Novak Djokovic

Follow our Roland Garros 2015 coverage and relive some of the most memorable Roland Garros moments. Many pictures and videos to come! If you attend the tournament and want to share your pictures/videos/recaps please contact us.

Roland Garros visitor’s guide:

How to buy Roland Garros tickets
Get behind the scenes at Roland Garros – part 1
Get behind the scenes at Roland Garros – part 2
Take a seat: court Suzanne Lenglen
Take a seat: court Philippe Chatrier
Today at Roland Garros: Court Philippe Chatrier
Longines Smash Corner
Roland Garros store

Fashion and gear:

A trip down memory lane:

1956: First time at Roland Garros for Rod Laver
Portrait of Manuel Santana, first Spaniard to capture a Grand Slam title in 1961
1967: Françoise Durr defeats Lesley Turner
1969: Rod Laver defeats Ken Rosewall
Portrait of 6-time Roland Garros champion Bjorn Borg
Portrait of Adriano Panatta, the only player to beat Bjorn Borg at Roland Garros
1978: Virginia Ruzici defeats Mima Jausovec
1982: At the request of Monsieur Wilander
1982: first Grand Slam for Mats Wilander
1983: Yannick Noah defeats Mats Wilander
1984 French Open: Ivan Lendl defeats John McEnroe
1985 French Open: Chris Evert defeats Martina Navratilova
Roland Garros 1985: Mats Wilander defeats Ivan Lendl
Roland Garros 1988: bold Leconte swept aside by a Mats for all surfaces
Portrait of Natasha Zvereva, 1988 runner-up
Portrait of Arantxa Sanchez, 1989 French Open champion
Portrait of Michael Chang, 1989 French Open champion
1990 French Open: Opposites attract, Gomez defeats Agassi
Roland Garros 1990: Defending champion Sanchez loses in the first round
Roland Garros 1990: Edberg and Becker lose in the first round
1991 French Open 3RD: Michael Chang defeats Jimmy Connors
1991 French Open final: Jim Courier defeats Andre Agassi
Roland Garros 1996: Pete Sampras run through the semi-finals
1997: Going ga-ga over Guga
Steffi Graf – Martina Hingis Roland Garros 1999
2000: Mary Pierce finds peace and glory
2004: Coria vs Gaudio: the egotist vs the underdog
2005: Rafael Nadal defeats Mariano Puerta
A look back at Roland Garros 2011
A look back at Roland Garros 2014

Pictures and Recaps:

Polls:

Who will win Roland Garros 2015?

  • Novak Djokovic (35%, 132 Votes)
  • Rafael Nadal (26%, 99 Votes)
  • Roger Federer (24%, 92 Votes)
  • Kei Nishikori (7%, 28 Votes)
  • Andy Murray (6%, 22 Votes)
  • Other (1%, 3 Votes)
  • Tomas Berdych (1%, 2 Votes)
  • David Ferrer (0%, 1 Votes)
  • Stan Wawrinka (0%, 1 Votes)
  • Marin Cilic (0%, 1 Votes)
  • Milos Raonic (0%, 0 Votes)

Total Voters: 381

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Who will win Roland Garros 2015?

  • Serena Williams (43%, 105 Votes)
  • Maria Sharapova (30%, 73 Votes)
  • Simona Halep (11%, 28 Votes)
  • Ana Ivanovic (4%, 10 Votes)
  • Eugenie Bouchard (3%, 8 Votes)
  • Other (3%, 8 Votes)
  • Caroline Wozniacki (2%, 6 Votes)
  • Petra Kvitova (2%, 5 Votes)
  • Carla Suarez Navarro (1%, 2 Votes)
  • Ekaterina Makarova (0%, 1 Votes)
  • Andrea Petkovic (0%, 1 Votes)

Total Voters: 247

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From Hard courts: real life on the professional tennis tours, by John Feinstein:

When the red clay dust had finally cleared on Friday night, the semifinal matchups were hardly as glamorous as might have been expected. Leconte, building on his victory over Mancini, had become the story of the tournament locally, by beating Andres Gomez and Horst Skoff. He would play Thomas Muster in one semifinal, Muster having beaten Aguilera. Often when a player pulls a huge upset, he has trouble coming back the next day. True to that form Aguilera had been a shadow of himself after the Edberg victory. The other semifinal matched Sanchez against Andrei Chesnokov, the talented Soviet with the great deadpan sense of humor.

Chesnokov – Chezzy to everyone on tour – could easily have been a stand-up comic. His English was a good deal better than he liked to let on, although he would occasionally end long speeches in English by looking at his companion and saying, “You understand the language I am speaking?”
In any language, Chezzy was funny. But his postmatch interviews in English had become legendary. Chezzy understood English but was not fluent. When someone asked him a question in English he had to translate it to Russian in his head, grasp it, think of the answer in Russian, translate back to English in his head, and then answer. Often this brought on long pauses. He also had developd an instinctive habit of starting his answer to any question with the words “but no … yes.”

