In my sports career I always had difficulty training hard. When I got to a certain point quite far up the tennis ladder, I realised that trying to step up the last few rungs was going to take a terrible toll in unending hours of soul-destroying practice and relentless physical conditioning. There was the slimmest chance that I might have been prepared to make the necessary sacrifice if I could have convinced myself that I might have made it to the very top. But, coldly assessing my chances, I reckoned the very best I might be able to achieve was a place in the top 20 with occasional wins over players in the top 10.
In my best year, 1955, I beat players ranked 7 and 11 in the USA, players ranked 2, 3, and 4 in the UK, took the Canadian No. 1, who had just reached the Wimbledon quarter-final, to 5 sets in the Davis Cup and in doubles beat the Wimbledon champions of the previous year in a quarter-final match at the Queen’s Club tournament. But I also had losses to more lowly players. I think a place in the top 20 was the ultimate I could have achieved. And, remember, 60 years ago prize money was minimal at that level so neither fame nor riches really beckoned.
