“Kiss me before you do that to me.... You son of a bitch.... Get out of the chair.... You’re a bum.... Get your ass out of the chair.... Don’t give me that crap.... You’re an abortion.”
-Jimmy Connors
Ego, Emotion And Jimmy Connors At The U.S. Open
Tennis is a sport obsessed with tradition. Red clay at Roland Garros, players in white at Wimbledon, and guys like Jimmy Connors at the U.S. Open. In 1991, almost two decades before Serena Williams threatened to shove a ball down a lineswoman’s throat, Jimbo verbally chopped chair umpire David Littlefield’s nuts off.
It happened during a match against Aaron Krickstein, on Connors’ 39th birthday, which is way past the age when immaturity is an appropriate excuse for calling someone “an abortion.” Sports Illustrated’s Curry Kirkpatrick was there to document the fallout (or lack thereof).
Connors was neither warned nor penalized.
“Jimmy was about as gross as he could get,” said CBS analyst Mary Carillo. “But I’ve heard him say it before. It’s very tough to hear and very tough to take.”
Said one former player, “Connors has always been an-------. It’s just that now he’s everybody’s favorite-------.”
It’s true. If endearing enough, assholes aren’t only tolerated in New York, they’re celebrated. That’s not to say what Connors did was gentlemanly, or right. But it was raw. And that’s what makes the Open different. It’s the only Grand Slam seemingly spared by the sport’s cleaning crew. Ego and emotion aren’t scrubbed away. “A lot of times,” tennis writer L. Jon Wertheim told me last week, “the best matches are two guys just battling their guts out at 9 o’clock at night on a back court in front of 150 people.”
It’s why as a teenager I liked watching fans in Queens embrace loud, proud New Jersey native Justin Gimelstob, and why one of my favorite Open memories is from 1996, when Pete Sampras barfed all over the court. That’s the U.S. Open to me. Sometimes ugly, but unique and exciting too. Kind of like Connors himself, who made it all the way to the 1991 semifinals before finally losing to Jim Courier.
Well, then, Jimbo, what about Courier? At the end of your match, he had grasped your withered hand, called you “unbelievable” and later said, “I don’t know if we will ever see anybody like [you] again.” Courier fights. He hustles. He works hard. He wants it. Could he be the next great American champion? Does he remind you of anybody? Say, of Jimmy Connors?
“Nobody reminds me of me,” said Connors.
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