But Seriously

by John McEnroe

  10

  “At first we couldn’t be establishment, because we didn’t have any money”

  Phil Knight, Nike CEO

  At the start of 2007, I flew to Portland, Oregon, to do a tennis clinic with Pete Sampras at the Nike HQ. Nothing particularly unusual in that, you might think, and you’d be right. What made the day a little different was that Nike’s founder and chairman, Phil Knight, was going to be on court with us. Phil had been a well-known tennis nut, but more recently golf had taken his fancy, and of course basketball was his company’s bread and butter. So the chance to get Phil Knight thinking tennis again—even if only briefly—was one the Nike tennis team was eager to take.

  My story with Phil goes back a long way, all the way back in fact to my first Wimbledon in 1977. Phil saw me play as a raw eighteen-year-old and got in touch with my dad just before I turned pro. Nike was a relatively new company at that stage and made only tennis and track shoes, but Phil—a graduate of Stanford Business School and a born entrepreneur—must have felt that I could potentially provide some useful exposure and credibility for his brand.

  He liked that I was not a safe, “establishment” athlete, and I wasn’t scared of saying what I thought, even if that got me into trouble. The fact that Ilie Nastase and Jimmy Connors had been the first tennis players to sign with Nike, back in the mid seventies, says a lot about the sort of athlete Phil was interested in doing business with, especially in those early days. I duly signed an endorsement deal to wear Nike shoes (the clothing deal would come later). The first slogan they proposed to me was “McEnroe’s favorite four-letter word,” but my dad vetoed that one. We settled on “McEnroe swears by them.”

  Phil’s an unbelievably smart guy who developed a brand that everyone recognized and many wanted to wear. He’s covered all the bases in tennis, with players ranging from the saint-like Roger Federer to current bad boy Nick Kyrgios paid to wear that well-known logo. As one of the early adopters of Nike’s “Just Do It” attitude, I feel I have a particular bond with Phil, not least because a few years after we faced each other across the net at Nike HQ, he agreed to become the first sponsor of my tennis academy.

  When Phil built the big Nike headquarters in the Portland suburb of Beaverton in 1990, each one of the eight original buildings was named after a Nike-endorsing athlete. I have to admit it was pretty cool to be one of those original eight, especially as Phil’s own office was in the “John McEnroe Building.” I guess it just shows, if you stick around long enough, you become part of the sports establishment, whether you want to or not. Nowadays, Pete Sampras also has a building in that headquarters so I’m no longer the lone tennis guy on the campus, but I have been under contract longer than any other athlete—even longer than Michael Jordan, although I wish I’d had his deal.

  As for Pete, I didn’t actually play him on that occasion in Portland. But I had to play him later that year in three exhibitions on three consecutive days across the US. Given that Pete is twelve years younger than I am, I was obviously somewhat concerned about these matches.

  As it turned out, Pete was cool to me when we played those exhibitions. He’s not one of those guys who has to win every single point. He doesn’t have that kind of intensity about his every move. Even when he was playing at his best, as long as he won that final point, Pete never looked as if he cared too much if some of the others went to his opponent. Pete’s the sort of player where you could lose to him 6–4 and not remember doing anything wrong, but he’d just have that one great return game, he’d pick it up on exactly the right points, and however well you’d played the rest of the time, that would be it. He did that to everyone, throughout his career.

  As a pro on the regular tour, I lost to Pete all three times I played him, including once in the 1990 US Open semis, the year he won his first Grand Slam title. I hated playing Pete because nothing I ever did seemed to bother him, and that made me feel even older and even slower than I already was. On the seniors tour, I have probably played him fifteen times and beaten him maybe three, so not a very good record, but hey, it’s better than zero. In the end, those exhibitions in 2007 went fine. Although I lost all three, I know it looked and felt OK, and I didn’t even need to have the “don’t make it look too bad” discussion because he’s always been so relaxed about that sort of stuff.

