A Moment With Mats

Mats Wilander (seven-time Grand Slam singles champion, former world No. 1, and one of the great craftsmen of modern tennis) brought his traveling clinic, Wilander on Wheels, to the Centercourt Club in Chatham, New Jersey last Saturday. I’m a club member, but I hadn’t signed up for the hitting session. Still, curiosity (and admiration) drew me there, and in the end I had the privilege of speaking with Wilander one-on-one.

Tennis is a strange sort of jewel: inviting and sociable on public courts around the world, yet unforgiving the moment winning matters. In schools, in leagues, in clubs—anywhere the score counts—the same question always hovers: How much work are you willing to put in?

I came to tennis late. I picked up the sport at 40, and only began taking lessons seriously after 50. Now, at 63, I’ve twice reached the second round of the New Jersey state championships, each time losing to the reigning titleholder in my age group. My coach, Bob Bynum, and I are determined to push farther next year.

Bob, USTA East Coast Coach of the Year not long ago, believes lessons should mirror matches. That philosophy brings intensity, information, and sometimes friction. After our session on Friday he sat beside me on the bench and offered a gentle rebuke.

“You sell yourself short, Gary. What we do on the court reflects the way we live. You’ve got all the heart in the world, but you’re better than you think you are. I wonder if that lack of confidence shows up anywhere else.” It was an uncomfortable question and a fair one.

The next day, after a two-hour doubles match in brutal 90-degree heat, I walked over to Centercourt’s indoor facility. I’ve been trying to perfect a backhand slice up the line to answer opponents who drop the ball short on that side, and I’d reserved an hour on the ball machine to work on it.

A party was underway when I walked in. Food everywhere. I hadn’t eaten all day. Etiquette kept me from grabbing anything, at first. But after a few minutes with the machine, hunger won. I slipped upstairs, quietly liberated a corner of a hero, and headed down to the locker room in search of water.

The room was empty except for one figure preparing to shower: Mats Wilander himself.

“Hey Mats, how you doin’,” I said casually, intending to leave him alone. I’ve never been one to fawn over the famous. But a minute later, as I passed the changing area, Wilander stopped me.

Had I been playing a club match? I had, I told him—and wasn’t it a little crazy that a man my age was about to spend another hour hitting against a machine after two hours in oppressive heat?

Wilander laughed. Some people don’t understand why the work matters so much once you’ve crossed a certain age. “‘You’re not going to play Wimbledon,’ they say.”

I explained that striving to improve my tennis makes me a better composer, father, and businessman—that the pursuit itself sharpens the rest of my life. I asked if that made sense to him.

“Absolutely,” Wilander said. “I still dream of playing Wimbledon!”

It was both a joke and not. Wimbledon was the one Grand Slam singles title he never won—though he did take the doubles crown in 1986 with Joakim Nyström. The humor was self-deprecating, but the sentiment was sincere.

Does Mats Wilander still work on his game?

“All the time,” he said. “I’m still developing my strokes, still trying to improve.”

Does he miss competition?

“I enjoy playing in front of people,” he said. “But I no longer have a switch. I can’t turn things up a notch just to win a tennis match.”

We talked a bit longer. He asked my coach’s name.

“No, I don’t know him,” he said. “But he sounds like he knows what he’s doing. And he clearly has a passion for the game.”

“Like us, right?” I said.

Wilander smiled, laughed softly, and agreed.

We said our goodbyes. I walked back toward the courts, my hunger gone, my spirits lifted. I had come to work on a single shot—but left with something far better: a brief reminder that whether you’re a Grand Slam champion or a weekend grinder, the joy of tennis lies in the same place—the belief that we can keep getting better.

Warren, NJ
8/3/2015