The Laver Mystique: Like Old Yankees--Thrill and Destroy

The nature of professional tennis is such that is often invites prolonged domination by one performer. If a player can develop an impeccable technical style, if he can add to it a deceptive craftiness and sharpen it with a killer instinct, and if his legs and reflexes hold up, he can match younger, quicker opponents until he is well past 30, and still come out a champion. Tilden, Budge, and Gonzales all dominated professional tennis, but few have brought to the game such well-balanced excellence and natural panache as Australian Rod Laver, and none have ever reaped the financial rewards that modern pro tennis has, and will, give him, for being the best player in the world.

Laver has ruled for four years now. Three weeks ago he won at Wimbledon for the fourth straight time, and last Tuesday night walked away from the U.S. Pro Championships at Longwood with his fifth title in six years. While many professional athletes derive their charisma primarily from their personalities, Laver proved once again at Longwood that his springs solely from the magic he can perform with a wooden racquet. Every professional tennis player has perfected at least one aspect of the game which he can exploit with devastating effects. Rosewall has his overhead slam and a deadly backhand. Gonzales covers the court beautifully and groundstrokes well. Holmberg combines a feline anticipation with accurate placements shots. But Laver has all these qualities and more.

Laver's serve is as unique as it is effective. The man is not physically impressive, but his forearms are massive. On every service the ball rises high over the net, then plunges at an opponent's feet with the speed and dip of a major league sinker. A refined, almost inherent ability to put drastic topspin on his volleys make Laver's returns tortuous to handle, and even when he is caught out of position, and uncanny sixth sense can often keep him out of danger.

Playing against Laver can often be frustrating. "Ayven when oy'm plying well against "im," John Newcombe says, "i' doosn't do any good." Laver defeated Newcombe in the finals at Wimbledon, then again at Longwood, often executing shots that would make Newcombe writhe in desperation. On occasion, when he can be repeatedly kept out of position and be forced into making poor shots, Laver will lose a set. When this happens, he will grin at his opponent, implying that both players know it will not occur again. It usually doesn't.

Trying to lob against Laver is usually a costly mistake, for he has one of the hardest and most accurate overhead slams in the game. But often, he will employ the lob himself, daring one to smash it back, then ease into position and when the slam comes, return it beautifully.

When Laver wins a match, and he won four at Longwood, he leaves the court quietly and without emotion. Winning, it seems, has become almost routine to him. And at the loser's locker, the feeling is almost routine as well.

There is something basically exciting about matching oneself against the best there is, even if defeat is certain. Just as in the last decades, when playing the Yankees was a moving, if disheartening experience. Laver's fellow pros enjoy meeting him in a tournament. It is an aesthetic experience, but if you are Ken Rosewell, who has been unable to beat Laver for four years in any major tournament, the aesthetic gradually give way to a sense of struggling hopelessly against fate.

"I can'ht sigh oy enjoy plying "im," Rosewall says. "E wins so mooch i's bludy discouraging."