A year ago, he had announced that he was tired of turning 90 percent of his money over to the Soviet Tennis Federation. By year’s end, after some lenghty negotiations, Chesnokov had been given permission to keep his prize money, as long as he agreed to play Davis Cup and the Olympics for his country. It was similar to Natalia Zvereva‘s deal. That made him happy.
Chezzy was never very happy with his tennis, though. He was as fast as anyone in the game and, even though he rarely betrayed emotion on the court, an intense competitor. All week Chezzy had been playing down his chances. After he beat Jaime Yzaga in the third, 6-2 6-1, he said he was happy to be in the quarterfinals but didn’t expect to go any farther. When he then whipped Marc Rosset, the six-foot-six-inch Swiss who could easily pass for Harpo Marx, he said he really wasn’t playing well. Someone asked Chezzy how he would get ready for the semifinals. “But no … yes. I go to disco,” Chezzy answered. “Maybe I loosen up that way.”

About the only thing Chezzy loved better than going to a disco was talking about it. If he spent as much time in discos as he claimed, he never would have beaten anyone. On Saturday he beat Sanchez in a strange three-setter. Sanchez dominated the first set, Chezzy the second. When Chezzy went up 5-3 in the third, he looked to be in control. But as he had done against Becker, Sanchez came back, winning three straight games to go up 6-5. Chezzy held serve to force a tiebreak, then surprised Sanchez by playing attacking tennis throughout the tiebreak. He won it 7-2. Chezzy, like most Soviets, is an excellent chess player. He had outthought Sanchez at the end.
Chezzy, of course, said he had no chance in the final. Muster had hammered Leconte; Chezzy didn’t think he could beat him.

“Thomas is playing very, very well,” he said. “But also I think maybe I take him out tonight. Buy him a vodka at disco.”

Chezzy was nowhere near a disco that night. but he played the next day as if he had taken some kind of elixir. Muster dominated the first set, grunting and pounding away on a hot, sunny day made for him. Down 5-3, Chezzy went to the afterburners. He won four straight games to take the set in seventy excruciating minutes, then was flawless the last two sets and won, 7-5 6-3 6-3. When the two-hour-and-forty-minute match ended, Chezzy threw his arms into the air, exhausted and thrilled.

The awards ceremony in Monte Carlo is second only to Wimbledon’s in simplicity and dignity. A representative of the royal family, Prince Albert in recent years, comes on court to present the trophies. No speeches, no endless thanking of sponsors. When the trophy has been presented, the flag of the winner’s country is raised above the scoreboard and his anthem is played. During the Soviet anthem, one of the loveliest in the world, Chezzy stood at attention, not rigid or melodramatic, just respectful. He was clearly moved by the moment. He was not alone.

A few weeks after her pro debut, the Capriati mania keeps going on:

From Hard courts: real life on the professional tennis tours, by John Feinstein:

By the month of April all the indoor tournaments are over. The marking time after the Australian Open is finished. The game moves to the clay courts, and everyone begins looking ahead to the next Grand Slam, the French Open.

Clay has always been thought as the surface of Europeans and South Americans. The red clay of Roland Garros, in Paris, and the Foro Italico, in Rome, are part of the sport’s heritage, and players from the Continent and from South America do grow up on, and for the most part, do most of their playing stuff.

[…] Since the Open left Forest Hills for the hard courts of Flushing Meadow in 1978, there has been no great clay-court tournament in the United States. The US Clay Court Championships, once played in Indianapolis, died there in the mid 1980s when the courts were paved (to induce the men to play there before the US Open). The USTA still runs a US Clay Court Championships in May, but very few players ranked in the top one hundred ever show up.

The women still have Hilton Head, though. For the past eighteen years, they have played the Family Circle Cup at the Sea Pines Plantation on Hilton Head, South Carolina. It represents the opening of the clay-court season for the women and has the feel of a big tournament, though it still retains the charm of a small one. The stadium at the Sea Pines Racquet Club seats about five thousand people. It is surrounded by soaring South Carolina pines which give the place a feeling of isolation. The real world seems much farther away than just across a bridge that leads to the honky-tonk towns and paper mills of the South Carolina and Georgia marsh country.

The field for this tournament is always strong. The prize money is as high as a non-Grand Slam women’s tournament (other than the Lipton) can be: $500,000 meaning that, under Women’s Tennis association rules, at least one of the top two-, two of the top four-, and four of the top eight-ranked players must be entered. In 1990, Navratilova was there, Arantxa Sanchez was there, Zina Garrison was there, and so was Natalia Zvereva. But they were not the stars of this week.

