Throwing in the Towel

The 2016 Tennis season is now in the history books.  It was a hot one. Now tennis fans have to wait for The Australian Open in January for things to warm up again. Looking back, how did 2016 go?

For starters, the season was far too long for mortal bodies to survive without injury. Federer and Nadal, both sidelined by hurt, are prominent examples of the wounded in action.

The United States of America, long dominant in the Men's game, is strictly an “also ran” these days. Power lies elsewhere with Novak Djokovic of Serbia in the lead and a pack of contenders led by Andy Murray of Scotland nipping at his heels. 

The women's game is flowering with dozens of hard-hitting newly minted stars from here and abroad, including our own Madison Keys.  I disagree with those who say that women can't attract galleries and provide exciting play. Serena Williams is still the queen of the court. Long may she reign.

Loss of temper dominates the game of the new breed with very talented but immature stars like Nick Kyrgios yelling obscenities on court directed at one and all. Ilie Nastase, Jimmy Connors, John “The Brat” McEnroe and other legends of yesterday seem like choir boys in comparison. Why don't they understand that you can be admired for your talent AND be well-liked at the same time?

As part of the general demise of good sportsmanship, racket-smashing has opened up new frontiers for equipment manufacturers.  John Isner, formerly a poster boy for mothers wishing for an idealized son, recorded one best-be-forgotten rant. 

The habits of players whispering into a couple of tennis balls prior to hitting their serves had me imaging they were munching on yellow colored marshmallows like the treats we have at Easter time.

                   

But the biggest of all nonsense is the almost universal habit of going for a towel wipe down after every shot. Guys, it's time to throw in that towel and just play the game. 

Americans

This week will not be forgotten – certainly not in our lifetime. The horror story of the police being killed in Dallas adds a bloody mark not just on the city or the state of Texas but on the soul of every American. Our great country is dramatically less so because of the murders that happen with such frequency all across our nation. And yet this one cop-killing rampage all by itself shows just how dramatically far we have fallen.

When I was a little boy we were taught that the policeman was our friend – a safe harbor against all that was bad in our world. That feeling has served me well. I passed that philosophy along to my own kids. Then the world turned upside down and that feeling, along with acknowledging the Almighty, allegiance to the Stars and Stripes and respect for just about everyone and everything went out the window. Right up there with the very top sadness is broad brush thinking that all men and women in blue are hell bent on killing young black males. The flip side of the argument is that black youngsters are all paragons of virtue being persecuted by a white society represented by law enforcement.  Have we forgotten that the human race is fraught with imperfection, including both some of those in uniform and those in housing projects?  Still the bad apples in both categories are few in number.

During this terrible week, as in life, there were good days. My wife and I watched the Wimbledon tennis championships, proudly rooting for the Americans.  And that is the real lesson in the midst of all this horrible prejudice, racism and pure hate.  The first step of all is to recognize and herald the fact that we are all Americans - starting with thee and me. Dropping all the labels like Italian/American, African/American, Irish/American. This doesn't mean I have to forgo knocking back a couple pints of Guinness while getting misty-eyed when they sing 'Danny Boy”, nor should you have to give up your own nostalgic background. What it does mean is that our very survival depends on embracing the fact that each of us are first and foremost, now and forever more, Americans.     

Massacre

Terror was everywhere on a Pacific island during World War II where United States Marines were scattered among small foxholes. To leave those holes in the sand for any reason meant certain death. Fanatic Japanese soldiers were of another mind. They were determined to kill Marines one way or the other. Survivors of one such night were destined to remember forever the plaintive scream of a young Marine who called out repeatedly “Mother...Mother... he's killing me....he's killing me.”

I thought of that Marine's shriek in the night when the massacre in the Orlando gay club took place. How many of the slaughtered in that ballroom were thinking of their own mothers and imminent death? Not the same?  Oh yes, it is. It has to be time in Hell for anybody about to be murdered.

Then I thought of the evolution in my own time concerning homosexuality. It was a narrow perspective, way long before my generation ever heard the words “bisexual”, “transsexual” and other descriptions now part of our common vocabulary. Back then there were “homos,” “fags”, “queers” and “fairies”. Minority, strange people.