  I’m a great admirer of what Pete’s achieved in the game. Even though we function in totally different ways, we get along very well. The same is true of my brother Patrick and me. As well as playing doubles together, we now both do quite a lot of commentating for ESPN, and in May of that year, we got asked to do a radio show together called Mac and Mac in the Morning.

  There were two big morning radio shows in New York at that time, and people tended to listen to one or the other: either Howard Stern, who had a whole range of guests on, from hookers to politicians, and whose shows got a little crazy; or cowboy-hat-wearing Don Imus, who while also a loose cannon is more conservative and politically oriented. Both still have a big cult following—particularly Howard—and have been going for years. My dad, for example, loved Imus’s show, which is one reason why I would never listen to him—Imus that is, not my dad, though I didn’t always do a whole lot of that either.

  Patrick and I weren’t aiming to break Don and Howard’s airwaves duopoly right from the start, but when we were asked to fill in on WFAN for that 6–10 a.m. morning slot, we thought it would be worth a shot, and a potentially interesting thing to do down the road. The show itself was a good experience for both of us. I was still being talked about as someone who could maybe do something in that arena, possibly with a regular sports radio slot, but in the end we only did it a couple of times. Partly because Patrick was too busy with other commitments and partly because, if I’m honest, it was back to the eternal dilemma for me. The bottom line was, did I actually want this as much as I should—or would need to—in order to make this my main job? The short answer was no.

  A while later, I was offered a drive-time slot in the afternoon, and it was close to happening at one stage. But the same kind of dilemma arose every time. If I did the morning drive time, it would mean getting up at four in the morning, five days a week, which would mean never having breakfast with my kids. If I did the drive-time 4–7 p.m. slot, that would mean bailing not only on dinner with them but also anything else they were involved in, like a basketball game or a school function. That’s a lot to miss out on. Most working people don’t have any choice about those kinds of time commitments, but given that I didn’t have to take the gig in order to pay the bills, it felt a bit selfish. Plus, it would have gotten in the way of all the other things I enjoy doing.

  Aside from taking on a five-day-a-week, all-encompassing job for far less money than I was currently earning, I’d also be reading commercials every few minutes—“Go to Goodyear for your tires! Eat at McDonald’s! Go lose all your money in Atlantic City over the weekend at one of Donald Trump’s casinos!” Not that I’m snobbish about commercials. They’ve paid the bills for me over the years, and I’m grateful that companies still feel they can use my image to market their products.

  In 2007, I even shot a couple that, given the way most commercials you see totally suck, I thought were passably amusing. The first one was for an Australian cell phone company. The premise was that you could get a connection even in an elevator, which, in those days, was not only a novel idea but seemed like a good one. In this commercial, supposedly set in Australia, I get into an elevator while doing a deal on the phone, but as I’m about to close out the deal I get cut off. I immediately throw the phone down on the floor of the elevator, screaming (you guessed it) “You cannot be serious!” The guy who’s in there already thinks he’s recognized me from somewhere, and as I stride out angrily, he goes, “Wait a minute… Australia… tennis player… Pat Cash!”

  It seemed to go down well, maybe because, as with all the commercial work I’ve done, I’d been involved in the script, seeing it in advance to make sure it not on
ly sounded like me but also hopefully showed I didn’t take myself too seriously. One of the best commercials I’ve ever done was shot in August of that year. I flew to London from LA to do an ad with Björn Borg for Tesco, a chain of British supermarkets. We filmed for a couple of days in an actual store but, because of opening times, we could only shoot from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. That was perfect for me because it meant I kept on LA time with my body clock, so I never got jet-lagged. It was as if we were filming during the daytime for me and I then slept during the actual daylight. Very weird, but it worked.

  The commercial itself involved us being in a store and competing up and down the aisles for the same things, trying to outrun each other to reach them and then get to the checkout first, the premise being that the supermarket chain wants to help us to do our shopping fast and efficiently. The final shot is of Björn beating me to the front of the counter, then smugly holding up a silver foil plate and waving it in my direction like he’s holding up one of those Wimbledon trophies. I get it, Björn, so you won a few more than I did.