Jennifer Capriati was at Hilton Head, courtesy of Gerry Smith’s string-pulling. The only people pulling harder for her to make it to the weekend than Smith were the ones from NBC. For them a Navratilova-Capriati final would be straight out of Fantasy Island. Not only would they have a classic princess-grand dame matchup, they would have it with the grand dame’s pal and the princess’ hero/mentor – Christine Marie Evert herself – making her network debut in the commentary booth.[…]

And so it was that The Queen came to Hilton Head with the network hoping that The Kid would come through. She did – with flying colors. Still unseeded because she didn’t yet have a ranking, Capriati had to play Sanchez in the third round. No problem: 6-1 6-1. In the quarters, Capriati struggled a little against Helen Kelesi, but roared back to win. Now NBC and Gerry Smith had part of their wish – Capriati had made it to Saturday’s telecast. She would play Zvereva in one semifinal. Navratilova would play a lanky young Czech named Regina Rajchrtova, a quarterfinal over Garrison.

Naturally, Capriati-Zvereva would be the Saturday TV match. To ensure that the court would be clear for The Princess when NBC came on the air at 2 pm, the other semifinal was scheduled for 11:30. This did not exactly please Navratilova. She didn’t relish the role of second fiddle, so she took her sweet time getting ready to go out and play. It was almost 11:50 before the match – which she won in a romp – actually began.

Navratilova may not have been thrilled with all the Capriati mania, but she understood it.

“She’s a fresh face, the new kid on the block, everybody loves her,” she said. “I understand that. It’s amazing how young she is, though. I had been on tour three years before she was born.”

Navratilova was in the final. And after she destroyed Zvereva, so was Capriati, who by now was joyiding though the whole thing. She had a crew fom HBO (which had reportedly paid the family well into six figures) dogging her for a documentary; she had a million questions on her friendship with Chris, and she had boys and men making eyes at her. When the HBO producer told her that a twenty-three-year-old had described her as “hot”, Capriati rolled her eyes and said, “Oh God, don’t tell my father.” She also confided to friends that she had dreamed about TV star Johnny Depp and had a serious crush on Stefan Edberg. The Kid was growing up fast.

But she still sounded like a kid when she talked. When someone asked her about giving Zvereva a crucial point – overruling a call that had gone in her favor – she shrugged. “I just wanted to be fair. The ball was good? I should still have done the other points good.”
As for playing Navratilova, well, that was really something.

“I mean, it shows I’m up there with the great players, I guess,” she said. “I mean, I always watched her play, and now I’ll be out there on the court with her. To be out there with her will be great, you know, she’s really a lege.”

Sunday was something straight out of a fairy tale: gorgeous and sunny, the little stadium sparkling, with the trees rustling in the spring breeze. Andy Mill admitted that the Capriati-Navratilova matchup made his wife a little nervous.

“I told Chrissie she shouldn’t try to sugarcoat the situation,” he said. “She and Martina are certainly friends, but she’s closer to Jennifer. One is a friend, the other is a protégée.”

[…]Evert turned thirty-five in December – three months and eight days before Capriati hit fourteen. Now she sat in the TV booth with Dick Enberg as Capriati raced on court two steps ahead of Navratilova – “I wanted to get my lucky chair,” she said – while Navratilova was nearly knocked over by the NBC cameraman pursuing the teenager. She was not amused.

That was Martina’s last bad moment of the day, though. She was still The Lege and played near-perfect tennis to beat The Kid 6-2 6-4 in seventy-five minutes. Capriati hardly seemed bothered by it all. During the awards ceremony she thanked just about everyone on the planet, and when Bud Collins, the master of ceremonies, started to pull the microphone back, thinking she was finished, Capriati grabbed it back. “Wait a minute, I’m not finished.”
Collins, who knows a star when he sees one, dutifully handed the mike over. Navratilova was thrilled to win – “God, it was nerve-wracking!” she said – and Capriati was thrilled to be Capriati. NBC got the highest rating it had ever gotten on the Family Circle Cup, and a higher rating than it would get on the Wimbledon final. Evert’s reviews weren’t great, but they weren’t bad. Gerry Smith couldn’t stop grinning. And why not?

The Kid had come through like … well … like a Lege.

Mary Pierce and Nick Bollettieri

From Nick Bollettieri‘s book, Changing the game:

When Mary Pierce first came to the academy in 1988, she was 13 years old and already had a blistering forehand. Her father, Jim Pierce, a belligerent man obsessed with getting his daughter to succeed, felt that the competitive envionment would help her improve more quickly. Although Mary lived in the dorms for some time, Jim continued as her coach.

