Wimbledon 2015 coverage

The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club:

Wimbledon guided tour – part 1
Wimbledon guided tour – part 2
Wimbledon Centre Court roof
Court 3 : a new Show Court at Wimbledon
Waiting in the Queue to Wimbledon
Wimbledon Museum: The Queue exhibition
The Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum: Player Memorabilia

Fashion and gear:

A trip down memory lane:

Wimbledon ‘s biggest upsets
Wimbledon memories: Mrs Blanche Bingley Hillyard
Wimbledon memories: Charlotte Cooper Sterry
Wimbledon memories: Dora Boothby
Portrait of Wimbledon champion Ann Jones
Wimbledon 1969: Laver’s getting beat by an Indian
Rod Laver – John Newcombe Wimbledon 1969
Around the grounds at Wimbledon in 1971
Wimbledon 1975: Ashe vs Connors
Bjorn Borg – Ilie Nastase Wimbledon 1976
Portrait of 5-time Wimbledon champion Bjorn Borg
Wimbledon 1976: Chris Evert defeats Evonne Goolagong
Portrait of Virginia Wade, winner in 1977
1981: First Wimbledon title for McEnroe
1982: Jimmy Connors defeats John McEnroe
1984: John McEnroe defeats Jimmy Connors
1985: Boris Becker, the man on the moon
Portrait of 3-time Wimbledon champion Boris Becker
Wimbledon 1988: An era ends as Graf beats Navratilova
Wimbledon 1988: Edberg a deserving new champion
Portrait of 2-time Wimbledon champion Stefan Edberg
Wimbledon 1990: Becker vs Edberg
1990: Martina Navatilova’s historic 9th Wimbledon champion
Wimbledon 1991: the first Middle Sunday
1992: first Grand Slam for Andre Agassi
Andre Agassi: thanks to Wimbledon I realized my dreams
1993: Pete Sampras defeats Jim Courier
1994: Pete Sampras defeats Goran Ivanisevic
1995: Tim Henman disqualified!
1996: Richard Krajicek upsets Pete Sampras
1997: Pete Sampras defeats Cédric Pioline
2000 Wimbledon SF: Pat Rafter defeats Andre Agassi
2000 Wimbledon Final: Pete Sampras defeats Pat Rafter
2001 Wimbledon 4th round: Federer defeats Sampras
Wimbledon 2010: Rafael Nadal defeats Tomas Berdych
The Spirit of Wimbledon: a 4-part documentary by Rolex retracing Wimbledon history
Wimbledon 2014 coverage

Preview and Recaps:

Polls:

Who will win Wimbledon 2015?

  • Serena Williams (53%, 23 Votes)
  • Maria Sharapova (14%, 6 Votes)
  • Simona Halep (12%, 5 Votes)
  • Other (7%, 3 Votes)
  • Petra Kvitova (5%, 2 Votes)
  • Caroline Wozniacki (2%, 1 Votes)
  • Ana Ivanovic (2%, 1 Votes)
  • Lucie Safarova (2%, 1 Votes)
  • Ekaterina Makarova (2%, 1 Votes)
  • Carla Suarez Navarro (0%, 0 Votes)
  • Angelique Kerber (0%, 0 Votes)

Total Voters: 43

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Who will win Wimbledon 2015?

  • Roger Federer (36%, 59 Votes)
  • Novak Djokovic (31%, 51 Votes)
  • Andy Murray (18%, 29 Votes)
  • Stan Wawrinka (6%, 10 Votes)
  • Rafael Nadal (6%, 9 Votes)
  • Kei Nishikori (1%, 2 Votes)
  • Tomas Berdych (1%, 1 Votes)
  • Milos Raonic (1%, 1 Votes)
  • Other (1%, 1 Votes)
  • David Ferrer (0%, 0 Votes)
  • Marin Cilic (0%, 0 Votes)

Total Voters: 163

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Evonne Goolagong

From Love Thirty: Three Decades of Champions, by Rex Bellamy

Evonne Fay Goolagong had two unusual names. The Evonne happened because her mother wanted something different, instead of the familiar French spelling. Goolagong means ‘tall trees by still water”. Her father was an itinerant sheep shearer and farm hand and she was one of eight children brought up in the bush: the rolling wheat and sheep country noth of the Murrumbidgee River. They lived in a tin shack on the outskirts of Barellan and were the only Aboriginal family in the vicinity. Fishing for yabbies, small crayfish, was fun for the children? But there was no money to throw around and they were a long way frol the tennis scene. They were a long way from most scenes.
It might have stayed that way – goodness knows what Goolagong would have been doing now – but for a local initiative that produced the War Memorial Club, equipped with four tennis courts. That happened in 1956 when Goolagong was five years old. The courts could not have been nearer home and within a couple of years she was acquiring a taste for the game.

