Jimmy Connors wonders whatever happened to 'killer instinct'
Eight long years have passed since Andy Roddick won the 2003 U.S. Open.
Since then, no American male has won a tennis grand slam event, and it's been nine straight slams without so much as a semifinal appearance.
That's 32 consecutive major tournaments without a long-awaited breakthrough in a sport this nation owned for decades. Somehow, the well has run dry on the men's side.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Jimmy Connors says Wednesday morning. "From domination to frustration."
Once, American men regularly held all but one or two spots in the world top 10 rankings, thanks to a tennis boom Connors helped launch. Now he wonders if this country will ever again produce players with the "desire" and the "killer instinct" it takes to be great.
"Killer instinct — that's almost taboo now," he says. "The sport has changed. Attitudes have changed. They all want to win, but how much?"
The sad state of men's tennis in this country is just one of the many topics Connors addressed in our 45-minute conversation.
He rode that two-fisted backhand and an indomitable spirit to eight grand slam titles in the '70s and '80s, and the feisty lefty is not about to start pulling punches now.
"Take me or you don't take me," he says. "I don't really care."
Thursday night at the BankAtlantic Center, Connors will end an 11-year absence from competitive tennis by headlining a Champions Series event, along with Pete Sampras, Jim Courier and Michael Chang.
He's 59 now, had his left knee scoped in July and muses about getting his other hip replaced once that goes too.
"Pretty soon I'll be bionic," he jokes.
He carries around his own stash of herbal tea in hopes of easing the "aches and pains" that plague his joints after all those years spent pounding the courts.
Connors will play again Saturday in Philadelphia, and after that, well, he'll see.
He admits to being a bit "nervous" about how the crowds will respond to him at this stage. He hopes they view him "through a different set of eyes," more nostalgically than critically.
Tennis will always be "in the blood," he says, but there's a lot more to his life than chasing a fuzzy yellow ball.
He enjoys traveling and spending time with Patti, his wife of 33 years, and his two grown sons, one of whom works in production for ESPN.
He makes corporate appearances, most recently in New York around the 20th anniversary of his last, epic run to the U.S. Open semis.
He's working on his autobiography with a Scottish writer named David Wilson. The book is due out next summer, and Connors is looking forward to correcting some "misconceptions" that have grown into full-blown myth.
"I could have written a book at 26," he says. "I'd lived a lifetime up until 26, but it wasn't over. I've reinvented myself three or four different times. I'm reinventing myself again now."
Toward that end, he is preparing to launch international youth clinics in places like Asia, India and the Middle East. He would gladly do the same in the United States, but for whatever reason, tennis officials here haven't been as receptive.
"Maybe they don't like my kind," he says with that famous impish grin.
The former Turnberry resident who now lives in Southern California feels strongly about "getting kids interested in tennis and growing the game." He laments the social trends that have driven an entire generation indoors to a life of "obesity and computers and no exercise and diabetes."
Being some sort of national tennis czar doesn't appeal to him, but it's clear Connors wants to see his tennis descendants live up to the lofty standards he and his rivals set.
"Everybody that came over and learned from us has taken it to another level," he says. "We've stayed stagnant. Something wrong there."
Another two-fisted winner from the man called Jimbo.
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