DONALD BUDGE

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLIII, Issue 20930, 8 January 1938, Page 7

DONALD BUDGE

THE “HUCK FI.XX OF TENNIS

This fellow Budge is something more I than the World’s greatest tennis player. He's a world personality. He’s the, Huckleberry Finn of tennis—freckles, : red hair, and all that, writes H. A. 1 de Lacy.

To him tennis, no matter where played, is just a game. He never lets it make him dour. That’s one reason why the gallery smiles with him when he takes the centre court. He is tall—very tall and angular. He’s more the lathe than the wrestler. His legs and arms seem to be the longest parts of his physical make-up. His penchant for dressing in an elongated cardigan and long white trousers exaggerates his length and angularity. But we prefer him in long ’uns. We couldn’t imagine Donald in the shortest of shorts with his socks rolled down. I There is something quaintly majestic about Budge’s court demeanor. Yet he is no archduke receiving homage. | He is soon at home with his gallery. . He is droll, very droll, rather than the effusive showman. No Perry. Unlike Borotra. He strides where they pranced and tumbled. He has a cultivated gliding movement on the court that has not the semblance of busting, but he gets there just the same. And I those long arms save his long legs a lot of travel.

Donald the Duck? If you want to laugh at, as well as laugh with, this fellow Budge, watch how he settles down to receive the service of his opponent. Feet wide apart, he sways back on his heels, balances forward on his toes, wriggles his feet until he becomes perfectly comfortable. It is the strangest physical movement we have seen on an Australian court for some years. It resembles nothing better than the waddle of a

duck. Has anyone ever called him Donald the Duck? A fine piece of comedy took place when Budge and Mako took the court against Baillieu and Mussen in their opening round of the doubles championship. Nobody gave BaillieuMussen a chance. They had been recipients of much good-natured banter. Consequently they were nervous to shaking point. In the hit-up Baillieu could hardly return a ball.

The match looked a slaughter of inno- ■ cents in its very set-up. Budge and Mako soon altered that. Mako’s first service was a double fault. Budge tucked his long chin into his chest and looked under his eyebrows at the offending Mako. A minute or two later Budge went for a delicate drop shot and duffed it. Mako glared at him. Baillieu tossed short. Budge uncurled beneath it and the ball uncurled off the wood of Budge’s racquet. Mussen tossed to Budge, and a very lazy Budge unwound his long frame. “Swish,” but there was a hole in his racquet or the ball was not where it should have been, for he missed it altogether. This was too much for Mako. He strode up the court and remonstrated with his defaulting partner, wielding an admonishing finger.

The next point presented Budge with a backhand volley, but Mako pushed him aside and, poaching the shot, hit it for keeps. Then, still gesticulating, he made it perfectly clear to Budge how a ball should be hit.

It wasn’t buffonery. It was good sportsmanship, for it allowed the nervous opposition to settle down. Further, it took the edge off the kill for the gallery. Delightful by-play, they thought, and they were right . There is rhythm and fluency in everything Budge does on the court. He is a fine chap, this Huckleberry Budge, a wonderful gallery personality in a droll, pleasant way.