Destinity took her by the hand again when London-born Vic Edwards, who ran a huge coaching operation from Sydney, was induced to include Barellan in his network of week-long tennis schools held in bush towns while children were on holiday. The two coaches assigned to Barellan insisted that Edwards himself should have a look at Goolagong and he flew hundreds of miles to do so. Edwards was impressed by her movements, reactions, and ball sense – that innate judgement of a ball’s speed and bounce on which timing depends.
She was nine then. Two years later she made her first trip to Sydney for intensive coaching and at 13, in 1965, she moved in with the Edwards family. Edwards became her legal guardian, assuming responsibility for her education on and off court. But Goolagaong retained close ties with her own family and with Barellan, where local residents dipped into their pockets to subsidize her career. She was already winning age-group championships and in 1970 she became Australian junior champion without losing a set and went on her first overseas tour. Edwards, a hearty bear of a man, was to travel with her as coach, manager, and surrogate father until 1976, by which time Goolagong had matured and married and was assuming an independent life style.

Edwards thought she could win Wimbledon in 1974. But in 1971 Goolagong surprised him. She surprised everybody. In January she led Margaret Court 5-2 in the third set of the Australian final but was afflicted by cramp and could no longer do the running Court demanded of her. A month later she beat Court in the Victorian final. Over to Europe, where Goolagong won the French championship at the first attempt without conceding a set and then beat Nancy Richey, Billie Jean King and Margaret Court in consecutive matches to become Wimbledon champion. At the age of 19, on her second trip overseas, the brown-skinned lass from a tin shack in a bush town had won two of the game’s four major titles.

Evonne Goolagong, Wimbledon 1971

Goolagong did not find it easy to build on that, partly because her toughest rivals had worked out how to play her, partly because her game veered wildly between splendour and mediocrity, and partly because she was not greedy for glory. She lost 11 of the 18 Grand Slam finals she played. That was hardly surprising, because the players who beat her were King (four times), Court and Chris Evert (three each), and Virginia Wade. At the same time one could not resist a frivolous line of logic: Goolagong loved playing tennis, had to win in order to enjoy another match in the next round, but was deprived of that incentive whenever she reached a final. She was a determined competitor but tended to value the game more than the prize. She was not in the same class as King, Court and Evert when it came to a concentrated, total commitment to success.

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John Newcombe, Australian Open 1975

From John Newcombe’s autobiography Newk:

I was really in no mood to play in the 1975 Australian Open, which began in the last week of ’74 at Melbourne’s Kooyong. I wanted to relax and have fun with family and friends over Christmas, and for some time, I’d been arguing the point with the organisers of the Open. Many players were skipping the event because they refused to sacrifice Christmas. I argued that if only it could be put back a few weeks, till the end of January, there’s be a stellar list of competitors.

I told tournament director John Brown that I wouldn’t be playing. I was jaded, I wasn’t motivated, and not having played in a tournament for nearly two months I was rusty and about 4 kilos overweight. I told Brown that the only thing that could make me reconsider would be if Jimmy Connors was competing – and I was sure he’d be giving the Open a miss. Then, 11 days before the tournament, Brown rang me and said that Connors had decided to play, and asked whether this changed my decision. ‘Give me an iron-clad guarantee that Jimmy is definitely going to be there, and I’ll sign up right now,” I replied. Jimmy was coming, and it was on: the tennis championship of the world.

I struggled throughout the early rounds of the Open. In spite of my training regimen, I was uninspired and inconsistent. My fans despaired as 19-year-old German rookie Rolf Gehring took me to five sets in the second round. I was not playing well, but I was winning.
At the end of the first week, there was some rain, so the second half of the Open was concertinaed into three days, with the final of the singles to be played on New Year’s Day. I played Geoff Masters in the quarterfinals and he had me down two sets to one before I beat him 10-8 in the fifth. Then I played a doubles quarterfinal with Tony Roche, which we won, and the next day I had to face Tony in the singles semifinal. This was a gruelling program, so before I played Rochey, I went to see Stan Nicholes, our old Davis Cup trainer, and he massaged my legs for two hours, pushing all the lactic acid out of them, and when I squared off against Tony I felt good.

