The Spirit Of Dash And Adventure In F. J. Perry's Tennis

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 2, Issue 282, 23 July 1932, Page 2

The Spirit Of Dash And Adventure In F. J. Perry's Tennis

X HAPPIEST IN STORMING THE NET

tVD years ago, in Lbe liard Courts Championslffps at Bournemouth, a friend said to me late one afternoon: "Come and watch Perry ; he is playing against Austin" (vvrites

Frank Poxon m tiie t.onoon .xewsChronicle," about the player who was so brilliantly beaten by J. Grawford in the quarter-finals of this year's Iawn tennis championships at Wimbledon). I had seen Fred Perry beiore, but nevcr for more than a few minutes at a time. On that afternoon I wantcd to get my "copv" on the wire, and decided that a quarter of an hour of the Perry v. Austin match would be enougli. But it was not nearly enougli, for Perry, realising that his first big chance had come. played great stuft and actually got to matcb point. nlthough "Austin eventually won. That was the day when Fred Perry "arrived," and he has nevcr looked back since. His carecr bas been metcoric, but. nnlike some metcoric careers, it has been, and still is. based on solid excellence and mcrit. . . What is he like this young hnglishman who, in so brief a time, has arrived rigiit at the top of the lawn tennis ladder? Well, in the first ple.ee ■ be is most fortunate in having an ldeal nhysique for Ihe game. He does_ not know the mcaning of the word fatigue.

He is six feet and a bit, slim but not thin, and every ounce of his weight is bone, muscle, and sinew. He is good looking in the same way that Lord Burghley is; that is, his good Iooks suggest the opcn air rather than the drawing-room. I am sure Fred Perry would be frightfully unhappy hand'ing round cups of tea to charming ladies; he would prohahly make a double fault and drop the lot. He is just a virile, keen young Englishman who. without any spirit of bombasi, believes in himself and in his future. A few days ago he told me a story typical of himself._ An Amerlcan struck up an aequaintance with him in a San Francisco hotel, and started belittling England apropos economic troubles: "I soon sliut him up," said Perry. "I said to him: 'Look here, you, I'm Fred Perry; what is a lot more important I'm an Englishman, and I think you had better come off your perclx. You don't run down the Old Country while I'm here. Get me?"' That is Fred Perry. He is a born fighter if ever there was one, and he is never better than when the odds are against him. I have seen him beaten, but I have never seen him wilt — a.nd. somehow, I do not think I ever sliall, for he is not built like that. As for his lawn tennis, the essence

of it is attack ; in other words his game reflects himself. He is bored stiff in a defensive ducl, but he is supremely happy when he is storming the net, taking risks, and imposing his will on the other fellow. He was not made to act carefully aiicl with an cxcess of prudence. I imagine that if Perry were at Monte Carlo, with only a fiver m the world, he would "have a go"— and he would not back an even money chance eitheip— he would go for a long shot. I read a day or two ago that the spirit of dash and adventure was nearly dead among young Englishmen; if tne writer met Perry he would, I think, alter his opinion.