The End of the Borg Era

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They're playing the men's semifinals at Wimbledon tomorrow, which is a good time to pause and remember when John McEnroe defeated Björn Borg in the men's singles final at Wimbledon in July 1981.

If you just shrugged your shoulders at that, you probably don't realize just how dominant Borg had been in men's tennis up to that time.

By July 1981, he had won five consecutive men's singles championships at Wimbledon.

During that stretch (1976–80), he beat Ilie Năstase (whose name may be mostly forgotten now but he was one of the sport's best in the 1970s), Jimmy Connors (twice) and Roscoe Tanner (mostly a journeyman but he was in the Top 5 when he faced Borg) in the final — and he had beaten McEnroe in an epic, five–set, three–hour–and–53–minute duel for his fifth consecutive title in 1980.

It would be hard to top that one, but the truth was that McEnroe did just about everything — except win — in 1980. A victory in the men's singles final was the only thing that would be an improvement on that memorable performance, and he came into the match determined to do what he failed to do the last time.

Perhaps that was Borg's problem. Maybe Borg had no fire in the belly. Maybe he felt he had nothing left to prove — and, to be honest, he probably didn't. In the late 1970s, there was no one in men's tennis who could compete with him. He had proven that time and time again.

Until McEnroe came along. And even McEnroe couldn't overcome Borg the first time.

But theirs was a compelling rivalry — and one that was over far too soon. It was meteoric, really. It was comparable, in its way, to the Roger Federer–Rafael Nadal duels except for a couple of things.

• The Borg–McEnroe rivalry was over almost before it began, and


• McEnroe was, as Mike McGovern writes in the Reading (Pa.) Eagle, "borderline crazy."

Borg and McEnroe were opposites, in almost every way. To be blunt about it, they were good copy for sports journalists who found themselves struggling at times to bring some excitement to the dreary days of summer.

McEnroe was always a ticking time bomb, ready to blow up at the officials or his foes ... or the fans.

Borg, on the other hand, was much more reserved. He wasn't prone to outbursts. He did have — as the world has learned in the last three decades — personal issues, but he tended to let his tennis do the talking on the court.

He had a deceptive appearance — he was bowlegged yet quick — and a devastating two–handed backhand shot that evolved from the slap shot he preferred when he played hockey as a young boy.

To put it simply, Borg was great. He won more than two–fifths of the Grand Slam tournaments in which he participated. He won nearly nine out of every 10 singles matches in those tournaments.

Surfaces never seemed to bother him. He was as comfortable — and successful — on the clay of the French Open as he was the grass of Wimbledon. That's always a tricky transition.

Historically, it has been nearly impossible to win both of those tournaments in the same year, coming back to back as they do, but Borg did it in three consecutive years — 1978, 1979 and 1980.

Winning five straight Wimbledon titles might not impress as many folks in the 21st century as it did three decades ago, but, until Federer came along, Borg was the only men's player to do it since professionals have been included.

(Federer, by the way, is one of only three men to win more Grand Slam singles titles than Borg, but he won't be adding to his total at Wiimbledon. He lost in Wednesday's quarterfinals — his first loss ever after taking a two– set lead.)

Năstase, arguably the world's best male tennis player until he lost the Wimbledon title to Borg in '76, once said, "We're playing tennis, he's playing something else."

Personally, I never knew what there was to comprehend. Borg was a baseliner, perhaps the best there ever was. I always suspected that, because he was so good, most of his contemporaries couldn't see how deceptively simple the whole thing was.

But Arthur Ashe had it right, I think.

"I think Bjorn could have won the U.S. Open," Ashe said. "I think he could have won the Grand Slam. But by the time he left, the historical challenge didn't mean anything. He was bigger than the game. He was like Elvis or Liz Taylor or somebody. He'd lost touch with the real world."

Thirty years ago, McEnroe must have figured out what Borg's game was — because McEnroe beat him at it.

There were reports that Borg's life had been threatened after he beat Connors in the semifinals. I never saw any credible evidence to support that. Perhaps only by inserting an element of personal stress and danger could some people rationalize the reality of a brash upstart like McEnroe toppling one of the greatest tennis players of all time.

That match wasn't as legendary as the one played the year before, but it was noteworthy for two things:

• It ended Borg's record 41–match winning streak at Wimbledon, and


• it turned out to be his last Wimbledon final.