The military took a firm posture. From induction to virtually every stage of advancement in that culture, there were questions about participation or feelings about same sex. As a brand new lieutenant taking command of an Army platoon I was informed that a sergeant, highly prized for his proficiency, was going to be discharged from the service. His offense?  During off-duty hours he frequented a homosexual nightclub and danced as part of the entertainment.  Homosexual? Case closed. 

Then followed a period in New York City where my career had me working with gay people in the creative community. There were lots of them.  Many, not all, were brilliant people. Now, some 60 years later, I reflect on all of it. What happened? There are a hundred reasons, I guess.  But does it really matter if it is one, ten or a hundred?  It is what it is.

Seems to me that we don't have to give up anything, except hate. For me, I believe in a man and a woman joined in marriage to bring new lives into this world.  You don't have to agree with me.  I don't have to agree with you if you hold same sex marriage a priority.  But we sure have to respect the view of each other. Otherwise, we are killing ourselves. 

Tennis

If you are not a tennis player, or at least a fan of the game, it's best to work your iPhone rather than reading on. But if you too love tennis, you might enjoy tripping back over the years with me.

Everyone who ever picked up a racquet can recall highlights, or low lights, of his/her time on the courts. An everlasting image for me is the face of a University of Delaware doubles player when my wimpy first serve barely cleared the net. He asked “is that your serve?” to which I replied “15 - love.”

I was blessed in seeing many of the greats in action.  Hoad, Emerson, Laver, Kramer, Schroder, Trabert, Talbert, Gonzales, Segura, Margaret Court, Yvonne Goolagong, you name them.  Then the younger group – McEnroe, Connors, Agassi, Martina N, Martina H, Venus, and Serena came along.  I was lucky enough to watch many of them play too.

To be sure, there are many players I missed seeing in action – either because they were before my time or because of unlucky cards dealt to me by the tennis gods.  Ernest Renshaw and his twin brother, William, Wimbledon champions in the 1890s, are two examples of the former. As for the latter, I missed Bill Tilden when he played an exhibition match at the Cynwyd Club (Pennsylvania) in the late 1940s. Although that was long after his glory years in the Roaring Twenties, Tilden, 7 times World #1 and holder of 10 Grand Slam Singles titles, was then and remains to this day a tennis-world legend. 

Try this. Go to Wikipedia and search The 100 Greatest Tennis Players of all Time. You will be surprised by names temporarily forgotten which will now be happily remembered. Do you recall Roscoe Tanner electrifying the galleries with his rocket of a serve? (In the 1979 U.S. Open, one of his 140 mph left-handed serves misfired and brought down the net.) How about Dick Savitt? Fred Perry? Yannick Noah? Other names jump out of the past – the great Don Budge, modest Ken Rosewall, not-so-modest Bobby Riggs, not-so-nice Ilie Nastase.

Jack Kramer truly deserves special notice for it was he who revolutionized the game of tennis. He took it out of the shadows of sham “amateurism” and into a paying professional sport where it is now enjoyed by millions of fans all around the world.  Gardnar Mulloy has earned a spot on anyone's list.  When a tennis magazine referred to him as“39 year old Gardnar Mulloy”, he took it and ran. Gardnar seemed to stay 39 until the day he was elected to the Tennis Hall of Fame at 100.

A personal favorite?  John Bromwich of Australia. In my mind's eye I can still see him going up against the wall at Forest Hills to return the unreturnable with spectacular lobs. In tribute to Bromwich, I practiced and practiced lob returns.  I fancied myself the “lob king” at our little tennis club. No Bromwich I, but I did prove on more than one occasion that the lob belongs in everyone’s tennis quiver.

Southern Hospitality

During the early months of the Korean War, I was stationed at Camp Rucker, Alabama.  This post had been boarded up since the end of World War II. The only inhabitants in place were rattlesnakes, and there were plenty of them.

Rucker was just outside the little town of Ozark billed as “The Peanut Capital of the World”. There were few bright lights in Ozark.  Anything in the way of excitement called for getting over to the medium size city of Dothan. There was not much to do in Dothan either, although it did boast of being “The Home of the Early Bird”, a popular program on its radio station.

