For a sport that prides itself on being an “individual” one, there’s been a lot of talk about coaches in tennis lately. The past couple weeks have brought Jimmy Connors into Andy Roddick’s camp, and Brad Gilbert, Roddick’s ex, to the aid of Andy Murray. I also just learned that Larry Stefanki, Marcelo Rios’ ex, is coaching Fernando Gonzalez, which could be the most productive relationship of the three. Then there’s the ongoing chatter about whether or not to allow more on-court coaching.
Getting a new coach typically gives a player a jolt of energy and perhaps success, and we’ve already seen some of that in Roddick’s spirited performance in Indianapolis. The biggest thing Connors will bring is his champion’s sense of entitlement and swagger, something he never lost even when he was in his late 30s and years removed from winning major titles. Having recently watched as much as I could handle of Connors’ new instructional DVD series, I didn’t think Jimmy could offer much more than inspiration. After all, he begins the section on serving by saying that the main thing you need to do is learn how to serve into the corner, then into the middle of the box, and then down the T. Say what you want about Roddick, but as far as I can tell he already knows how to hit those serves!
Connors has never been known to talk at length about the intricacies of the game. His favorite explanation for how win a tennis match is to “grind it out.” It reminds me of Rod Laver’s famous piece of (non) advice to students having trouble with a shot: “Just give it a nudge.” (“Hey, it works for me—I nudged my way to the Grand Slam!”) Great champions are famous for being able to do, not teach—it was the bench-warming Bobby Knight who became a great basketball coach, not his all-world Ohio State teammate, John Havlicek (ditto for Bill Russell’s Celtic backup, John Thompson). To Connors, the sport is less about technique or even tactics than it is about attitude. You do whatever it takes, whether it’s riling up a Flushing Meadows crowd to call for Aaron Krickstein’s blood, or hiding quietly under your bangs and leaving John McEnroe alone with his anger and self-doubt, as Connors did in the 1982 Wimbledon final.
So I was surprised to see that Roddick, after spending time at Connors’ place, had made some changes in positioning (moving forward) and tactics (trying to create with his backhand) in the final in Indy. But you could also say these changes were more about attitude—taking the game to the other player—than anything else. I’d say the biggest benefit of having Jimmy in his corner is that his presence will allow, or perhaps force, Roddick to act like the swaggering champion and potential world No. 1 that deep down he still believes he is. How long Connors will stick around is another story. Will the great champion have the patience to travel and deal with the inevitable struggles of his student? Then it will just be Maria in the stands watching Andy—not a bad trade-off, really.
Brad Gilbert, on the other hand, is just the sort of ex-player who becomes a great coach in every sport. He’s the guy who had to become a student of the game to make it, but who could never win on the game’s biggest stages (BG never made a Slam semi). Don’t let the “winning ugly” stuff fool you, though; nobody wins 20 pro titles unless he’s also a tremendous athlete, and Gilbert is a big, strong guy. While he’s no technical expert—Gilbert once told TENNIS that he’s “not about the grips”—he is a diligent scout and tactician. As anyone who’s seen him on ESPN knows, he’s got an opinion for what to do in every situation, which is what any instinctive, indecisive athlete needs from a coach.
Murray seems like an ideal player for Gilbert to reshape. He’s young, has all sorts of talent, and is already a good thinker on court. What he needs is professional polish and a dose of confidence that he can be a consistent winner at the pro level—despite his sporadic success, I still don’t think Murray completely believes in himself yet. Gilbert is a tennis enthusiast (he still appears to love watching the sport and breaking down matches after all these years), a born competitor, and a sports junkie who believes in giving your best every time you step on court, exactly what the often-downbeat and surly Murray hasn’t done so far. If they can survive the culture clash, and Murray doesn’t get sick of BG’s relentless chatter (and erratic grammar), they should be a solid partnership.
So why not let Gilbert sit on the court with Murray, which is where he wants to be? Commenters on this blog seem to be uniformly against on-court coaching for two major reasons.
- “It would ruin the individual, one-on-one nature of the sport.” As I’ve said, this is often stated by the same people who profess to love Davis Cup, where coaching is allowed. The counter-argument is that DC is a “team” game, and otherwise tennis is “individual.” But tennis also includes doubles, right? When you watch Davis Cup, have you ever once thought, “This isn’t as a good as regular tennis because it’s not one-on-one”? Of course not—DC is still about the individual; the coaches barely register. I played college tennis for a coach, but I never felt like I was anything other than by myself out there. More than most sports, tennis, “team” or not, is about one person dealing with his emotions and executing the shots (not the plays) he has practiced. What a coach can bring is a set of calmer, more objective eyes. A player who’s mired in frustration may think all hope is lost; a coach, who doesn’t have those same negative emotions to overcome, may have an easier time seeing a new approach or tactic. This could help make matches more competitive and entertaining.
- “It’s unfair to the poorer players.” It would indeed be sad, if coaching was allowed, to see someone go out on court by his or herself. But most players travel with someone who can help them, or they share a coach with others. More important, someone like Maria Sharapova already has the best coaching money can buy 23 hours a day—is that unfair? The only difference is that no one can set foot on a court with her (though I’m sure she can hear every word Yuri says as she’s playing). We already see the top players’ coaches and parents constantly throughout a match, and the pros look to their entourages more than ever. Would it be at all startling to see them on the sideline rather than a few feet farther away in the stands?
OK, enjoy the California ball this weekend. I'll be back Monday