Fire Over Ice, in Three Sets

By Tom Callahan

Wimbledon's determination not to assign a top women's seed before the world's toniest tennis tournament represented an equal kindness to Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert Lloyd. That meant, for nearly a fortnight, neither was No. 2, and the peace was wonderful. "Once you've been No. 1," as Evert Lloyd says with a cool stare (she could stare for a living), "you can never be satisfied with less."

Lopped off the head of the men's bracket in the quarterfinals, John McEnroe seconded that. "More and more, I understand Bjorn Borg for walking away (at 25, four years ago)," he murmured, after Naturalized American Kevin Curren of South Africa overwhelmed him in three curt sets. "It's difficult not to be No. 1," McEnroe says. He felt "overpowered," not so much by Curren personally as by circumstances and Curren's modern racquet. Like everything ! else, there must be degrees of graphite. "He was hitting the ball harder than I was. I need something with a little more power." On this technological subject, he went so far as to suggest that West German Boris ("Boom-Boom") Becker, 17, the spectacular find of the tournament, was a souped-up shortcutter without a solid wooden foundation. But zing is more than string. McEnroe also had to admit, "I felt a little old out there."

Aged feelings at 26 are rampant in tennis. At 32, Jimmy Connors, Curren's victim in the semifinals, has realized a bitter truth: "I hate to hear anyone say, 'When I was playing . . .' because nobody gives a damn about when you were playing. Nobody cares about anything but now." In the women's division, where Shirley Temples turn into Gloria Swansons overnight, glory would seem to be especially fleeting, and from third place down it is. "You want to grab every moment and enjoy it fully," says Barbara Potter, a self- described "middle-aged tennis player of 23." Yet the joint proprietors of women's tennis, sharers of the past 15 grand-slam events going back to 1981, are the oldest members of the top ten. Coming to their fifth final at Wimbledon, Navratilova, 28, and Evert Lloyd, 30, had met 65 times over twelve years and stood one victory apart. The most enduring rivals in sports, they represent a conflict more fascinating than any tennis match.

When Navratilova reached the free world from Czechoslovakia -- a new capitalist in a candy store -- Evert was already the established ice maiden of tennis and the national standard of physical femininity. She set the parameters for acceptable female athleticism in the U.S., relentless but reserved, dedicated but demure. She drew the chalk line for everything in tennis and life that was ladylike, such as baselining and marrying. Navratilova stepped over the line. No, she leaped over it.

While Navratilova was losing 20 of their first 24 matches, she was learning psychological lessons from Evert, who ultimately would have to take physiological ones from her. Noticing that Chris had a support system of family and friends, Martina determined to gather a similar stronghold of allies, though hers tended to be unusual: lesbian novelists and transsexual ophthalmologists. Far beyond a serve and volley, Navratilova and Evert had contrasting styles.

In the 1978 and 1979 Wimbledons, Evert was caught by an increasingly streamlined Navratilova and soon began to be shellacked by her. Seldom by anyone else, however. With the Evert will, she could still dominate all the rest. When the perky Pam Shriver lightly complained last week that, by the luck of the draw, she had been denied the pleasure of opposing Evert Lloyd for 2 1/2 years, Chris responded, "I would love to play her," and the temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees. But if Evert Lloyd's mind has always been enough to handle the others, she needed a body to beat Martina. In a most amazing double reversal, she secured one and came back.

Tapering her legs with weights, exercising on Nautilus machines until her first serve popped, Evert Lloyd finally beat Navratilova in January to halt a losing streak of 13. Then last month, in a stirring 6-3, 6-7, 7-5 French Open final on her beloved clay, Chris pulled square for the year, two matches apiece -- almost even again lifetime going to Wimbledon. "I've reached her level this time," Chris said, "as she once reached mine." They have alternately lifted each other. "I made Martina more disciplined. She made me more physically fit." Perennial Combatants Robinson-LaMotta or Ali-Frazier might have understood this relationship if they had fought 65 times and, like Martina, one had won 33 and, like Chris, the other had won 32. "If not for her, I might have retired five or six years ago," figures Chris, who anyway says, "I'm nearing the end." Navratilova assumes, "Whenever she retires, I'm sure I'll follow shortly."

On Centre Court last week, they put down the flowers and picked up the cudgels for the 66th time. Against the onetime queen of pitty-pat, Navratilova had to buck a new breeze to get to the net and usually was passed for her trouble. Evert Lloyd won the first set on its only service break. Martina broke her back once to get even in the second. Overpowered only on the hugest points of the last set, Evert Lloyd gave in eventually, 4-6, 6-3, 6-2. "Physically she's in good shape," Navratilova said to those who thought Evert Lloyd tired. Meaningfully she added, "I wore her down mentally."

Four consecutive Wimbledon championships put Martina with Helen Wills Moody, and six happy finals out of six (five over Evert Lloyd) associate her with Suzanne Lenglen. But asked to identify who her next great rival might be, Navratilova answered in a word that fixed two places in history: "Chris." For the time being, Evert Lloyd was No. 2 again.