  That ad was right up there with Mr. Deeds or Curb Your Enthusiasm as a positive experience, because Björn turned in a really funny performance and the whole thing was great to shoot. I thought we’d do a few more together after that, but for some reason, other than one commercial in Sweden, we never did. Too bad, because it’s always good to work with him.

  Generally, nowadays, I try to do one decent commercial a year, rather than indiscriminately doing anything that comes my way. I don’t want them to be totally lame—I’ve done a few of those in my time, believe me—and I want to be involved with a product that has enough credibility that I’m not embarrassed to be taking the money—ideally a product that I would actually use myself. I know that, with chain stores, for example, there are many ways to look at the whole subject: for example, you may be hurting the little corner grocery store, but you’re also potentially helping busy people to find a way to shop that’s convenient for their lifestyle.

  I hope I haven’t spread myself too thinly over the years when it comes to commercial endorsements. You’ve got to check yourself sometimes when commercial decisions start to take on their own logic. At the higher levels of business, there’s a strange kind of crossover territory where show business, sports, charity and advertising all meet, and you’re not quite sure which currency you’re dealing in. A good example of that would be a trip I went on a few years later to Richard Branson’s ultimate holiday resort, Necker Island.

  I was invited along with a bunch of other players, including Tommy Haas and the Bryan brothers. Plus Novak Djokovic—somewhat incredibly in the latter case, considering he was winning Slams by then and he should’ve been in training for the Australian Open. It must have been the last thing he’d felt like doing. But Novak had had this event in downtown New York for his own charity right after that year’s US Open, and he’d cut some sort of deal with Richard Branson where he would auction himself off to play with some people on Necker Island, and the money would go toward his foundation.

  I’d gone along to the charity evening to support Novak and at one stage the bidding for Novak got stuck with two guys on a six-figure sum. So Novak—who as well as being one of the game’s good guys, is also one of its smartest operators—started thinking fast on his feet, just like he does on court. “John,” he yelled out to me at my table, “if you come along as well, you guys can both pay and you’ll each get to play against the two of us. How about that?”

  When you put it like that, Novak… I’ve got to give him credit, though, because he returned the favor and came and played an exhibition match for free at Randall’s Island in 2014 to raise money for my tennis academy. As I said, he’s a good guy.

  So we all arrived on Necker Island, which is a real pain to get to. I guess that’s the point—it’s not exactly somewhere that scheduled flights go in and out of, even if you have your own airline. You have to fly to the British Virgin Islands (which is funny when you think about it, as they’re one of the few things around there that Richard Branson doesn’t own), then take another plane, then take a boat or helicopter to this tiny island.

  There were probably a hundred people at this event, plus fifteen pros. A few of us, like me, Novak and his now-wife, Jelena, were staying on the island, in one of Richard Branson’s guest villas. Everyone else was coming in just for the day, because it was only a short boat-ride from another island nearby. Everyone had paid a lot of money to play with us pros and to go on a trip to Necker Island. The point is that the money goes to charity. The players, including me, also get a decent flat fee to show up, which I donated to my tennis foundation. So as far as I was concerned it was a win-win.

  The tennis itself was unbelievable, but not in a good way. We were all in teams, pro-am, round-robin, and there were all these crazy rules. Like if you were aced, you had to have a shot of tequila. That meant guys got pretty drunk because some of them weren’t too good with the racquet.

  At one point some guy I’d never met before came up to me and said, “I’ve got four hookers. Are you interested?” “Hey man, I’m married. I’m good.” He looked at me like, “Why would being married mean hookers were out of bounds?” It was that sort of day.

  Even Novak was aced a few times, even though God knows he tried not to be. So he had to play along with the whole tequila shots thing. I think he was a little stressed by the end because the Australian Open was only a month away, and he needed to focus. This trip was not exactly ideal preparation but, credit to the guy, he was being pretty loose and friendly. He managed to down the odd shot and, even though he’s famously gluten-free, he didn’t demand everything be gluten-free. I believe he did actually have a french fry, but God forbid he should eat a piece of pasta. (And just for the record, Novak did go on to win that year’s Australian Open.)