It was nearly his last Grand Slam final, but Borg and McEnroe met in the U.S. Open a couple of months later. McEnroe won the title in four sets, and Borg decided it was time to go.

Borg said at the time that he had lost his motivation, and perhaps he had. But the tennis world had lost a great rivalry, perhaps the only one that could have matched the one between Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova (who met in 14 Grand Slam finals).

Evert and Navratilova were truly the Lakers and Celtics of women's tennis — of individual sports — and other individual sports (especially men's tennis) wanted the same thing. Mostly, it would bring attention to the sport — the way Ali and Frazier brought attention to boxing, the way Nicklaus and Palmer brought attention to golf, and the way the rivalry between Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding brought attention to skating when it boiled over into something more sinister.

The rivalry that developed between McEnroe and Connors was good — but they only met in two Grand Slam finals, exactly half as many as McEnroe and Borg.

The Pete Sampras–Andre Agassi duels of the 1990s were memorable — but the two played for only five Grand Slam titles.

Borg and McEnroe met in four Grand Slam finals between 1978 and 1981 — and three of those matches came in the last 15 months of that time span.

We will never know what might have been.

Fernandomania Revisited

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I've been a Dodger fan most of my life, and it is hard for me to believe that it was 30 years ago this spring that the phenomenon known as "Fernandomania" swept over the land.

I was in college that spring and had to observe what was happening from afar (and that wasn't easy to do in 1981 — nightly cable baseball broadcasts were still years in the future). But, even in northwest Arkansas, I was aware of how Fernando Valenzuela had "radically altered the country's cultural and sporting landscape," as the Los Angeles Times' Dylan Hernandez observed a few weeks ago.

I'll say he did.

Valenzuela went 8–0 to start the 1981 season. The word "dominant" is often overused, but no other word is truly adequate to describe the start of Valenzuela's rookie campaign. Teams just couldn't figure him out. He had five shutouts in his first seven starts.

He also attracted a lot of attention for his unusual delivery, in which his eyes looked skyward just as he was about to throw the ball. He appeared to be looking for divine guidance or inspiration, and, in the first part of 1981, it seemed he was getting it.

But he was never really the same after a midsummer players' strike wiped out nearly 40% of the season. He struggled at times after play resumed. He went on to win both the Cy Young Award and the Rookie of the Year Award (the only pitcher to accomplish that), and he led the Dodgers to victory against their old American League rivals, the New York Yankees, in the World Series that fall.

But he was different after the strike.

In spite of the strike, he started 25 games that year and had 11 complete games. It was the only season that Valenzuela, with a fadeaway screwball that was widely said to be the best since Carl Hubbell pitched for the rival Giants in the 1930s and 1940s, led the league in strikeouts, shutouts, innings pitched and games started.

He had other major league seasons during his career that produced more of everything, but he never had a season like 1981.

"Mania" was the right word for it.

Putting the Kibosh on Louisville

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You know, when you consider what happened on this day in 1981, it is kind of ironic that the University of Arkansas fired its basketball coach yesterday.

I suppose the odds are pretty good that you don't remember where you were and what you were doing 30 years ago today.

But I do.

I was still living in my home state of Arkansas. I was a journalism student at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, the home of the Razorbacks. Regardless of religious faith, that's really Mecca for most Arkansans (and I guess you have to have lived there — or someplace similar — to understand).

On this day in 1981, I was in my hometown of Conway, Ark., which is about 120 miles to the southeast. It was spring break, and I was visiting old friends in Conway that week.

The NCAA basketball tournament got under way that Thursday, on March 12, 1981. Before it ended, John Hinckley would attempt to assassinate Ronald Reagan. Later that year, someone would shoot Pope John Paul II. Somebody else had already murdered ex–Beatle John Lennon a few months before.

In mid–March, Razorback fans rejoiced in the basketball team's opening round victory over Mercer, but then a sense of foreboding set in. The next opponent would be Louisville, the team that won the national title the year before.

Arkansas and Louisville were to face each other on Saturday afternoon, March 14, 1981, in Austin, Texas. Austin, as any long–term Razorback fan could tell you, had been the scene of many Arkansas disappointments over the years, most of them in football.

But that had been in contests with the University of Texas.

Razorback basketball had really taken off in terms of popularity in recent years. Eddie Sutton took the Hogs to the Final Four in 1978, then they were within a whisper of returning to the Final Four in 1979 before Larry Bird and Indiana State knocked them off in the regional finals.

