The Master

On a cloth untrue

With a twisted cue,

And elliptical billiard balls.

--The Mikado

If a group of inspired idiots sat up nights trying to devise a game that would be almost unplayable, and even more difficult to follow, they would have a hard time improving on the 700-year-old game of "court tennis." In fact, there have been some noble tries. There have been court tennis players who used champagne bottles for bats, or played the game while riding ponies. And an 18th Century Frenchman went so far as to serve while crouched in a barrel, returning to the barrel between strokes. None of these refinements lasted: the game was baffling enough as it was.

Polite Pierre Etchebaster, a wiry little Basque, has one thing in common with Henry VIII and Napoleon Bonaparte: he plays court tennis. Pierre, who is in his 50s, is the Babe Ruth of the game.

One day last week in Manhattan, Pierre stepped briskly into Park Avenue's exclusive Racquet & Tennis Club. Though he is the world's champ, he is also the club's court tennis pro, which puts him in the class of hired help. (Court tennis is a game that none but kings, millionaires and their friends can afford.) He responded respectfully to members' greetings (they called him "Pierre"; he called them "mister") and changed into flannels and sneakers. Since he became open champion in London 20 years ago, he had been challenged only twice before. Challenger No. 3: Sandy-haired Socialite Ogden Phipps, 38, best of about 500 amateurs who play the game in the U.S. Phipps was also the last person to challenge Pierre, a decade ago.

Courtly Ways. The two men faced each other across a net that sagged fearfully in the center. That was the way the net sagged when two monks began banging a ball around the courtyard of a French monastery some 700 years ago, and the sag hadn't changed. Neither had the court, very much--it still had most of the features of the old courtyard the monks used. On three sides, a sloping roof (called penthouse) was a memento of the monastery's cow sheds.

When the match began, Phipps spun his serve along the cowshed roof. The ball (about as hard as a baseball with a tennis-ball covering) skidded into a corner and Pierre scooped it out with an underhand chop stroke.

For the most part the game was played and scored like tennis. But there were also openings along the cowshed walls, which the players had to defend like goalies. If the server during play hit the ball into either of two small openings (the grille and winning gallery) it counted a point for him. The receiver had one wide opening (the dedans) to aim for. If either put a ball through the other side openings it counted against him. It was a game that required skill even more than stamina. The first day, Pierre, the old master, won, 6-3, 5-6, 6-0, 6-2.

Easy Crown. Phipps had been practicing hard for this match. Though a member of the Racquet Club himself, Phipps couldn't very well enlist the services of Pierre, the club pro. But he had hired Bill ("Blondy") Standing, who was John Hay Whitney's private pro, and practiced on Whitney's private court (which cost $250,000 to build) at Roslyn, L.I.

After a four-day interruption, champ & challenger met again. Chopping skillfully, 59-year-old Pierre Etchebaster drove Phipps dizzy. Three days later Pierre kept his crown without drawing a deep breath (7 sets to 2), then helped some of the mister-members finish off two bottles of champagne in his honor.

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