“THE COURT SLAM” and “MAS, ROBERTO, MAS”
#936/#935
936. MARGARET COURT VS ROSIE CASALS
U.S. OPEN
WOMEN’S FINAL
SEPTEMBER 13, 1970
WEST SIDE TENNIS CENTER
QUALITY OF PLAY—6.93
DRAMA—6.54
STAR POWER—6.67
CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—7.65
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE—7.45
LOCAL IMPACT—7.15
TOTAL: 42.39
“THE COURT SLAM”
Margaret Court (nee Smith) is one of the all-time great female tennis players, but she is seldom regarded as such when the lists are made. The pride of Albury, Australia, a town midway between Sydney and Melbourne, Court was long and athletic, but not anything like modern stallions like Steffi or Martina or Serena. She was also hurt by her era, one that was lacking in worthy rivals or other top players of note save Billie Jean King.
Nevertheless, 1970 was Court’s annus mirabilis. She won her native Australian Open (for the ninth time), her fourth French Open, and her third Wimbledon, the latter in an epic match over Billie Jean, 14-12, 11-9. That brought her to Forest Hills and the West Side Tennis Center for the U.S. Open and the chance to win the Grand Slam, a feat only accomplished by one other woman, the late Mo Connolly back in 1953. Court nearly accomplished the feat in 1969, winning three of the four majors—only an upset loss in the semis at Wimbledon prevented the chance for back-to-back slams.
Court blew through the tournament, losing just 13 games in her first six matches to reach the final. Her opponent there was Rosemary Casals, the second seed behind Court. Physically, it was a mismatch. Court, a strapping 5’9” 145, dwarfed her diminutive 5’2”, 115 lb. opponent. “It’s like [lightweight] Emile Griffith challenging [heavyweight] Joe Frazier,” was Phil Pepe’s description in the Daily News. Court’s size wouldn’t draw a second look these days, but in 1970 taunts of “Big Maggi” and others left her touchy.
“My femininity is something I have always tried to preserve in this dog‐eat‐dog existence,” Court told the New York Times on the eve of the final. “I'm sure if I could not, then I would prefer to bow out of the game. I try to hit a tennis ball as hard as I can; if I have trained my self to a masculine degree of efficiency in this, respect, it does not mean that I have forsaken any of my femininity.” Her husband, a lanky, hale-fellow-well-met sort named Barry Court, didn’t help by regaling the press with tales of Margaret’s domestic abilities, including her excellent roast lamb.
Even though Court had only lost five singles matches all year (against nearly 300 wins), Casals was upbeat about her chances. “I’m tired of seeing someone else win all the time,” she said. “It’s my turn now.” Casals learned to play in the Bay Area, the birthing place of great champions from Alice Marble to Helen Wills to Pat Canning. Like many of them, Rosemary grew up poor, learned to play on municipal courts, and felt out of place amid the country club swells who dominated tennis in the era. Casals was also a strong proponent of women’s rights and equal pay for the sexes. “She’s a tiger on the court,” said, uh, Court, whose conservative upbringing and deeply religious worldview prevented her from praising Casals for her off-court activities.
The “Aussie housewife” received a standing ovation upon her appearance on the Forest Hills court, and she rode the crowd’s urging to a quick 6-2 win in the opening set. But Court faltered badly in the second. “I served crummy” was her honest assessment, and Casals stormed to an easy 6-2 set victory, winning ten straight points at one stage. “The self-appointed spokesman for women’s lib made her big bid in that set to liberate the rest of the gals from the dominance of Mrs. Court,” snarked the Daily News. It was the first set Maggie had lost in the tournament.
Court’s hopes for the Slam were tottering, but like all the greats she raised her game when she needed it most. She broke Casals in the second game of the decisive third set, and then broke her again in the sixth. By that point it was all over. “Margaret has such long arms that they seemed to go all around the court,” said Casals. The third set went to Court, 6-1, and the Grand Slam was hers.
For the historic victory, Court received $7,500. The men’s tournament was also won by an Aussie, 41-years young Ken Rosewall, who was noticeably smaller than Court. Rosewall’s win earned him $20,000.
AFTERMATH
Just one week later, Court was upset by a 15-year old named Chris Evert in the semis of the Charlotte Open. Shortly thereafter, Court took time away from tennis to have a child, but returned in 1973 to nearly capture another Grand Slam, taking all the majors save Wimbledon once again. In all, Court won 24 majors, a record she retains to this day, with Serena Williams unable to catch her. Court also won an astounding 40 major doubles titles (women’s and mixed).
Court’s legacy is mixed, as her religious beliefs have led her to make bigoted and prejudicial statements, especially against homosexuals. The tennis arena in Melbourne where the Aussie Open (which Court won eleven times) is held is named for Maggie, but many high-profile players and celebrities have called for the stadium to be renamed. As of this writing, it has not been changed.
WHAT THEY SAID
“I felt the pressure quite a bit at times. I played very tentative, but I sort of made myself concentrate. I'm tired. I guess I haven't realized that it's all over.”