Determined to maintain his control over Mary and her career, he soon pulled her out of the academy. Mary turned pro two months after her 14th birthday and started to play on the women’s tour. Meanwhile, her father was often abusive, unable to control his temper. He cursed at other players and their parents, and verbally terrorized Mary and her mother, Yannick. It got so bad that he was officially banned from tournaments. In the summer of 1993, Mary finally succeeded in getting a restraining order against her father, but she and her mother traveled with bodyguards for a while.

I know those were traumatic times for Mary, although personally, I have never had difficulties with Jim Pierce. We have always been able to talk to each other, and I credit him with the work ethic he instilled in Mary and for helping her develop the smashing “Bollettieri forehand”. I see him now occasionally, and he has become a gentler man, no longer afflicted by demons.
At the time, however, those demons plagued him and he often acted out in hurtful and damaging ways. With such a difficult background, it is no wonder that Mary was both a fierce competitor and a bundle of terrible insecurity about who she was and what she was capable of. During matches, when things didn’t go well, she often looked to her coaches for help, even though it was against the rules for them to advice to their players. She would also get down on herself, become irritated and tank matches when she an into difficulties with her opponents.

I followed her career from a distance. By the time she was 17, Mary was ranked among the top 15 women players in the world, and I saw that she had great potential to do better. At some point when we ran into each other at a tournament, I mentioned to her that she was always welcome at the Academy to train and feel safe.
Soon after, I received a phone call from her. She asked me to be her coach, and I agreed but I had conditions. I wrote her a note, “Mary, if I am to be your coach, there are two conditions that you must agree to: First, you are out of shape, in fact you are fat! You have to commit to a physical conditioning program that will get you into you top level of fitness. And second, I will stay with you until you not only believe in yourself, but also never need to look over to your support team, raising your hands in frustration and acting like a baby.”
I was deliberately blunt to put her on notice that our work together would not be a walk in the park. After reading the note Mary came to me with tears in her eyes asking why I wrote such hurtful things about her. My answer was very simple “It’s the truth and it’s my way or the highway.”
She agreed!

In 1994, our first full year together, Mary improved her ranking from No.12 to No.5 in the world. During the French Open, her road to the finals included beating defending champion Steffi Graf in two sets 6-2 6-2. Unfortunately she ran out of steam against Arantxa Sanchez Vicario. That finish set the pattern for the rest of the year; she reached the finals of five tournaments, but won none.[…]

Mary arrived in early December to get ready for the 1995 Australian Open – it would be my first time here, coaching her and Boris Becker.
For the next few weeks Mary trained as if she were preparing for a Navy Seal mission. In addition to her two on-court workouts each day, she also spent two hours in our weight room. Mary continued to work hard over the holidays and her full-time coach Sven Groeneveld and her conditioning coach, José Rincon. But after I returned from a week of skiing in Aspen and met her in Australia for the warm-up tournament, she still hadn’t shed all of her extra body weight.

I confronted her about it and finally got through to her. That night, with a bit of help from Sven and José, Mary located all the junk food she had hidden in her appartment – her favorite indulgence was tiramisu – and threw it out. The next day she arrived for practice with a new attitude, all business and commitment.

Boris lost in the first round and generously told me to stay and take Mary to the championship. She breezed through the first three rounds in straight sets and dispatched Anke Huber, a German player who had given her problems in the past. In the quarterfinals, she faced Natasha Zvereva, a tough player from Belarus. I knew Mary could win, but I had a different problem. I had commited to hosting a Super Bowl tennis clinic in Florida and would miss the semis and finals.
Mary won against Zvereva as expected, and after the match I reminded her that I had to leave for the United States. I knew it would be difficult for both of us. I told her that she was ready – her game was technically close to perfect. The only thing she needed was confidence in herself to deal with adversity on the court, to look deep inside herself, not hope to find answer in the coaches’ box. She didn’t need me or anyone else to win the tournament. We both had tears in ours eyes as we hugged and parted.

Mary’s opponent in the semifinals was the No.3 player in the world, Conchita Martinez. I called Mary during my stopover in Hawaii and gave her the game plan Sven and I had worked out. I made it to bradenton in time to watch the match on television. I was on pins and needles, but I needn’t have been. Mary ruled the court, whipping Conchita 6-3 6-1. After the final point, when she did look over the coaches’ box, her arms were raised in victory and I knew the change had happened. At that moment, Mary came into her own; she finally accepted that she was a winner! I only wished I could have shared that moment with her by being there.

The finals were almost a foregone conclusion. She dominated Arantxa Sanchez Vicario 6-3 6-2 to win the Australian Open. I was in heaven. When she called me, I was momentarily at a loss for words I was so happy. Then I congratulated her on her victory and told her, “Remember what I put in my note to you? I told you that I’d stay with you until you can stand on your own two feet. Today, you showed not only yourself, but the entire world that Mary Pierce is a winner. You were perfect and now you’re ready to rely on your full-time coach, Sven Groenveld.” Then I added, “Go out, get the biggest tiramisu you can find and eat it all by yourself. You have earned it.”

By Steeve Goldstein, from “World Tennis” – May, 1988

“Would you like tea?” asks Andrei Chesnokov‘s mother with a giggle and a friendly smile. “Or maybe you’d like something stronger?” The visitor considers her request, knowing that tea is not a simple thing when offered in a Soviet household. Tea is fine, he says, and within moments the table is groaning under a burden of bread, caviar, fish, meat, sweet piroshki, pickles and a steaming silver samovar filled with tea.

Across the table, Andrei Chesnokov sits grinning. He has seen it all before. Chesnokov, the prodigal tennis-playing son, is home in Moscow for a change and Valentina Nikolaevna, his vivacious, plump, russet-haired mother, is spoiling “Andrewshka” for all he’s worth; and, of course, his friends.
Completing the foursome is Chesnokov’s girlfriend Natalia Bykova, a member of the Soviet women’s team who’s ranked No. 134 in the world.

Today is a day for friends and celebrations at the modest three-room Chesnokov apartment on Academic Chelomaya Street in the south-west section of the Soviet capital. In a few hours, the tall, Nick Nolteish Chesnokov will go off to a restaurant for another party where friends will wish him luck in his endeavors for the year. Big things are expected of the world’s No. 28 player.
In a few days, it’s back to the courts. Chesnokov usually practices during the winter at the Chaika (Seagull) sports center in the heart of Moscow, a complex with two indoor courts, two outdoor courts and a heated swimming pool. There he is joined by Soviet No. 2 Alexander Volkov (No. 91 in the world), who has come to Moscow from his hometown of Kaliningrad to practice prior to leaving the Soviet Union and joining the Nabisco Grand Prix tour. Together they comprise the best Soviet tennis duo in years, potentially the best ever. Yet, life for them in the Soviet Union is not really comparable to that of the best players in other countries. Life is simple and unglamorous, and tennis fame makes little difference. Socialism is for sportsmen too.

More than 700 miles away, in the city of Minsk, the capital of the Belorussian Republic, Natalia Zvereva, ranked fourteenth in the world, is bashing forehands across the net in the cavernous, hump-backed Palace of Tennis, a half-built tennis complex that is, nevertheless, one of the best in the Soviet Union.
“Molodets,” yells Olga Morozova, meaning “excellent one.” She watches eagerly as the long-legged brunette moves to the ball, pounding it in her best Steffi Graf imitation. Morozova must be thinking, Was it only two years ago that I thought Zvereva might not be strong enough? As coach of the women’s national tennis team, Morozova is paid to make such judgments.
On another court, Natalia Medvedeva, ranked No. 200, is hitting with Larisa Savchenko, No. 17. Morozova has to be careful; when she says “Natasha,” five heads swing in her direction. Only 9 of her 14 charges on the women’s national team are not nicknamed Natasha.

The session in Minsk, an ugly city rebuilt on the ruins of World War II devastation, is one of several sbors (gatherings) that Morozova runs each year for the women’s team. These camps usually last two weeks, including daily morning and afternoon practice sessions preceded by vigorous calisthenics. When the women aren’t on-court, Morozova has them playing indoor soccer or basketball, anything to increase fitness, have fun, and create a feeling of camaraderie.
Zvereva is an established star, while Medvedeva is one of the team’s most exciting prospects. She lives in Kiev and is finishing secondary school. She is coached by her mother, Svetlana, who was one of the best tennis players in the Ukraine. Medvedeva’s brother Andrei, 13, is a member of the Soviet junior team and is her most reliable sparring partner.
The normally effervescent Morozova grows contemplative as she watches Savchenko and Viktoria Milvidskaia, No. 260 right now, but highly touted for the future, hit on the green Bolltex carpet. “If I had Savchenko’s body and Vika’s head I could have won the Grand Slam – twice,” Morozova says. Although she is one of the most famous athletes in the Soviet Union, the 1974 Wimbledon finalist sometimes permits herself to indulge in what-might-have been reveries, but mostly she concentrates on what might be in this, the heyday of Soviet tennis.

