ in the second and lost some precision in his serving for rather a lot of ‘sorry’ in the third. The match was therefore ‘won’ by Russell, who is travelling nicely and now goes on to meet the Spockster in what even the mystical Indian is prepared to concede might be the next round.

  Tonight’s Centre Court match was again fraught with an increasingly familiar tension. Russian authorities want victories but feel threatened by the players who achieve them.

  Ukrainian Sergei Prokofiev was national junior champion at the astonishing age of eight. He looks tentative and watchful.

  ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘I am a tentative and watchful person.’

  Is he worried about anything?

  ‘Nothing in particular.’

  Has he been happy playing here?

  ‘I love playing anywhere, yes.’

  Is it true that, while he was playing, his room was searched?

  ‘I’m not sure about that. I might have left the shutters open. It is possible a breeze entered the room from below and blew all my stuff out the window and up five floors and in through the window of the suite where the Russian Tennis Federation are staying.’

  At the other end tonight was the man known on the circuit as the Count, the oldest player in the tournament. Leo Tolstoy was Russian Army champion as a young man, won the French two years before his opponent today was born and went on to rewrite the record books. He twice won the Grand Slam, both times taking men’s and mixed doubles titles at all four majors (with Warren Pearce and the late Anna Karenina). He fought for better conditions for players and spectators, was instrumental in the development of youth programs and, in a move which ultimately brought about the break-up of his marriage, recently announced that he would no longer be receiving appearance fees, tournament winnings or other income from any source. The Centre Court crowd included dignitaries from all over the world, including Mahatma Gandhi and the French president. Tolstoy is adored here in France even though he has never lost to a French player and regards the French, as a nation, as ‘vermin’.

  Sergei Prokofiev wasn’t just playing the Count, he was playing the history of the sport. He lost the first two sets but took the third 6–2 with some of the most commanding tennis we’ve seen all week and big old Leo must have wondered how many Prokofievs there were. In the fourth set Tolstoy opened the throttle in the eleventh game to break Prokofiev and then served out the match 7–5. An hour later Prokofiev was called to a crisis meeting with the Russian authorities and was dropped from the Davis Cup squad.

  The day finished with thirteenth-seeded Austrian handful Sigmund Freud hustling well against Pablo Casals, although not everyone agreed with his description of Casals as ‘a big girl’. Casals, he said, was operating within a structure provided by his own formative experiences, highlighted by the memory of seeing his first coach, his mother, playing in the mixed doubles with his father, probably in Spain. Casals pointed out that his first coach had been a friend of his grandfather, a fact dismissed by the Doc as ‘wrong’, and that he had never actually seen his parents playing. And that, if he had, it would not have been in Spain but in Catalonia.

  ‘Missing the point,’ said the Doc. ‘You don’t have to have seen your parents in the mixed for the prospect of it to prey on your mind.’

  ‘I really must go,’ said Casals.

  ‘You big girl,’ said the Doc.

  Day 19

  * * *

  Auden v. Armstrong • Waller v. Crane • Duchamp v. Isherwood • van Gogh v. de Kooning • Pasternak v. Stravinsky • Nabokov v. Lardner • Kafka v. Runyon

  * * *

  A single image dominated this afternoon. It was all over the television and will sell newspapers around the world. Wystan Auden stands at the net holding aloft the hand of Louis Armstrong, the man who had just knocked him out of the tournament. In the match of the round so far, Auden put up a mighty fight to hold the American out until late in the third set when he started cramping. But take nothing from Armstrong. He came out steaming, hit the ball at the speed of sound, banged his serve in deep and covered the court like a blanket. When Armstrong hit a forehand winner down the line to win the match, the Englishman walked around the net, put his arm around the American and then led the applause.

  The crowd can’t get enough of Louis Armstrong and Fats Waller and their joy continued when Waller came out an hour later and dispatched his countryman Stephen Crane. Marcel Duchamp didn’t look like dropping a set against Chris Isherwood and goes on to meet Mandelstam, who was all over Sartre like a rash in their encounter and is shaping as a danger to shipping.

  The much awaited meeting of fellow lowlanders Vincent van Gogh and Willie de Kooning was a new sort of tennis altogether. Van Gogh dragged himself from point to point as if the world had forgotten his birthday. At 3–5 in the second set he got two bad line calls and had to be convinced to continue. When he did, he served from out near the sidelines, tossing the ball higher and belting it at phenomenal speed with both feet a metre off the ground.

  Many people were alarmed by this and some began to leave. ‘I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing,’ said one. ‘This isn’t sport,’ said another. ‘He’s mad,’ said a third. ‘I’m not interested in looking at that sort of thing.’