—Margaret Court
FURTHER READING:
Margaret Court: The Autobiography by Margaret Court
VIDEO:
935. ROBERTO DURAN VS KENNY BUCHANAN
LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP FIGHT
JUNE 26, 1972
MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
QUALITY OF PLAY—6.73
DRAMA—6.79
STAR POWER—8.66
CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—6.04
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE—6.77
LOCAL IMPACT—7.41
TOTAL: 42.40
“MAS, ROBERTO, MAS”
The great Roberto Duran banged away in the wilds of club fighting as a teenager in his native Panama for several years before coming to New York for the first time in 1971. He was 25-0, 22 via the knockout, and for his Madison Square Garden debut he was matched against a tough fighter from Brooklyn, Benny Huertas. Huertas was a plugger, with a lackluster 18-14-3 record stained by some iffy decisions and cheap tactics while working the NYC smalltime fight circuit—Sunnyside Garden in Queens, the Audubon Ballroom in Harlem, the Felt Forum in Midtown. But he could take a punch, and was totally fearless. Yet Duran blasted him out in just 70 seconds. "It was a dream for me to fight here, but when I walked around the city, nobody knew who I was,” Duran remembered many years later.
“Remember that name—Roberto Duran,” Dave Anderson wrote in the Times. He was now 26-0 and was aiming for the lightweight title.
Duran-Huertas was on the undercard of the lightweight championship bout between Scotsman Kenny Buchanan and Ismael Laguna, like Duran a Panamanian. Buchanan was cut early on, but won a bloody war to retain his title. For his next fight, just nine months later, he made the mistake not only of fighting Duran but dismissing him. “Who has he fought?” Buchanan asked.
Bobby D. entered the ring wearing a sneering snarl that left him looking like a pirate. “All he needed to fit the part was a bandanna around his head and a knife between his teeth,” wrote Anderson.
By contrast, the 43-1 Buchanan was a diffident looking chap, with a bowl haircut and wispy facial hair. No one doubted his toughness, and of course the Scots are born fighting. The 19,000 fans who packed the Garden on a lovely summer Monday evening, June 27, 1972, knew that Buchanan was perfectly willing to eat three punches to land one, and anticipated an action-packed fifteen rounds.
Many of those fans were Latino, and Duran played into his heritage, coming to the ring with a marimba band accompanying him. Bagpipers ushered Buchanan to the squared circle to complete the cliched ring walks, and they were soon underway. Duran was never one for sportsmanship or friendly chatter—he had “had poured a torrent of sneering Spanish invective on Buchanan at the weigh‐in,” according to the (apparently bilingual) Times, and from the opening bell fought with animalistic intensity. He snarled and disdained and utterly discombobulated the champion. “Ken simply couldn't hold the little savage off,” Smith wrote.
Duran was comfortably ahead on points come the controversial thirteenth round. Duran was warned for punching low as he kept up his pressing attack. The bell sounded, the boxers kept punching, and suddenly, Buchanan was on the canvas, legs bent at the knees. It appeared the referee, Johnny LoBianco, had pushed Duran into Buchanan while trying to separate the fighters, and Duran (accidentally on purpose) lifted his knee into Buchanan’s groin. Duran said he hit the champ just below the ribcage, albeit late.
Whatever the cause, no foul was called, and although Buchanan said he was fit to continue, LoBianco judged otherwise and called the fight to a halt. Duran had won by TKO, and was the new lightweight champion of the world.
“I hit him three or four good punches,” Buchanan said, “and then I felt this pain and the next I knew they were pullin’ me back to my corner. I told the referee I had pain, but was fit to continue.” When asked if Duran had kneed him, Buchanan demurred. “I was lookin’ at his head. It coulda been anything.”
No one really complained much—it was crystal clear that Duran was by far the better of the two fighters.
AFTERMATH
Twice, Buchanan and Duran signed up for a rematch, and twice, Duran broke the contract. The second time he was suspended by the NY State Boxing Commission, but as would become the norm in his long career, Duran’s talent was too profound for consequences for his flighty behavior to stick. His legendary career was just beginning; the man called Manos de Piedra (“Hands of Stone”) would win over 100 fights, including titles in four different weight classes, and is a unanimous top ten fighter of all time. Alas, he is probably best known for uttering, “No mas,” to Sugar Ray Leonard while enduring a whipping in the second fight between the two greats in New Orleans in 1980.
Buchanan regained the European version of the lightweight title, retired temporarily with a 61-4 record before coming back and losing four straight encounters in which he was badly beaten, then thankfully retired for good.
WHAT THEY SAID
“The match ended untidily, in such disorder that two of the three officials forgot to score the last round. Buchanan lay writhing, face contorted and limbs twitching involuntarily. Nobody in position to see could doubt that his suffering was genuine and the examining physician said later that there was physical evidence of damage in foul territory.”
—Red Smith, The New York Times
FURTHER READING:
Hands of Stone: The Life and Legend of Roberto Duran by Christian Giudice
VIDEO: