The Winner

Fabulous Wimbledon 1992

Unfortunately for you, Walker Joe didn't forget the note pad. He apologizes. He flew over on Wednesday of the first week this year. His purpose was twofold. He wanted to find a publisher to read his Wimbledon stories, and he wanted to be on Centre Court for the middle Saturday matches. It was being touted as a 'Special Day' by the 'Big-W'. They were offering 2,000 Centre Court tickets located in the east and west open stands at a reduced price of £20 for £27 seats. Fabulous seats for about $35. And the 2,000 tickets were to be split evenly between the Somerset Road and Church Road queue.

AELTC's idea was to recreate some of the special atmosphere and esprit de corps of last year's very successful middle Sunday (the first ever). They were offering affordable Centre Court seats to the hardworking common man . . "genuine tennis fans," to quote AELTC, who are crazy about the game like Walker Joe. Ticket prices were reduced for all the other show courts. He'd started queuing late Friday evening on Somerset Road. The 500 fans ahead caused him no concern, since 1000 Centre Court tickets were available. He setup his motel room and settled in for a hard night's sleep.

The queue was managed different for this special event. The Stewards took names as you entered the queue to minimize queue jumping. In the morning, the Stewards passed out colored and numbered wristbands. This would insure that the right number of people could enter the open stands, because the seats were not reserved inside. If you weren’t wearing a wristband, you weren’t allowed entrance to the open stands. In spite of all this careful planning, getting and keeping a seat was a bit of a pain in the buttock. He thinks AELTC may have over booked. Or, those present had frightfully large hams.

Centre Court, Saturday, June 27, 1992, A 'Special Day'

Walker Joe's day broke partly sunny. The temperature was in the low 70s, and the future forecast was for more of the same. London weather this agreeable rates an eleven on a global scale of one to ten. The lovely weather was a spectacular beginning to a day holding the promise of only improving. The order of play read:

1. J. Courier (USA)(1) vs A. Olhovskiy (CIS)

2. Miss R. Hiraki (JPN) vs Miss G. Sabatini (ARG)(3)

3. A. Agassi (USA) (12) vs D. Rostagno (USA)

4. Miss M. de Swardt (RSA) vs Miss S. Graf (GER)(2)(seeding)

Talk about an order of play! Three top seeded players and 'TNT' Agassi, who went on to win the championship, were scheduled to play. Already the day was special as far as Walker Joe was concerned. After dropping off his backpack at Left Luggage, he detoured by the Long Bar for an egg sandwich and café. It was too 'bloody' early for a pint. He dallied for awhile, watching the excited fans, from around the world, rushing about bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Also, he was relishing the fact that Marjorie had treated him to another Wimbledon. A little kissing up helps.

Checking the time, he became aware the first match was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. Suddenly his being had purpose. He hastily consumed the meal and departed for Centre Court. Reaching the west open stands, it appeared full at first glance, but he plunged on undaunted. He found a seat next to an Oriental, and he has a photo to prove it.

Big Jim and Andrei Olhovskiy entered, bowed reluctantly to the royal box, grabbed a stick and started their five minute warmup. He anticipated a short match, considering Olhovskiy's ranking. However, Olhovskiy won the first set 6-4 and already the match had exceeded Walker Joe's expectations. Courier was struggling to return Andrei's serve. He was flat and heavy on his feet. Courier played better in the second set and won it 6-4. Walker Joe whispered, "Now! We blow the Russian away." Wrong!

Bewildered, Walker Joe painfully watched Olhovskiy, a qualifier ranked number 192 in the world, beat up on our man, Courier, the top seed and number one player in the world. Apparently, someone had forgotten to tell Olhovskiy that. Andrei won the third set 6-4. Walker Joe started thinking he might be watching a bit of history taking place. By now, he was in a state of total shock and disbelief, and wondering when the 'Florida Cracker' was going to assemble his game, get his tail in high gear, and send the Russian packing.

The charge never materialized, and before you could say "Andrei who," the match was history. Olhovskiy won the fourth set 6-4. Since the open era started in '68, this is the first time a qualifier has ousted the number one seed at Wimbledon. Courier appeared sluggish during the match and dumbfounded after it. The reason was obvious. He had been outplayed by a player ranked number 192 in the world. It happens.