  Richard Branson was there throughout. To me, he’s totally nuts, but in a good way. He’s got all these ideas, to the extent that he makes me feel quite boring in comparison. During that trip he was so full of energy and enthusiasm—“Hey, John, I’ve got this world expert coming in on Saturday to discuss coral-reef preservation, if you want to hear about that.” “Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but, OK, that sounds like a good idea.” Next thing you know, you’ve signed up for it because he’s such a convincing guy.

  When it comes to tennis, let me tell you, Richard is pretty serious. He’s very passionate about it and when he’s on court—as at all other times, I suppose—he totally means business. I guess he and Phil Knight didn’t get where they are today by having their service broken.

  11

  “It’s tough, it’s tough… it hurts”

  Roger Federer

  The French Open of 2008 ended with another Rafael Nadal win over Roger Federer, but this time the match was so incredibly one-sided—6–1, 6–3, 6–0—that it was almost embarrassing to watch. Rafa had also beaten Roger in the final the two previous years but each time he’d at least lost a set to him and both matches were competitive. This time, it was so bad that afterward Roger felt he had to apologize to the crowd for only managing to win four games.

  When Wimbledon came around, you can bet that Roger wanted to send a loud and clear message to Rafa that, “OK, you’re the king of clay, but hey, my reign on grass is still going strong.” Trouble was, when they came up against each other in the final, Rafa wasn’t in any mood to respect the plan. Björn Borg was watching in the royal box and whichever way the result fell, one of his incredible records was at stake that day: if Roger won, he’d be beating Björn’s record of five straight Wimbledon wins. If Rafa won, he’d be the first guy since Björn in 1980 to win at Roland-Garros and Wimbledon back to back. And no, I can’t for the life of me remember who Björn beat in that Wimbledon final.

  With Nadal having lost to Roger the previous two years—in five sets in 2007—this final was lining up to be a fight to the death. Sometimes, as with the French Open that year, these finals don’t live up to the hype, and it’s difficul
t to know why. This one was the opposite—and then some.

  Both guys had had smooth paths through to the final, including easy semi-final wins. Roger had cruised past Marat Safin—a former world number one and future Hall of Famer—while Rafa had done the same with the German, Rainer Schüttler. I was relieved to see Rafa going through, because I’d warmed him up on court before that match. The fact that I was a lefty and Schüttler was a righty didn’t seem to bother Rafa, even though lefty and righty spins come at a player differently, so it’s unusual to warm up against a “wrong”-handed player.

  Remembering Agassi’s verdict after he’d lost to Nadal on grass in 2006, and having watched Rafa a bunch of times through the commentator’s window, I thought I knew what to expect as I walked onto court number 11 of the All England Club, but here’s the thing: I had no idea that he comes out with guns blazing from the moment he hits that very first practice ball at what seems like a billion miles per hour. His intensity level is extremely high, his spin is unbelievable, he’s rifling these shots all over the place. It’s fun—as long as you’re not his opponent! I practiced with him for forty-five minutes but it felt like two hours. I was a lot younger then than I am now, but I was sweating from the start.

  Rafa’s people had asked my agent, Gary, years before, when Nadal wasn’t yet completely “Rafa,” if I wanted to play doubles with him at the US Open, and, misguidedly, I’d said no, because I was too busy with TV and also I was a little, “Rafael Nadal can’t play doubles” (and how much of a dumb-ass does this make me look in hindsight?). This time, I was happy to say, “Yes, let’s hit,” because I wanted to see what he did up close.

  Our practice session happened late morning, not long before the Federer–Safin semi was due to start. That day I’d happened to go into the locker room at the same time as Rafa, so I’d dumped my bag near his. I guess the duty guard assumed I was part of the “entourage” and hadn’t said anything. Wimbledon had recently changed the rules so that, unless you were in the seniors event (which I wasn’t), you weren’t allowed into the locker room. Apparently, being a three-time champion no longer cut it.