  For those who stayed, however, the impression will live long. The van Gogh serve became unplayable; de Kooning got a racquet on the odd one but most of them went past him like trains in the night. The man in the red beard was in deadly form. If he keeps playing like this he will be around for a very long time and will have a towering influence. He lost control of his service action late in the final set and gave himself a nasty clip on the ear but otherwise he finished full of running.

  It got better. André Malraux was in fine form against the Italian Enrico Caruso, who said afterwards that he felt the warmup period should be extended from ten minutes to two and a half hours.

 
At 11.30 am, Simone de Beauvoir came out and gave Fanny Brice a tennis lesson. After the shock loss of Sartre forty-eight hours earlier, it was as if she were playing for both of them.

  ‘You vile bitch,’ said Nelson Algren from the players’ box.

  In Russia the name Pasternak is synonymous with the game itself. If Russia could play tennis, they say, it would play like Boris. Almost all his tennis has been played in Russia, for Russia, against Russians.

  On Court 3 this afternoon, Boris was beaten by his compatriot Igor Stravinsky, who has played in Europe and America, in Australia and Africa. Pasternak said later that the result would be held against both of them. Within hours, both were dumped from the Davis Cup squad and many Russian supporters were called in for ‘currency offences’.

  Also out today was Vladimir Nabokov. Russians attribute his victories to his Russian-ness. Americans say he wins because of his individual genius. Russians say there are plenty of geniuses in Russia and Nabokov is a product of the national tennis program which used to be run by his uncle.

  Nabokov has had more written about him than most players competing at this event. Photographs of him with a butterfly net have been beamed around the world with descriptions of his play as ‘taut, important and sublime’. None of these things have ever been said about Ring Lardner, who was photographed after the match holding a tennis racquet.

  Franz Kafka got a very big fright tonight and, if anyone wishes to witness an unusual spectacle, Franz Kafka getting a very big fright would be among the more rewarding of those currently available. He came out against Damon Runyon and found himself in all sorts of trouble. On his day Runyon is capable of knocking over the tall timber. His court speed is terrific and his volleying deadly. After the first set, Kafka must have wondered whether Runyon was ever going to leave him alone. In the second set Kafka hustled, he chased everything and he rushed the net whenever he could.

  Untroubled by these events, Runyon has a good look at everything Kafka sends over and then hauls off and hits it very hard with old Mr Racquet.

  At 2–5, Kafka sat in his chair, drenched in perspiration, his legs exhausted and his mind racing. Runyon’s friends gave every indication of having engaged in short-term investments bearing on the result and with their man two sets up and 3–0 in the third set they were helping themselves to plenty of goulash and some ‘special’ coffee provided by a citizen named Toots. Kafka was up against it in spades.

  He steadied, broke Runyon with some superb returns to get to 2–3, served four aces and broke Runyon again to get it to 4–3, held serve and broke Runyon again for the set.

  In the fourth Kafka was untouchable. His final shot was a ball picked up from deep in the back corner and whipped down the line. Runyon simply smiled and walked to the net. He said later he thought Kafka would become ‘a very prominent player indeed’, that he had enjoyed himself more than somewhat and had done ‘nicely’, even picking up a little scratch on a business proposition involving the 3.20 at Longchamp.

  Day 20

  * * *

  Millay v. Rand • Escher v. Schweitzer • Einstein v. Thurber • Conrad v. Faulkner • Jung v. Hesse • Shaw v. Keaton • Ford v. Orwell

  * * *

  Officials were confronted with a protest tonight over the result of the Edna St Vincent Millay v. Ayn Rand match, won by Millay. In a detailed submission Rand claimed ‘these points (see schedule 2) were scored incorrectly within the meaning of the Rules. They should be replayed, witnessed and scored accurately and I will win them.’

  ‘It is unthinkable I should be knocked out,’ Rand told reporters. ‘I am clearly the best player and I will fucking win. Simple as that.’

  If anyone has a lazy hundred, a small bet on a Davis Cup victory sometime soon for Holland might be worth a thought. The bookies don’t think they can do it but cut this out and stick it on the fridge. They’ve got four players in this tournament: Mondrian, who went out in the first round to Casals but was playing with two broken ribs, de Kooning, van Gogh, and Maurits Escher, who was in devastating form against the German Bert Schweitzer today.

  Schweitzer is no slouch and he didn’t do much wrong but at one stage he served to Escher’s backhand and Escher hit a beautiful forehand winner for 0–15. Schweitzer’s next serve was to Escher’s forehand. Escher hit a backhand winner for 0–30. Schweitzer served again, curving into the body. Escher somehow fended it back and Schweitzer hit a cross-court drive into the ad court and was passed by a shot coming back from the deuce court. He did his best to understand but it was beyond him and the crowd went very quiet. A few people cleared their throats and there was some fiddling with programs. ‘I didn’t know where I was,’ said Schweitzer. ‘He was playing angles that weren’t there.’

  Also big with the angles was Albert Einstein, the electromagnetic wizard with the high-pitched laugh. His approach was almost casual against big Jim Thurber today. He turned up late because of what he described as ‘some sort of mix-up with the time’. As a result the match began twenty-five minutes after it officially ended, although Einstein said they could finish on time if they got on with it. He quickly got himself out to 6–0 and 4–0. Half an hour later he found himself at 6–0, 4–6, 0–6 to an opponent who was checking line calls, not because he questioned them, but because he couldn’t see the ball. Einstein stepped up the pace and took the fourth set but Thurber, who said later he had a number of dogs watching the event on television, peeled off a series of unplayable returns to go out to 5–2 in the fifth. Einstein pegged him back but he is a very lucky boy and seems to be vulnerable to an attack which is purely defensive. ‘Jim,’ said Thurber’s wife Helen, ‘I think we’ve all done very well. It’s time to go home.’

  Sixth seed Joseph Conrad was this afternoon trying to work out what had gone wrong against the doughty Bill Faulkner. Conrad stuck to his game plan but he lacked imagination and, when his game plan wasn’t working, he stuck to his game plan.

  ‘I didn’t feel sharp at any stage out there today,’ said Conrad. ‘Faulkner is very good and I couldn’t seem to get anything going. I don’t know anymore. You come to these tournaments. There are players you’ve never heard of. There are women. It used to be an honest struggle for muscular Christians. Now it’s just chaos.’

  There have been questions about Faulkner’s fitness and he often struggles to find form early in a tournament. ‘Everybody struggles,’ he says. ‘There would be no point to any of this if it weren’t a struggle. Joe said it used to be a struggle for muscular Christians. I think it’s a damn struggle for everyone. But I believe we will prevail.’

  Carl Jung very nearly followed Conrad out, having to pull out all the stops against Hermann Hesse. Both players are cult figures on the American circuit and a full house of younger fans watched wide-eyed as the Jungmeister eventually got on top of the Hermanator.

  If George Shaw is to be believed, his opponent today, the undemonstrative American Buster Keaton, is ‘one of the most remarkable players in the world’. Shaw spoke to the press before their match because he had ‘another engagement’ afterwards. He said he thought he would win because Keaton’s opponent would be harder for Keaton to deal with than Shaw’s would be for Shaw. He said he intended to control the match from the back of the court but to come in on Keaton’s backhand and to keep the ball low at all times.

  ‘Keaton is completely unfazed by anything overhead and is at his best when he seems most exposed,’ he said. ‘If his position looks hopeless he’ll run away with the match and my only hope is to beat him in a contest he thinks he can win. I’ll need to concentrate.’

  It’s hard to know which was more impressive, Shaw’s play or the remarks he made about his intentions before he started. He was right about Keaton, right about the match and right about himself.

  Ford Madox Ford, one-time hoofer and a long-time regular on the European tour, might have hoped for an easier second-round assignment than George Orwell, the player many regard as the pick of the English crop at this tournament.
From similar backgrounds, both players began their careers outside England. Ford kicked off in France and Orwell in Burma and Spain where he got to the quarters in the Spanish Open and pulled out when he discovered that many of the Spanish amateurs were actually German and Russian professionals. Opposed to the administration of the game in Germany and disenchanted with its management in Russia, he was critical of the international governing bodies and the role of the media. There are many tournaments to which Orwell is not invited, and others which he refuses to enter.

  Plenty made the trip out to Court 6 this morning just to see what he looked like. Be it known, he looked very good. He will be the subject of detailed study across the channel tonight at Ladbrokes and in other academies of likelihood.

  Round 3

  Day 21

  * * *

  Mann v. Satie • de Beauvoir v. Draper • Malraux v. MacNeice • Derain v. Yeats • Einstein v. Steinbeck • Keynes v. Kafka

  * * *

  The third-round singles matches began today in a schedule which was to include men’s and women’s doubles and mixed-doubles matches but players turned up this morning to find that everything had changed.

  ‘All doubles matches have been postponed,’ read the announcement, ‘and will commence to coincide with the fourth round.’

  This is a mark of respect to the German player Karl Liebknecht, whose body was found this morning in a laneway not far from the main concourse. He had been shot in the back of the head. Here to play in the mixed with Rosa Luxemburg, Liebknecht was active in his opposition to German tennis administration.

  Luxemburg faced the press this morning, looking drawn but determined. ‘Karl was murdered by his own countrymen,’ she said. ‘The police will find he was killed by German bullets, because he fought against the domination and manipulation of German tennis by one group. This is not happening only in our country. Many other brave people will also soon be killed by the administration in their own countries. We could still stop this but we won’t. The press won’t let us. Watch how many newspapers print this story.’