The Centre Court crowd was still buzzing when beautiful Gabriela Sabatini and Miss Rika Hiraki entered the courts, curtsied to the royal box and started their warmup. Sabatini looked like a Grecian goddess. Walker Joe had trouble keeping his mind and eyes focused on her graceful practice strokes. Man does not live for tennis and pub crawls alone.

Sabatini breezed past Rika Hiraki easily with a 6-0, 6-4 set count. The match was lusterless, but he concentrated on Sabatini's form, and her sexy grunts placed this match in the winning column of his draw sheet. Actually, it’s more like a passionate sigh. (April 97: Sadly, Miss Sabatini has retired. I'll miss not seeing her this year at Wimbledon. Yes, I'm going.)

The "genuine tennis fans" had become restless. They were eager for the arrival of Andre 'TNT' Agassi. This little guy abuses the ball every stroke, and his style of play makes the game more exciting than a thrill ride. The fans were titillating in anticipation of the Agassi/Derrick Rostagno match. The aura of the moment overwhelmed their rational behavior, and suddenly, across the court in the west section fans stood, raised their arms, and the wave started developing.

The wave circled clockwise around this hallowed stadium filled to capacity. By now, over 13,000 fans were on their feet, arms in the air, as the wave circled counter clockwise around the court. He was flabbergasted to observe most of the attendees in the royal box responding with candor. Maybe the British aristocracy and royalty aren't as smug and aloof as perceived. The wave continued seven or eight times and now the young girls were screaming Andre! Andre! This was only the second time the wave has happened. The middle Sunday in 1991 had been the first. Will it happen again? He hopes so. Will he be there? Walker Joe dreams about it.

Following the announcement of their names and life long tennis superlatives, Agassi and Rostagno entered the arena. Andre, dressed mostly in white, waved to the enthusiastic crowd. Then he went to his chair, selected a weapon, beat it against his hand several time to check the tension, and proceeded to his end of the battlefield. The warmup proceeded immediately and continued until the command "play" was heard from the tall chair.

The match offered little in the way of surprises. Andre was playing the tricky grass masterfully. He returned serve like a ball machine, which is one of his strengths, and his serves had zip and depth. His ground strokes were electrifying. They had angle, pace and landed deep in Rostagno’s court. Agassi was just too good for the Californian. In about two hours, Agassi, pronounced A-gas-si by many of the English fans, advanced to the round of sixteen with a straight set victory over Rostagno, which tallied 6-3, 7-6, 7-5. Andre might have been a little a-gas-si, but it wasn't apparent from his calm demeanor. The grass was kind to him the entire fortnight, and he eventually defeated Ivanisevic in the championship. And to think, a baseliner is not supposed to win this tournament.

The next third-round match between Steffi Graf and Mariaan de Swardt had the potential of a one-sided affair, considering Swardt's ranking. Walker Joe's enthusiasm had waned in preference of abating a big thirst the bright sun had induced, and he instinctively thought about the Long Bar. He asked the Oriental gentleman next to him to hold his place and off he went to the Long Bar, where he queued for two pints, one to drink there and one to bring back. Walker Joe had been away 22 minute when he reclaimed his seat and thanked the man for his kindness. He didn't offer him the pint . . not even a sip. If he'd been friendlier, Walker Joe might've asked him if he could fetch him one.

The score was 3-3. Swardt was a big woman with a big serve to match. It was causing Graf considerable grief. Graf's strokes were erratic and some of her big forehands were sailing well beyond the white lines. When you hit as hard as Graf, the stroke has to be perfect, and the topspin has to be working. Swardt's game plan was to attack Graf's backhand, which is her weaker side, and this strategy, in combination with her big serves, won her the first set 7-5.

Graf regained her composure and championship form in the second set and won it 6-0. Now, we're grooving, Walker Joe thought. She looked more like the real Steffi Graf, whom he'd met face to face at Frost's Delicatessen in Wimbledon Village in '91, where he caught her red-handed shopping for cookies.

Graf lost her touch again in the third set and was error prone. The South African was matching her stroke for stroke. At 5-5, Walker Joe felt history might happen twice this day, but the great players nearly always find within them the stuff champion's are made of. Steffi rose to the challenge and won the next two games and the match. They battled for nearly two hours and he thought the match might have been decided by fitness, after all, Swardt looked a trifle heavy. At any rate, the match was a magnificent duel in the afternoon sun and his first day at the '92 tournament was history. Had it been worth a cold, hard night's sleep on Somerset Road and $35? Does the sun shine in Florida?