I needed to because this match was probably one of the hardest I ever played. As mentioned previously, Tony and I had a habit of going all out against each other, and this was no exception. Again, the match went to five sets. At one point in that deciding set, Tony had me 5-2 down. Then, somehow, I finished up beating him 11-9 in what became a marathon.
To this day, I have no recall of that fifth set. I was so physically and mentally exhausted I played on instinct alone. At the end, as the 12,000-strong crowd gave Rochey and me a standing ovation, Channel 7’s on-court commentator, Mike Williamson, came to interview me. I have no memory of that either, but he says I sat there on my chair with a towel over my head staring glassily ahead, reminding him of a boxer who’d just copped a 12-round hammering. Apparently I managed to quip:

‘I can certainly think of better ways to prepare for a final against Jimmy Connors. I feel as old as Ken Rosewall right now.’

But really, all I wanted to do was cry. That exhausting semi had taken me somewhere my brain and body had never been before.
Later, after I’d showered, I sat for a while with Tony and said:

‘Mate, I’ve got to play Connors tomorrow in the final. I can’t play in the doubles. Can we default?’

Like the true friend he is, Rochey didn’t hesitate to let me off the hook. Next, I returned to Stan and he pummeled my legs for another two hours. After that, I had the quietest New Year’s Eve of my life.

On 1 January 1975, I woke feeling fresh and not hurting too much, considering. I jogged 2 kilometres to loosen up, then went to the courts to play Jimmy Connors.
I wasn’t intimidated by him. Perhaps I should have been? The man who had been likened to boxer Joe Frazier – ‘he keeps coming at you’ – had waged a brilliant Open campaign, thrashing all comers on his way to the final. He was an unbackable favourite with the bookies, but not the crowd.
Throughout, his brashness had annoyed local fans, especially when he arrogantly dismissed the 37 Australian players in the tournament. ‘I don’t care how many they are,’ he boasted. ‘Bring them on one after another. I’ll beat them all.’

Connors and I played probably the greatest, certainly the most intensely fought, Australian Open final ever. It was a blazing hot day, the flies were terrible, the atmosphere electric and the crowd noisy and parochial, yet of my life so focused was I that I could have been playing on the moon. I knew I was in for the fight against a skilled and implacable opponent who’d destroyed everyone who’d crossed his path. Also, at 30 years of age and having just played that killer match against Tony, I wasn’t sure if my body could take it. I had to put myself into the zone and be in tune with everything that was happening inside me.

Against all the predictions, and to the delight of the fans, I won the first set 7-5, which led one character in the crowd to yell at Connors ‘What happened Mouth?’ Jimmy then broke me in the second set and easily held his service to win 6-3.

In the third I broke him, then he broke me, then I broke him again to win 6-4. That first break has gone down as a memorable moment in Australian tennis history. With Jimmy serving at 0-15 and me leading 3-2, three contested line calls in a row – the third one an ace – gave him a 40-15 lead. I was angry, and the crowd was angry, booing and catcalling at the injustice they reckoned I’d copped. Then Jim did an odd thing: he deliberately double-faulted in an attempt to pacify the crowd. It worked. The fans, so against Connors right through the tournament, suddenly cheered him for his good sportmanship. But he’d let me back into the game and I took ruthless advantage of what I considered was his patronising and overconfident benevolence. I couldn’t believe what he’d done. I’m all for playing fair, but not to the point of martyrdom. Every player gets bad calls and you have to live with them.

In the fourth set, I was on top 5-3 after a few aces (I served 17 in that final) and was serving for the match. At this stage I had some energy left but I was starting to feel totally buggered. Normally I’d train two to three months for a Grand Slam event and, having put in the hard work, my condition would always see me through. But this time, with just 10 days training under my belt, I was way underdone. From the first point of the final, I conserved every ounce of energy. I didn’t smile a lot, didn’t show much emotion. Between points I walked slowly and calmly and breathed deeply. I knew Jimmy would take me to the wire and I prayed I had enough left to accomodate him.