Spring break was nearing its conclusion. I was planning to drive back to Fayetteville the next day, but on that Saturday, I went over to visit my Aunt Bess and watch the game with her.

Aunt Bess wasn't really my aunt. That's just what everybody called her, and she was probably old enough to be my grandmother. She treated me as if I were her grandson. Matter of fact, she had a grandson who was close to my age, but he lived two time zones away so I guess I was kind of her surrogate grandson.

I used to stop at her house after school on Wednesdays, and we would drink iced tea and talk for an hour or so about all sorts of topics. She was old school about a lot of things, and she did her best to pass along lessons for living.

And, like just about everyone else in Arkansas, she was a Razorback fan.

On that Saturday afternoon, we watched in dismay as the Razorbacks fell behind and trailed by a single point with about five seconds remaining. U.S. Reed dribbled the ball a couple of times, then heaved a desperation shot from midcourt as the buzzer sounded ...

... And the ball amazingly went in the basket.

The three–point shot was still several years from becoming a reality so Reed's shot was only worth two points. But that was enough to turn a one–point deficit into a one–point triumph.

I have never had a feeling like it — before or since.

Aunt Bess and I leaped up from where we had been sitting. We yelled in unison, and then we embraced.

As I have written before, Aunt Bess was devoutly religious. She saw the hand of God in everything. In hindsight, I was always envious of that sense of assurance. Aunt Bess never seemed to doubt that there was a purpose in everything, but I often did. I still do.

But Aunt Bess was certain of what she had seen.

"The Lord took it away from us," she said with a big smile, "and then he gave it back to us."

There was "a reason" for that, she told me, but, 30 years later, I'll be darned if I can figure out what it was.

Arkansas got routed by future SEC rival LSU in the next round.

The First Wild Card to Win It All

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It might have been appropriate if the New York Jets had won the AFC championship on Sunday.

Why? Well, because it was 30 years ago today that a wild card team first won a Super Bowl.

If the Jets had beaten the Steelers on Sunday, the Super Bowl would have been played between two wild–card teams. I don't think that has ever happened before.

Four other wild–card teams have won Super Bowls since the Raiders did it 30 years ago, and three of them have done so since the dawn of the 21st century.

But, even in 1980, wild cards weren't new to pro football. They had been part of the playoff landscape for a decade by the time the Oakland Raiders defeated the Philadelphia Eagles in New Orleans on Jan. 25, 1981. And a wild card made it to the Super Bowl for the first time five years later.

But until this day 30 years ago, no wild card team had ever won a Super Bowl. The Dallas Cowboys came close back in Super Bowl X (which was also played in New Orleans), but they eventually lost to the Pittsburgh Steelers.

What seemed to surprise people the most about the Super Bowl that was played 30 years ago today was not necessarily the fact that the wild card won it — although that was surprising.

It was the relative ease with which the Raiders cruised to a 14–0 lead at the end of the first quarter — and ultimately prevailed, 27–10. When you consider who they were playing, that was positively stunning.

The Eagles had been one of the NFL's elite teams in the 1980 season, racing to an 11–1 start. Ron Jaworski was the top–ranked quarterback in the NFC. The Eagle defense kept all its opponents from scoring more than 24 points (and held most of their foes under 20) until Dallas scored 35 against Philly on the final day of the regular season.

The Raiders, on the other hand, caught just about everyone by surprise. They had made a lot of changes during the offseason, and I think most observers just wanted to wait and see how all the new parts would function together. They got off to kind of a sluggish start (2–3) and had to deal with the loss of their starting quarterback to a broken leg, but then Jim Plunkett came in, the Raiders won six in a row, and Oakland actually finished tied with San Diego atop their division.

But San Diego was awarded the division crown on a tiebreaker — which meant that, when the teams played for the AFC title, the game was played in San Diego. When they played there in the second week of the season, the Raiders lost in overtime. When the AFC title was on the line, however, Oakland surged to a 21–7 lead in the first quarter and never looked back.

It was more of the same two weeks later when the Raiders and Eagles faced each other in the Super Bowl.

The Eagles came into the game favored by three points. That surprised me because I really felt that most people believed the Eagles would win by a wider margin.

But that, of course, was not what happened.

When the game was over, everyone praised the Raiders' performance — and the Raiders did deserve that praise — but I recall less attention being given to what may well have been Jaworski's worst performance as a pro.

