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LETTER from LONDON |
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TIM HENMAN |
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Why Tim would rather lose
than win a match 'ugly'
By MICHAEL JOHNSON
of TheColumnists.com
When tennis star Tim Henman loses a critical point in a big match, he just bares his prominent, discolored British teeth and walks calmly back to his position. No racket-throwing, no telling the umpire he is blind or “gotta be kiddin’”, and no crumpling to the grass in sobs. He stays cool. It’s so very British.
Watching Henman and the other international tennis pros at Wimbledon this year was a study in temperament contrasts, and no culture clash was greater than Tim’s icy control vs. French ebullience, Spanish rage, and good-natured Australian testosterone.
Even the local papers have
noticed that Tim will not stoop to “winning ugly.”
The prize for that technique went this year to Justine Henin-Hardenne’s
coy hand signal too little, late late, when Serena Williams was
starting to serve in the finals of the French Open. In the ensuing
furor, Justine declined to speak up and explain she had asked
for a time out. Instead, she let Serena lose the point--and the
French Open, although she might have lost anyway.
No such ugliness for Tim. He would rather lose outright, and it appears that at age 28 this will be his destiny for the next four or five years of competitive tennis left in him. Eight years in a row, he has reached Week Two at Wimbledon, but has never got past the semi-finals.
Rather than posture and make excuses for his fans at his press conference after losing in the quarter-finals, Henman went down like a man. Speaking of his opponent, Frenchman Sebastien Grosjean, he said: “His standard over the whole course of the match was better than mine.” Journalists pleaded for a little of the “How did it feel?” emotion but Henman just smiled wanly.
By now, he can feel the younger generation, including Grosjean, 25, and this year’s winner Roger Federer, 21, nipping at his heels. Questioned by persistent reporters, he gives replies of a man with too much media training. “Yes, it’s going to get tougher. I guess I’ll have to work on my game.”
Work, yes, but not too much, please, and not too publicly. A true Englishman lives by the rule that above all he must retain his dignity, and he must never be seen to be striving.
Ironically, Wimbledon color commentary on the BBC this year was by John McEnroe, who now admits that his own hysterics earlier in his career were “okay, somewhat calculated” to unnerve the other guy. And McEnroe can’t help being impressed by Henman’s good manners although it’s about as non-American as one could imagine.
Another observer, sportswriter David Miller in the Sunday Telegraph, likened Henman’s low-key acceptance of defeat to the famous last words of English Captain Titus Oates near the South Pole in 1912. Realizing that the expedition was doomed, he rose in his tent and said to his companion, “I’m just going outside. I may be some time.” And he lay down in the snow and allowed himself to freeze to death with dignity.
Somehow it is comforting to have a Victorian throwback like Henman among the contenders. Cheating to win is rife in baseball, boxing, soccer, rugby and even cricket.
Sammy Sosa was caught with a corked bat, although I find his innocent explanation plausible. The bat was not marked as corked, and he might well have grabbed it by accident. If anyone in baseball can go to the plate confidently without cork, it is Sosa.
In international soccer
it has become ritual for players following a collision to throw
themselves to the ground and writhe in agony, usually grasping
the shin (which is protected by a sturdy plastic guard). After
a few minutes of rest, the player is miraculously healed and
trots back into the fray. Shirt-pulling and tripping go on non-stop
until the referee happens to see something.
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Henman may clench his fist, but his brow doesn't even furrow. |
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In rugby, the hulking players will clobber each other with closed fists if they think they can get away with it, and the more dubious accidents such as digging spikes into a player’s hand or head just go with the territory. A rugby player wears scars and bruises with pride.
Don’t ask me about cricket. Nobody understands it.
But Henman’s comportment goes beyond good sportsmanship. With him, it’s English phlegm. Not the mucous of the runny nose. Phlegm was one of the four humors of ancient medicine, believed to cause sluggishness, apathy, and result in an even temper. Calm self-possession, a true Henman quality.
Detractors say Henman is not so much a gentleman as a bore. He finds books tedious, and has trouble discussing any outside interests. Some explain his lacklustre performance by citing his marriage and recent fatherhood, the same life changes which allegedly sapped MacEnroe’s power a few years ago. Maybe but I doubt it. Henman has always been this way.
Still, the sportswriters were desperate for Henman to at least admit that he is disappointed by his perennial failure. His reply: “No. Perhaps I should be.”
And with that, he went
to the showers, and emerged relaxed, waving to his fans, and
drove off in a modest van to some quieter place.
©2003 by Michael Johnson.
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