Bring me the sweat of Gabriela Sabatini, wrote the poet Clive James, going on to add, In a green Lycergus cup with a sprig of mint,/ But add no sugar –/ The bitterness is what I want./ If I craved sweetness I would be asking you to bring me/ The tears of Annabel Croft.
It was the time of Martina and Steffi and Francois and Tracy and Hana — we were on first-name terms with them all. Sabatini won the U.S. Open in 1990, Croft was Britain’s top-ranked player who retired at 26. It was the time of ball boys selling off Sabatini’s sweat-stained towels for ten pounds each.
Sport is not necessarily about talent attracting the fans and the money. As more than one writer has pointed out, it is a soap opera. Fans and advertisers, television and media come for the people, their stories, their love life, their weaknesses, their looks, their idiosyncrasies.