It was certainly his worst performance on a postseason stage. He completed fewer than half of his passes and was intercepted three times.

And by the time he threw his only touchdown pass in a Super Bowl, the Raiders had built a 24–3 fourth–quarter lead.

It was the greatest defeat, I have no doubt, of Jaworski's career.

But the flip side was that it must have been the pinnacles of the careers of the many castoffs whose careers were revived by Al Davis. The Raiders' bombastic owner picked up guys like Plunkett, Kenny King, John Matuszak and many others who asked only to be given a chance to prove that they could still contribute.

Plunkett threw three touchdown passes — two to Cliff Branch and one to King that covered 80 yards, a record that still stands. He was named the game's MVP.

What became of the team that cut Plunkett earlier in 1980? Well, I guess you could say they did all right.

That would be the San Francisco 49ers, An up–and–coming quarterback named Joe Montana emerged as their quarterback in 1980 and wound up taking San Francisco to — and winning — four Super Bowls in the '80s — starting the next year.

But that's another story.

A Memorable Afternoon

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Part of the college experience for most people is Saturday afternoon football games.

This Saturday will be the anniversary of one of the most memorable games of my college days — and I hope it turns out to be every bit as memorable for those who are students now on the campus of my alma mater.

It isn't the kind of thing that can be duplicated for succeeding generations. But my college experience would have been completely different without it.

I graduated from the University of Arkansas. And it was on October 17 in 1981 that the Razorbacks defeated their arch rivals, the Texas Longhorns, who were ranked #1 in the nation, by the lopsided score of 42–11. I went to many Razorback games when I was in college, and I don't think I ever heard the home fans cheer as loudly as they did on that day.

Maybe that's because the whole thing was such an astonishingly unexpected event.

Arkansas wasn't ranked. Two weeks earlier, the Razorbacks lost to perennial Southwest Conference doormat TCU for the first time in my lifetime. To lifelong Razorback fans, it was embarrassing. Things are different now, but back then, it was a disgrace for a team that was usually a contender for the conference title, as Arkansas was, to lose to a team in the lower tier of the SWC. And TCU definitely occupied the lower tier.

The Hogs bounced back with a 26–14 victory over Texas Tech the next week, but the unbeaten — and seemingly unbeatable — Texas Longhorns were next on the schedule.

I was living off campus in those days, and the girl who was going to the game with me was living in one of the dorms. I remember calling her and telling her that I didn't think I would go to the game that day. Like most Arkansas fans, I thought the Hogs were going to lose to the powerful Longhorns.

But she told me to come on over to the dorm and we would see how we felt when the 2:30 kickoff drew near. So I agreed to come over, although I still didn't think I would go to the game. But we talked about it and, in the end, we decided to go.

If it turned into a blowout, we agreed, we would leave. Her dorm, after all, wasn't too far from the stadium. And I admit that I was far from certain that we would stay past halftime. It turned out our seats were just across the aisle from where the huge University of Texas marching band was seated. I made a mental resolution: If the score was as out of hand as I expected and I wasn't deaf from hearing repeated playings of "The Eyes of Texas" in the first half, I should leave and count my blessings.

Well, we didn't leave the stadium at halftime. The score was out of hand, but not in Texas' favor. The Razorbacks had taken a commanding lead, and the fans were raucous. The band had been mostly quiet in the first half, and my hearing was still intact.

So we stayed. And I am glad we did. It was an experience I wouldn't trade for anything.

I found the attached clip of game highlights, and it brought back some memories of that afternoon. It's interesting, though, that whoever compiled that YouTube clip chose Michael Jackson's "Beat It" as the background music. Fact is, that song wasn't recorded until the following year so, even though it may be an energetic theme, it really isn't an appropriate one. The jubilant Razorback fans in Fayetteville that day couldn't possibly have listened to it at their victory parties that night since it didn't exist yet.

Perhaps a better tune would have been Christopher Cross' "Arthur's Theme," which was the top–selling song on Billboard's charts at the time. It might be a more subdued melody, but it is more representative of what people were listening to.

A few memories stand out from that day:

• Through most of the time I was growing up, Southwest Conference schools ran the ball. Throwing the ball was something you did if you were way behind. And some coaches apparently had too much pride to throw the ball even if they were far behind. Frank Broyles, for example, was coach of the Razorbacks until I was in high school, and I have few memories of the Razorbacks throwing the ball — even when they trailed by huge margins.
  
