Some of the most wonderful things in life happen during—or as a result of—sport. And there’s no better arena for exceptional activity of all kinds than a tennis court. We ask the eminent and the imminent for their takes on the greatest things they’ve ever seen on a court, and damned if they don’t deliver—each and every one.
The first in what will likely become a very long, storied series is by broadcaster, former pro and absolute national treasure Mary Carillo. Hers might just be the greatest of the Greatest.
I know why I married my husband. I know the moment I knew. We were both teaching tennis in Florida at the Harry Hopman International Tennis Academy. Every teaching pro there wanted the best players on their court, and even in his early twenties, my boyfriend Bill Bowden was one of the best of us. He would truly teach, not just coach. If he had to deconstruct a forehand or move a grip on a serve, he'd invest the time and patience to make things right.
It's a colossal pain in the ass to change a kid's grip. By the time you get back to the other side of the net, they've already gone back to their old grip. While every one of Bill's students got better, I confess that pretty much of the time, mine just got tired. So I was full of admiration and respect for this handsome guy, and I was starting to have serious feelings for him, too.
Then it happened. One morning at the ball shed, I watched as Mister Hopman spoke quietly, seriously to the object of my growing affection. Bill nodded, then pushed a shopping cart of balls to Court One, where he was met by three young towheads. The oldest boy was probably eight, the youngest maybe four. Their father was some very wealthy guy, some very big deal, and now his children were going to play tennis for the first time. It was already a very hot day. The youngest boy took off to try and catch a lizard.
It was the quintessential Every Coach's Nightmare.
One more thing: The family was from Germany. No child on the court understood English. How in sweet baby Jesus's name could Mister Hopman do this to my man?
I was given a court full of hungry hot shots that day, but my attention kept drifting over to Court One. Bill knew to start the kids at the net so they could feel how sweet it is to make contact. He gave them their grips, showed them how to bend their knees, lined them up at net—but they wouldn't stay still. The littlest one continued his interest in lizards. So Bill took the butt of his racquet and began to scratch in the clay. What the hell was he doing? Was he spelling out an SOS?
He wasn't. He was drawing dinosaur feet for the three of them. They understood what to do, and smiled at him. They jumped into their new feet, and the lesson began. It was the start of the smartest, kindest tennis lesson I'd ever seen.
I can still see them smiling, still see them jumping into place. I see them hitting their first shots, falling in love with tennis as I was falling in love with their teacher. Mister Hopman had chosen just the right man. I chose him too.
We're not still married, but things worked out for the both of us. He's still a gem, this guy.
And what a father he is.
Mary Carillo is the most delightful sports broadcaster in the history of the medium.
Featured in Racquet Issue No. 25
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