Jimmy Arias: My Father and Rod Laver

The stars of our sport shared stories about their heroes, both in life and on the court, and how these idols shaped who they are today. For more "My Hero" submissions, click here.

My first hero is the same as everybody else’s, and that’s my dad. When you’re a kid, that’s your hero. My dad wanted me to play tennis and allowed me to be a tennis pro. He was an electrical engineer so taught me about physics, and that’s how my forehand came about. After my first lesson, he heard the pro giving me all the conventional instruction, and said, “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard in my life. You have to relax your arm and let it go, otherwise you’re slowing the racquet head down; let it fly and then you’ll learn how to hit it in.”

My other hero is Rod Laver. The reason I play tennis is this: I’m about five years old and I’m watching the finals of Wimbledon. A little guy against a big guy. I can’t remember whether it was Laver or Ken Rosewall, but they were playing against John Newcombe. The 1969 Wimbledon final was Laver versus Newcombe and the 1970 Wimbledon final was Rosewall versus Newcombe.

It’s one of my first memories: A little guy playing a big guy, and the little guy was winning. (Rosewall lost, by the way, but he was winning during whatever part I was watching.) Somehow I knew I was going to be a little guy, so I thought: “I’m going to be a tennis player and I’m going to be the little guy who wins.” Of the two, I adopted Laver as my idol because he had a topspin backhand, which I thought was cool.

I got to play Laver when I was twelve or thirteen. He was still on the tour. I was the best player in Buffalo, New York, and he was coming through for something and asked for the best player in Buffalo to have a practice with, so I got a call. I told Van Miller, Channel 4’s sports guy, and he got the broadcast van there and there were one thousand people watching when I walked on the court.

I’m not sure what Laver thought when he saw me; I’m sure he wasn’t expecting a kid. I had a good forehand by then. He wanted to play a set, and was paddy-caking his serve in, pushing the ball, taking it easy on me. I was pretty cocky in those days and went up 2-0. Before he served the next game, he held up the balls, and said, “You’re not going to win another game,” which was freaky to me because he was my hero. He won the next few games, but I held my own and ended up losing 7-5. That’s a memory I’ll always have.