Meet Don Budge, Novak Djokovic’s (calendar-year?) Grand Slam ancestor

Novak Djokovic stands a US Open title away from becoming only the third man in tennis history to capture all four majors in a calendar year—the true Grand Slam. The other two are Rod Laver and Don Budge. Laver accomplished this feat twice, first in 1962 as an amateur, then in 1969 as a pro. Budge’s Slam came in 1938.

Thanks to the Laver Cup, ample YouTube clips, and tributes paid to Laver by the likes of Roger Federer, Pete Sampras, John McEnroe and Martina Navratilova, much is known about Laver’s genius—a dazzling lefthanded array of speeds and spins, angles and accuracy. The influence of The Rocket on the aforementioned quartet is vivid.

But when it comes to Djokovic, Budge is the more fitting stylistic ancestor. Start with a big picture look at how Budge shredded his opponents: a game fueled by relentlessly hard, penetrating groundstrokes. From “The Budge Style,” an article written by Julius Heldman in World Tennis magazine: “He never allowed his opponent to get his teeth into the match, and his overwhelming power was not subject to bad streaks. His unfortunate victim had the feeling of complete helplessness, for there was no way in which he could touch Don.”

As was the case for Djokovic, Budge benefitted from proximity to nearby courts. For Budge, the setting was Bushrod Park, a public facility two blocks from his house in working-class Oakland, Calif. As a boy, Budge’s first love was baseball, his lefthanded swing in large part shaping what became one of the greatest backhands in tennis history. This was tennis’ first full-fledged drive off that side, a lethal shot that paved the way for all great backhands since, including the versatile, laser-like one-handers struck by Ken Rosewall, Laver and Federer, to the two-handed missiles fired by Jimmy Connors, Andre Agassi and, of course, Djokovic.

Heldman’s description of the Budge backhand is equally workable for Djokovic:

He could hit a placement from any spot in the court to any other spot in the court. His opponent just could not possibly get Don in trouble off the backhand. No matter what you did, he would reply offensively off this wing.

Also, similarly to Djokovic, Budge put in considerable work to upgrade his forehand. He’d won the 1933 U.S. National Junior title with a Western grip, a functional technique on the high-bouncing gravel courts seen often in California during the early part of the 20th century. Spotting the young, ambitious Budge, an Oakland-based instructor named Tom Stow told him that a Western grip was ill-fitting for handling the lower bounces Budge needed to deal with at such major grass-court events as Wimbledon and the U.S. Nationals (what’s now the US Open). Over the next three years, Budge worked extensively with Stow to transform his forehand.

“It was mechanical in that it was not original with him,” wrote Heldman, “but although it did not have the personal flair of his backhand, it was a magnificent, forceful weapon. The result was a heavy ball to a corner, followed, if there was a return, by an equally heavy ball to the other corner.”

A mid-career upgrade in fitness took each man to greater heights. By the end of 2010, the 23-year-old Djokovic had been ranked No. 3 for four years. But in that early part of his career, there were also times when he’d become exhausted mid-match. Over the course of 2010, Djokovic explored ways to alter his diet. Most notable was the decision to cut out gluten. The improvement was rapid. In 2011, Djokovic won three majors and became No. 1.

Budge faced a dietary crossroads when he was 21 and, like Djokovic, ranked third. At the 1936 U.S. Nationals, Budge hoped to topple three-time Wimbledon champion Fred Perry. In the early rounds of the tournament, Budge’s idea of a nightcap was to go to a drugstore with his good friend and doubles partner, Gene Mako, and savor a chocolate milkshake. Practicing mid-way through the tournament with Ellsworth Vines, Budge began to feel nauseous. All that sugar had severely drained him.

Staggering through his round of 16, quarterfinal and semifinal matches, Budge came up against Perry in the final. In a match marred by two rain delays that caused play to be stopped for nearly an hour, Budge balanced exhaustion and performance. But despite serving for the title at 5-3 in the fifth, Budge was unable to close it out.

“There was no life in my shots,” he wrote years later. Perry ended up the winner, 2-6, 6-2, 8-6, 1-6, 10-8.

In the wake of that crushing loss, Budge cut out chocolates, pastries, sweets and fried foods. He also commenced a fitness regime that included extensive abdominal work and regular runs through the Berkeley hills.

Suitable forehand. Check. Improved fitness. Check. Finally came the missing puzzle piece: The further sharpening of Budge’s playing style. In January 1937, Budge was the chair umpire for a match between Perry and Vines. It was clear that Vines hit the ball harder. But Perry stood closer to the baseline, and over the course of the match thoroughly jerked Vines all over the court on his way to victory. A light bulb went off in Budge’s head: What if you could hit the ball as hard as Vines and as early as Perry? Those years Budge had spent with Stow harnessing his arsenal proved vital in making that happen. Check mate.

Over the next two years, Budge lost scarcely a match, compiling an astonishing 92-match winning streak. In 1937, Budge won the two majors he entered, Wimbledon and the U.S. Nationals. Budge that year also helped bring home the Davis Cup for the first time since 1926, most notably when he rallied from two sets to love down to beat Germany’s Gottfried von Cramm in a five-setter that remains one of the greatest matches in tennis history. The next year was even better, Budge sweeping all four majors.

Over the rest of his life, Budge remained a grand tennis figure, surfacing at various tournaments, special events, anniversaries and, of course, those rare moments when the possibility of another player completing the Grand Slam was in the air. No doubt he’d have savored the chance to witness Djokovic’s achievements.

But don’t think Budge would have merely smiled and demurred to another man’s greatness. This was a proud champion, keenly aware of what he’d done to reach the pinnacle. A year before his death in 2000, I spoke with Budge in Boston, at an event celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Davis Cup. I told him that I too lived in Oakland and that I’d taken lessons from a Tom Stow disciple. He asked if I was taking the ball on the rise and then added this: “Don’t let anyone tell you Tom Stow taught me that backhand. I taught it to him.”