The Russians are coming. To the Rolex Orange Bowl. To the French Open. To Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. To the Nabisco Grand Prix and Virginia Slims circuits. They are coming in greater numbers, with more sophisticated skills and better equipment than ever before. They are the progeny of the first tennis renaissance in the Soviet Union since the seventies successes of Morozova and ’73 Wimbledon runner-up Alex Metreveli.
The reason is simple: With its return as a medal sport to Olympic competition after an absence of 64 years, tennis has been elevated in the complicated sports hierarchy of the country. In the Soviet Union the Olympics mean everything. All that glitters is gold, silver and bronze. That is what the Soviets care about most and if there’s a chance to win an Olympic medal, then tennis takes priority with Goskomsport, the state sports committee. But that’s a big “if.”

“If we win medals, we will get everything,” says Morozova. For now, the Soviets are building new courts and renovating others to compensate for a woeful shortage throughout the country. Plans are under way for a national tennis center in Jurmala, a Baltic seaside resort near the Latvian capital of Riga. Because they are fed up with the inferior balls produced by the Red Triangle factory in Leningrad, the Soviets have purchased better ball-making equipment, and have also been producing rackets with equipment bought from Kneissl. There are currently about 200,000 tennis players in the Soviet Union, not many in a country of 290 million people, but more than double the number before tennis went Olympic. For boys, tennis doesn’t begin to approach the popularity of hockey and soccer, but it closely rivals gymnastics and figure skating as a favorite for young girls. Wimbledon has been broadcast four or five hours a day on Soviet television the last two years. Sovetsky Sport, the national sports daily, has increased its coverage of tennis, too.

Among the crop of new, exciting players is Medvedeva, strong and tall with a classic athletic physique, Yelena Brukhovets and Natalia Biletskaya, both barely 16. Among the men, 17-year-old Andrei Cherkasov is a comer and the laconic Volkov is finally showing signs of doing some of the things predicted of him as a talented junior. Leila Meskhi, ranked No. 42, is continuing the tradition of good Georgian players and is probably the best female player to come out of that republic. Her coach and fellow Georgian, Timur Kakulia, should know. A former Davis Cup teammate of Metreveli’s, Kakulia once reached the round of 16 at Wimbledon and is considered one of the country’s all-time best.

Metreveli, by the way, returned to his native Georgia to work in the republic’s sports ministry. Insiders say that powers in the tennis federation at that time didn’t want Metreveli to usurp their authority, and he was never invited to take an active role. The former star then worked as a journalist for the Georgian news agency. Now, friends say, Metreveli is planning to open a tennis “cooperative” club in his native Tbilisi.
The tennis federation did not make the same mistake twice, however. In 1982 Morozova was named coach of the women’s national team. Yet Morozova has refused to bow to sexist images; extremely energetic, Morozova, 39, is the Soviet link with the international world.
“Because I have a name and success in the past, sometimes it helps me get respect,” she says one day while relaxing in her large (by Soviet standards), nicely decorated flat on Ryleyeva Street (Olympic figure skating star Irina Rodnina is a neighbor), within walking distance of the Chaika facility. “But also they are jealous. Some men resent my success. I’m trying to have a system,” she continues. “But it is very difficult. It’s a very individual sport and when you have a team you have to treat everyone individually. I have to have the same idea as the people who first coached them. But I’m working for the big result.”

According to most “knowledgeable” sources emanating from the West, Soviet athletes are either genetically engineered or taken directly from the cradle to sports institutes where they receive rigorous training and frequent injections of hormones and steroids. The athletes and their teams are accorded the reddest of red-carpet treatment and live in dwellings palatial by Soviet standards. Soviet tennis players are the first to laugh at this characterization. If only it were true, especially the housing part, they say.

Under the Soviet system, a tennis player who shows promise is encouraged to attend a special sports clinic after school where he or she comes under the guidance of a regular coach. Eventually, he’s invited to join one of the sports clubs that exist in every city. These clubs bear impressive names like Dynamo, Spartak or Locomotiv, or the famous Central Red Army Club. The clubs have special coaches and plentiful facilities for use by the membership, who pay a nominal fee.

Morozova, who grew up with the Dynamo club, was shaped there by a coach named Nina Teplikova. Childless herself, Teplikova’s young students were her family and she developed a very personal relationship with them. Morozova, who started playing after borrowing a neighbor’s racket and hitting balls against a garage, joined Dynamo when she was 11. Morozova’s daughter Katya, 9, definitely has the right genes. She is already a member at Spartak, where her father, Viktor Rubanov, is a coach.
The clubs run tournaments and from there the players have a chance to join the national team. Morozova won’t take a player until she is 13 or 14, but will make a scouting trip to see talent. There are also special sports boarding schools, where kids live away from home and practice constantly.
“I’m against special schools,” Morozova says firmly. “You should live at home and get that human warmth so it’s not tennis all the time.”
If Morozova is interested in recruiting a young player for her team, she calls the player’s parents and talks to them. It was easy to phone Medvedeva’s mother in Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine, and obtain permission, because Svetlana Medvedeva coaches her daughter. In Brukhovets’ case, Morozova called her coach first; then her mother came to Moscow from their home in Odessa to talk with Morozova.
“I propose the kind of tournaments she should play and then, if she has good results, she can go on to satellite and junior events in other countries,” Morozova says. “No one has said no.”
It becomes the task of the coach and parent to work out a program of study for the child at school. If Morozova is needed, she will speak to school officials as well.
Home life is sporadic. Some of the players travel quite a bit and have to keep up with their studies on the road. At home, they have daily practice sessions. Zvereva wants to be the best at everything, so she stays up late
even on tour to work on her studies. Medvedeva, on the other hand, just cares about getting by.