  I vividly recall listening to radio coverage of Arkansas' season opener when Lou Holtz took over for Broyles. On the first offensive play, Holtz called a deep pass. The sharp intake of breath from the capacity crowd was clearly audible.
  
  On that afternoon in 1981, Holtz was able to run a more conservative offense, but, because of the score, Texas was forced to abandon its running game, eventually setting a school record for pass attempts in a game. Many of those passes were incomplete, which stopped the clock and prolonged the game.


• It was starting to get dark by the time the game ended. Visibility was restricted for everyone, including the TV audience. In those days, Razorback Stadium had lights that were adequate only for practice sessions, not for illuminating a field for TV cameras.
  
  Here in the 21st century, it may be hard to imagine a stadium that isn't equipped with lights that make it possible to play there at night. But they were still around in 1981, and Razorback Stadium was one of them.


• I don't think I have ever been to a game that had as many shifts in the weather conditions. If you watch the clips, you'll see that, at some points, the field was bathed in sunlight. At other times, when clouds — and even some rain — went through, it got a little dark.
  
  There were even times when the area was under a tornado watch.
  
  It was never announced over the P.A. system, and the fans who didn't have radios with them didn't know that at the time. But the ones with radios weren't exactly making their way to the exits.
  
  This was Razorback football. The opponent was the hated Texas Longhorns, who were the top–ranked team in the nation that day. TV cameras were broadcasting the game to the outside world.
  
  And the Hogs were winning.
  
  For Razorback fans, no better conditions could be imagined for one's last moments. I can only assume that those who did know we were under a tornado watch decided it was worth the risk.


• When I was growing up, Texas was the source of a lot of frustration for Razorback fans. Nearly every year, the Longhorns beat the Razorbacks, often decisively — and that win over Arkansas usually gave Texas the conference title.
  
  In the years leading up to that memorable afternoon in 1981, Texas had run off a streak of seven straight wins over Arkansas. The Razorbacks ended that skid with a three–point win over Texas in Little Rock two years earlier, but then they seemed to resume their old ways when the series returned to Austin in 1980, giving Texas eight wins over Arkansas in the 10 years prior to that memorable afternoon in Razorback Stadium.
  
  So, on that afternoon, Arkansas fans were ready to celebrate. They tried to tear down one of the goal posts, but they couldn't quite manage it. The goal post apparently was made of metal, and the fans only managed to distort it into a bizarre dangling wishbone shape that I could see for several days as I walked past the dorms that stood at the top of the hill looking down on the stadium.

This Saturday, there will be a few clear differences between the game Arkansas will play against #1 Florida and the game the Razorbacks played against Texas in 1981.

For one, the Florida game is a road game for Arkansas. The Texas game was played at home.

For another, the top ranking in the nation hasn't been the revolving door in 2009 that it was in 1981. By mid–October of that year, Texas was the fourth team to be ranked #1. Unless I have missed something, the Gators have been ranked #1 all along.

Yet another difference is that, while Arkansas lost to a lightly regarded foe two weeks before the Razorbacks played Texas in 1981, Arkansas' two losses this year have been against teams that were ranked — Georgia and Alabama.

One more noteworthy difference: In 1981 — and this could be the most important factor for Razorback fans — Texas brought a healthy squad to Fayetteville. The Gators are led by a quarterback who has won a Heisman Trophy and two national titles in his collegiate career — but he suffered a concussion against Kentucky weekend before last and played in spite of it against LSU this past weekend.

That flew in the face of what modern authorities on sports injuries tend to recommend for concussion victims. They usually recommend that football players who have had concussions sit out the next game.

Will that affect Tim Tebow's performance against the Razorbacks? That remains to be seen. Arkansas' defense hasn't been particularly impressive this season, but I don't think it has been panned as much as it was after the TCU loss in 1981.

And, if Arkansas' explosive offense isn't held in check by Florida's defense, that may put more pressure on Florida to be productive.

Florida certainly has shown that its offense can put points on the board. And, if Tebow is 100%, beating Florida may prove to be too great a challenge for the Razorbacks.

But a lifetime of watching the Razorbacks has taught me never to count them out — even if the foe is the top–ranked team in the nation.

Common sense says Florida probably will win. But I'll be watching, anyway.

Just in case.