I have some pleasant memories of my time serving at   posts in Alabama, Louisiana and Georgia.  Many of them were centered around culinary delights such as barbecued shrimp, grits, biscuits and sausage gravy.  I also have some very unpleasant recollections of those months, starting with my first trip using public transportation when the driver yelled to me: “Hey soldier, you get up front now or this bus isn't going to move!” I quickly understood that my hoped-for spot in the rear was where the “colored” sat. Then in rapid fire notice: “Colored entrance”, “Colored fountain”, on and on. Sooner or later we all got the bigger message: There was White. There was Colored.

Flashing forward a half century, things have changed in a big way. Last week my wife and I were in Georgia to celebrate a granddaughter's wedding. In the dining room of our hotel blacks and whites intermingled for breakfast.  There was no fuss. Same in the swimming pool area. I am sure there are many reasons for modern-day Southern Hospitality, including legal ones.  But I suggest that “good manners” as we used to know them are also a big factor.  All across the board men are called “sir” and women addressed as “ma'am”.  Some may do so with fixed smiles and clenched teeth, but in the main the average person in the 2016 South seems to understand that it is just good business to be friendly and well mannered.

It's nice to be nice.  It benefits all of us.

Politics

Calvin Coolidge was president when I was born. (Mr. Coolidge is back in the news again as the last American president to visit Cuba prior to President Obama's forthcoming tour.) In any event I have seen many a politician come and go – although Franklin Delano Roosevelt took a lot more time in going. Could lessons learned in the political past enrich campaigning in 2016?

The world has spun around many times since “Silent Cal” was in the White House, I wonder if his legendary reluctance to speak out loud and often wouldn't be a good approach. Campaigning has become akin to food fighting in a high school cafeteria.  Bad manners, vulgarity and character assassination are ruling the platform. If we were to count the wordage on issues compared to the thunder of promises and negative comments, the picture is beyond sad. Perhaps speaking softly and carrying a big stick - like focusing exclusively on victory at primary polls – would impress us more than this angry in-your-face howling.  Bring back Cal!

We are months away - some would say an eternity away – before the actual election of our next president. It's reasonable to ask if we the people can survive the storm of television ads, robocalls at dinner and the 1001 other political intrusions on our time, attention and sanity.

The reality is that politicians, along with lawyers and used car salesmen, consistently compete for last place on the list of professions we respect and admire. It's not like we are being entertained by beauty contests, best movies or something else that people enjoy.

The political season is surely hell on earth.

Media Madness

America's favorite whipping boy is the media. Little doubt about that. On top of this, depending on where you are reading, listening or viewing, there is plenty of bias. In the interests of full disclosure, I have been a part of the media for a half century. This means I must be guilty one way or the other for at least part of the media mess. Frankly I do not recall any digressions, save perhaps the time I wrote in less than flattering terms about Frank Sinatra.  Our editor got a phone call in full gangster voice asking “where's this guy Reilly live?  I'm gonna punch him in the mouth.”

Now that we have posted the disclaimer may I ask you a couple of questions? What do you think of the efficiency and the ethics of modern day media? For starters, we have to acknowledge that the ownership of newspapers, magazines, radio and television stations, every other medium from cable to billboards and matchbook covers are in it to make a buck. Bad news usually suits that end. We, the receivers of the information communicated, may be happiest if all was well with the world, but that's not going to happen. There is always bad news somewhere. The media will go find it and tell us all about it. This helps to sell newspapers and air time.

I wonder if we wouldn't be better off if the media didn't report bad news over and over again. This applies particularly to cable news. They would be doing their job by reporting incidents once, but filling airtime with the same story repeatedly makes us feel we are in the midst of epidemics. The recent unfortunate killing of a black male by a policeman is sad news for sure. The facts must be thoroughly investigated. If the officer is guilty his badge and gun must immediately be turned in and a legal process initiated. But the media latch on to this incident and then dig up any cases across the country that appear on the face of it to be one and the same. Now we have a media-inspired impression that all police are targeting black males and routinely using deadly force 24/7 against this segment of our population. It's just not true.

Responsibility and accountability are two very valuable trusts that need to be reintroduced in our newsrooms. And to the general population as well.