Former player and current television commentator Anna Dmitrieva is critical of the Soviet system, saying that children are often selected for special attention at their schools at the premature age of 6 or 7. “This is much too early,” she says. “Usually, it is only the parents who are interested at that time, while the children themselves don’t really get interested until they are 9 or 10. Only about two percent of all children are picked to get coaching, so many children who mature later fall through the system.
“We have a big country,” adds Dmitrieva. “in Czechoslovakia, nothing falls through.”

Andrei Chesnokov‘s parents divorced when he was 3, so Andrei stayed with his mother, an engineer. While still in grammar school, Chesnokov’s class was visited by a tennis coach. He was the first sportsman to come to the school, and the impressionable youngster thought tennis would be a good way to stop his mother from nagging him to go outside and play.
When Chesnokov was 8, his tennis class at school was visited by a local tennis coach named Tatiana Naumko, who picked out the best and took them to nearby Sokolniki Park to play. Naumko found an exceptional prospect in a lanky boy with a laconic manner. By the time Chesnokov was 9 he had won the winter championship in Moscow. At age 10, he went to a “young pioneer” summer camp and idolized a kid four years older who played tennis; that cemented his interest in the game.
Chesnokov progressed steadily and came to a crossroads after winning the national championship at 14. Authorities wanted to take him away from Naumko and put him under male supervision. “We have a lot of women tennis coaches who work with children,” Naumko says. “I think men and women have different qualities and add to each other.”
Yet officials in Soviet tennis circles felt Naumko should give way to a man; that once a certain skill level had been achieved by a male player his coaching should be strictly male. Naumko and Chesnokov stayed firm on their alliance and the tennis federation was forced to relent. Says Chesnokov: “I didn’t think of getting someone else.”
Naumko doesn’t always travel abroad with Chesnokov. That responsibility is shared by different coaches, among them Naumko’s husband and Shamil Tarpischev, coach of the men’s national team. When Chesnokov is in Moscow, he practices nearly every day with Naumko.

Andrei Cherkasov, 17, another bright star on the Soviet horizon, also has a female coach, Natalia Rogova. The 1987 European junior champion, he also was a finalist in the junior U.S. Open and Orange Bowl. Now he is a member of the Soviet Davis Cup team. What makes Cherkasov’s rise even more remarkable is that he comes from the city of Ufa in the Urals, a place with no tennis tradition, where the summers are short and the winters severe. Rogova, who moved to Ufa from Kishinev, discovered Cherkasov and became not only his coach but also – in true Soviet tradition – a second mother.

Why the predominance of women coaches for young boys? Dmitrieva says that there are few men willing to work with children at a beginner’s level. Thus, a strong bond is formed between female coach and male student at an early age. Furthermore, she believes there is no reason to switch to a male coach as the player gets older – as long as he is happy.
“What we really need for our top players is coaching at a very high level,” she says. “But we don’t have any men who are that good, that expert. If we speak of our problems in tennis, this is our biggest problem. Practically speaking, we don’t have a (male) coach who can lead a player to the top.”

Timur Kakulia, who Dmitrieva thinks will one day be a very good men’s coach, acknowledges that coaching is a big problem. “I’m using books by Americans and other top players to teach my kids how to play tennis,” he explains.
Alexander Volkov, who shocked everyone this year by qualifying and then reaching the round of 16 at Wimbledon before losing to Anders Jarryd, is now coached by Valeri Shklar. But his first coach was Shklar’s wife, who was a better player than her husband. Now Volkov has become a solid Soviet No. 2 behind Chesnokov. Late in maturing – some Soviet critics used to say he seemed to fall asleep on his feet – Volkov appears to have finally gotten his wake-up call.
Born and raised in Kaliningrad, a western Soviet city on the Baltic Sea near the Polish border, Volkov started to play when he was 10 purely out of curiosity. Though a natural right-hander, Volkov broke his right hand as a boy and began playing left-handed. Until two years ago, he hit two-handed off both wings, a la Gene Mayer.
When at home, Volkov practices with Shklar at the Dynamo club. But he often comes to Moscow to practice, staying either at the Hotel Sport, not far from the Chesnokov home, or at the Chaika sports center hotel, one floor below the swimming pool.