Connors didn’t disappoint me. At 3-5 down in that fourth set, when many other guys would have packed it in, Jimmyplayed like a tiger to try to save the match. He pulled off an unbelievable game to break me, clouting some tremendous winners. Racing around the court like a dervish, he got me to a tie-break. First I went ahead, then he went ahead and served for the set at 6-5 in the tie-break. I battled to tie the score 6-6, then Connors went ahead 7-6. Finally, I finished off his brave flurry: he lost three points in a row and I ended his agony with a serve to win the set 7-6. […]

After the match I was euphoric, and embraced Angie and the kids. It was an emotionally charged presentation at courtside, and not only because of the classic match Jimmy and I had played, or Evonne Goolagong‘s win over Martina Navratilova so soon after the death of Evonne’s dad, Ken, in a car accident. Just a week before the fianl, Cyclone Tracy had levelled Darwin, and the nation was bruised and hurting? I auctioned my racquet for $1400 to benefit Darwin’s homeless and then, even though I was wrecked, I played a fundraiser exhibition match at the Hodern Pavilion to raise more money.

Chris Evert, 1975

By Mike Lupica, 1975

1975 was going to be the year something caught up with Chris Evert, the year anything caught up with her. She was advancing into her twenties, and her Miss Teenage days were behind her, and before she turned into a full-fledged American institution like General Motors or All in the Family, everyone was waiting for fate to step in and, well, at least slow her down.

Fate could take any form, as far as the rest of the women tennis pros were concerned: the anti-trust laws, a blemish, a couple of lousy backhands, a broken shoelace, anything. Maybe she would even lose a match every month or so. Maybe. Wrong.

This is what Chris Evert did in 1975: she won 16 of 22 tournaments, and 94 out of 100 matches; the only player to play her on equal terms was Billie Jean King, who split four matches with Chris, and now she doen’t even play singles anymore; she won over $363,000; she extended her winning streak on clay courts to 90 matches; she won the French Open, the Italian Open and the Family Circle Cup for the second consecutive year; she won her second Virginia Slims championship.

More? She won her first United States Open, just about the only major title to elude her this side of Florida seat in the US Senate; she won the L’eggs World Series of Women’s Tennis (and began 1976 by winning it again); her only real frustration came in blowing her semifinal match at Wimbledon against Billie Jean; she closed out 1975 by winning her last eight tournaments, and 35 straight matches.

By now, you must get the idea. Nothing was going to slow Chris Evert down in 1975, just like nothing – not even World Team Tennis, which she’ll join this year – looks like it can slow her down in 1976. Maybe in 1989 or so, she may start to slip a little.

There’s no doubt about it anymore. The kid is no flash in the pan.

Of course, what this remarkable success does is just put more pressure on this remarkable young woman. Each loss will become a curiosity item, something for those who collect weid pieces of trivia. Thirty years from now, a bunch of old dowdies will be sitting around on the tea room veranda at Wimbledon, wearing old Virginia Slims t-shirts, and be saying things like: “I remember the time she lost a match in seventy six…”
And she knows this, knows now even before she has reached full maturity that each time she steps on the tennis court she is under the most critical of microscopes, as those who still cannot comprehend her genius wait fo her fall. Did she lose only six matches last year? Maybe this year six losses may be too many as far as the public is concerned.

“You know, it’s funny,” she was saying early last year, home resting in Fort Lauderdale before she again rejoined the tour and her assault on all the records that mean anything in tennis.

“No matter what I do, it’s never quite enough. They always want something more from me.”

What that “more” is, perhaps only Chris Evert can ever know.

Each little slip of hers is regarded as some kind of portent of Bad Things to Come. She looked about ready to bury Billie Jean at Centre Court in King’s last Wimbledon, up 2-0 in the final set, and holding two break points. But then the indomitable King, who someday with Evert and Suzanne Lenglen will be the one of three women tennis players worth talking about in this century, reached down into her still-hungry spirit and came back to win.
So the critics wondered: what will happen to her confidence now? What happened? She went out over the last six months of the year and played better than she had in the first six months. So much for portents.

When she and her sometimes friend James Connors played Billie Jean and Marty Riessen in that Love Doubles thing in Las Vegas in December everyone waited for her to fold a little again. All Chris did that day was play the best tennis on court, better than King, better than Riessen, even better than Connors. Not only that, she was absolutely charming in the process. Each time she plays now, the myth of the Ice Maiden melts a little more.

