This article appeared in Tennis Threads, the only printed British tennis magazine.
Billie-Jean King’s name is everywhere at the moment after the film release of ‘Battle of the Sexes’.
Billie-Jean was my idol. As a junior, I modelled my whole game on hers. In fact, I still think of her when I serve. Hers was a loose and languid action.
She attacked, she screamed when she missed a volley, slamming her racket on the net cord followed by a roar of frustration. The British public were shocked at the aggression but she didn’t seem to care.
I had a couple of coaching sessions with her when I was about 13.
She told my parents “she has a nice game”. I nearly fainted.
Our paths crossed a number of times after that. Every time she saw me she’d say ‘how are ya doing? how’s ya game?’ in her American drawl. I began to think I had a double. Surely she didn’t really recognise me. But it was great kudos – my schoolmates would say ‘does she know you?’ ‘Oh yes, we go back a long way, Billie Jean and I’.
Years later, I wangled my way into the centre court at Wimbledon, sneaking onto the photographers’ platform and watched her every game.
The photographers knew nothing about tennis. They were just assigned the job. I remember one of them had covered a war the previous week. So they’d ask me things like ‘how does a tie break work’, ‘is this what they call a break point?’ It wasn’t quite ‘who won?’ but not far off. They asked me to interview players because they were incapable. And when Billie Jean got to the final at her last Wimbledon, one of them said ‘we have a live slot on CBS News tomorrow. They want us to interview the winner. Would you do it?’ I was just 19 and terrified at the prospect but spluttered a yes. I would never get a chance like that again. I hardly slept that night.
The following day she slaughtered Evonne Cawley and I was so petrified I barely took it in.
I went into the press conference. They led me to a studio, pinned mics all over me and sat me down. I had about five questions scrawled on a piece of paper, rubbishy ones like ‘how do you feel’. The paper was shaking.
And then my idol walked in. She did a double-take, composed herself and then she said ‘how are ya? how’s ya game?’. She had just won Wimbledon and asked how I was. I’m still not sure if she really recognised me. Maybe she just saw the adoration written on my face and it was an acknowledgement. But then there was that double-take…
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