Interviewing Volkov at the “hotel” was a shock. The entrance was little more than a hole in the wall, the rooms were small and cramped, and the place reeked of sweat and grime. It was little more than a youth hostel, a far cry from a sumptuous facility like Van der Meer’s or Bollettieri’s. Perhaps the Olympics and the thought of succeeding in a suddenly reputable sport awakened Volkov’s interest. “It is more attractive now,” he admits. “It’s more popular and there are more possibilities due to it being an Olympic sport. When young people played before they didn’t see any prospects.”

Families sometimes play an important role in the development of Soviet tennis stars, but a majority of players don’t have tennis parents. Medvedeva and Zvereva grew up in tennis families with parents as coaches; so did a new face on the team, Anna Mirza, 17, whose father coached in Moscow. Bykova’s parents were both good players.
Marat Nikolayevich Zverev is a dead ringer for John Updike, but Morozova looks at him and sees a closer resemblance to Peter Graf or Roland Jaeger. “He is my biggest headache in coaching,” says Morozova, describing the tension created when a coach tries to deal with a player whose parent is also a coach, and, therefore, always on the scene. Yes, even in the Soviet Union.
Though Morozova is in charge of the two-week camps, she almost always invites the coaches of some of the players. At the camp in Minsk this group includes Kakulia, who coaches Meskhi; Anatoly Volkov, who has three
Moscow-based players (Svetlana Parkhomenko, ranked No. 117, Bykova and Eugenia Maniukova, No. 291); Anatoly Teterin, who found Savchenko in Lvov; and Sergei Zhitsky, Biletskaya’s coach.
Only one really gets in Morozova’s way – Zverev. Zvereva is impatient and somewhat bored during the camp. She bristles when Morozova attempts to correct mistakes. “I’m used to playing with my coach,” she explains later, referring to her father, who coaches the Central Red Army Club. “He understands my game.”
Zvereva may not appreciate the differences in Soviet tennis since Morozova’s salad days. At that time there was no women’s national coach, and no camps. Now there is more money to support the team and a more organized approach to learning the game and perfecting skills. “The girls now have a more professional approach to practice and work on the court,” says Morozova.

On another level, there are potential problems for Soviet players and the federation that have nothing to do with slice backhands or kick serves.
In the age of glasnost, the fever of “grab-most” has finally infected top-ranked Soviet players. The players’ expenses are covered by the federation, which also doles out a $25 per diem to players on tour. Members of the national team receive what amounts to a monthly salary, ranging from about 150 rubles per month up to 250 for such stars as Zvereva and Chesnokov (about $250 to $430). They also receive bonuses for Davis Cup competition.
The main bone of contention, of course, is that the prize money goes to the federation. Morozova estimates that Savchenko has put more than $200,000 in Soviet coffers and Parkhomenko at least half that. (The two form a top-rated doubles team that last year upset Martina Navratilova and Pam Shriver in the Wimbledon quarterfinals.) Zvereva has begun what may be the most profitable longterm fund-raising for the federation with a contribution of about $60,000 in 1987. “We have given the federation more than they have given us,” says Morozova bluntly.

Shortly after losing the final of the New Zealand Open in January, Chesnokov aired views that he has held privately for some time. “I don’t like playing for $25 a day, for sure,” he told reporters. “If I win the U.S. Open, I get just as much as if I lose in the first round. I would like to keep some of the money, everyone would like to get some money, but we can’t,” he added. “Every year we have this problem, butthey say, ‘Maybe next year.’ It’s always next year.”
Next year may have finally arrived, especially with Zvereva putting on the pressure. No Soviet official wants to preside over a high-level sports defection. “I really want a percentage of the prize money,” says Zvereva.
“I’m just 16 but I understand what it means when I’m finished playing tennis. How can I live and work?”
The Soviet tennis federation is all too aware of the problem. With many institutions subject to Mikhail Gorbachev’s sweeping economic reform, it’s likely that the state sports committee may soon have more control over its own purse strings.
“It is really a problem,” admits Victor N. Yanchuk, head of the Soviet tennis federation. “We will come closer to deciding this problem after the Olympics. But it’s unfair for someone to say he wants to keep all the money himself, after not spending a ruble for training, travel or coaching before he became a star.”
Star. Not a word that is thrown around lightly in the Soviet Union. Not a word even heard in the households of Andrei Chesnokov or Natasha Zvereva, but a word that could soon be applied to them or one of their teammates.
The Russians are coming indeed. A tennis revolution has begun in earnest.