“It’s a shame, the public doesn’t know the real Chris Evert like I do”, Billie Jean has always said. “I wish they could hear more of the things she says when we’re playing doubles, as partners or otherwise. She’s a fun person. I mean she’s really a fun person.”

She is not a racket thrower, or a tantrum thrower because she is simply not like that. She is one who worked hard, was taught to win, does not make mistakes. Wins.

“Boy, I worked hard on my game when I was younger,” she says, answering the unspoken question of how she has come to be the player she is. “I worked from the time when I was 15 and 16. I would always practice five or six hours a day. I mean, I was playing that much tennis in the hot sun.”
“I can’t do that now,” she continues? “I wouldn’t want to do that now. When I’m off the tour for any length of time, I still like to practice, but never more than ninety minutes, or two hours, at a time. I’m not a fanatic about it anymore.”

She has more interests away from tennis than she ever did, and that is no small feat for someone who for the last five years of he life has spent her time in airports and in hotels and on tennis courts, or commuting to wonderful places like that. But slowly she has cultivated an interest in photography. And now she has succeeded Billie Jean as president of the Women’s tennis Association, as that organization moves into the most crucial stage of its existence. No, she is no longer Miss Teenage Tennis. This girl is a woman now.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the Old Lady,” she laughs, referring to the celebrated nickname for Billie Jean. “Some of the younger girls come up and ask for advice. Mostly, it’s the european girls, asking for advice on clothes and where to shop and thingd like that. But still I’m kind of flattered by that. They’re asking me the same kind of questions I asked the older players when I first came out on the tour.

Perhaps the question they should all be asking her is: How do we beat you? Chris’ game has more variety and substance than ever as she moves into 1976. Her volley has improved sixty percent in the last year, as evidenced by her surprisingly strong net play in the Love Doubles match. The announcers kept informing their viewers how suspect Chris was at the net, and Chris just kept swatting away short balls for winners.

“I’ve been working very hard on my volley and my second serve,” she said in ’75, “because I think they’re the two parts of my game that most need improvement – two of many.” So she went to work and improved them.

She is also even tougher on the court than ever before, and this was evidenced in the US Open final, when Evonne Goolagong, who again this year will be her most consistent nemesis, had her in deep trouble in the second set. But Chris, beneath that placid and seemingly impenetrable placid exterior is really a little hitwoman on the court, pulled heself together and won her first Open.

“My father taught me to win,” she says of Jimmy Evert, her only coach. “To give one hundred percent and to win.”

Dad done taught her good, right?

The competition for her this year on the Slims tour will be strong, of course. Free from political pressures, that new American citizen Martina Navratilova will be out to show that she indeed can become the world’s best player. And there are old familiar favorites – Margaret Court and Virginia Wade and Olga Morozova and Kerry Melville Reid – around to see if they can play a couple of winning tunes.

But, as always, Chris will be there, and Chris will be winning, and maybe 1976 will be the year she conquers what seems to be the only real problem left for her in tennis: How to handle Jimmy Connors.

Chris Evert

By Steve Fink, World Tennis magazine, December 1989:

I met Chris Evert on the day she reached her first Grand Slam final in Paris 16 years ago, when I interviewed her for this magazine. We became good friends, and I found myself immersed in her career.
She soon realized that I was regarded by the sport’s inner circle as her Boswell, as the primary source of information about her record, and she knew that my recollection of her matches was invariably sharper than her own. Throughout her career she would defer to me at press conferences from Palm Beach to Wimbledon whenever she could not answer a question about herself.

But my involvement with her went much deeper than that. I attended both of her weddings, sat with her family at many of her critical contests in the major championships, and spoke with her frequently before, during and after tournaments to offer council.
Given those circumstances, and the highly unusual of our alliance, I made it a practice, with few exceptions, not to write about he. The conflict would be clear-cut, and I saw no reason to abuse proximity of my position. But this is the time to relax journalistic binds a bit and offer my intimate assessment. Hers was a unique journey through the seventies and across the eighties, and to understand how Evert impacted her era, there is only one place to begin.

In September 1970, at the age of 15, Evert planted the first true seed of her greatness by toppling the world’s No.1 player Margaret Court 7-6 7-6 in the semifinals at Charlotte, North Carolina. Only weeks earlier, Court had completed the Grand Slam by winning the US Open at Forest Hills on grass, but on the clay of Charlotte the Fort Lauderdale prodigy erased the rangy Australian. It was unmistakably a sign of what was to come.
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