The day long ago when Bobby Riggs graced our town with his presence
Going toe to toe with a tennis legend is an experience I'll never forget
It may be time to retell the story of the day Wimbledon singles champion Bobby Riggs brought his wit and charm and worldwide tennis fame to the city of Davis.
The date May 14, 1977 is seared into my brain, never to be forgotten.
It may have been 48 years ago to this very day, but as the saying goes, it feels like only yesterday.
At the time, I was serving as Sports Editor of The Davis Enterprise, covering UC Davis, Davis High School, Little League, AYSO and everything in between. I was blessed to be raising three-year-old Ted and eight-month old Erin and every day of my life was better than the last.
But then the unexpected happened. The phone rang and out of the blue an opportunity was presented to me that I could only dream of.
On the other end of the line was Sacramento restaurateur Eppie Johnson, well known for his string of popular "Eppie's" coffee shops and an over-the-top self-promoter who could put late-night TV used car salesman Cal Worthington to shame.
I knew of Eppie, as everyone from Sacramento to Redding did, but I had never met him.
"Bob," he began, "This is Eppie Johnson."
Why on earth would Eppie Johnson be calling me? Had he caught a whiff of the scrambled eggs I had made the kids for breakfast and was willing to offer me a job as a short-order cook?
"Someone told me you're a pretty decent tennis player, at least for someone from a small town."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a put-down, so I said something like "I guess I'm okay, but I think my backhand could use a little work."
"How would you like to play a match against Bobby Riggs?"
"The Bobby Riggs?" I asked, suddenly jolted into the conversation as if I'd just stuck in a fork into a light socket.
Riggs at the time was a household name everywhere he went, given that he was only several years removed from his circus-like 1973 “Battle of the Sexes” with Billie Jean King in the Houston Astrodome, which was viewed by 90 million people worldwide along with the largest live audience ever for a tennis match. It's a record that remains to this day.
"I think it would be a lot of fun and it could raise a ton of money for charity," Eppie went on. "Plus, it could serve as a grand opening for my new tennis club in Davis."
Riggs was known as a hustler and a gambler and an outrageous self-promoter, but he also had that Wimbledon singles championship to his credit, which rightly earned him the title as the best tennis player in the world at the time. In fact, the year he won Wimbledon, he swept the doubles and the mixed doubles as well, apparently cleaning out London's bookies by betting on himself to win all three events.
Riggs and Eppie Johnson were somehow old friends and Eppie convinced Bobby to be the star attraction for the 1977 grand opening of his latest project, The Tennis Club, Davis.
Once he had secured Riggs’ participation, Johnson set about finding a suitable opponent, finally settling on the Sports Editor of The Davis Enterprise who had enjoyed moderate success as a collegiate tennis player at UC Davis.
That person happened to be me.
Johnson figured having a local journalist on the other side of the net might generate some free publicity and help sell a few tickets, but taking no chances, he also hooked up with the Davis-Dixon Enchanted Hills Auxiliary for the Blind and called the whole affair a “Love Match for the Blind.”
The Davis Enterprise immediately billed the event as “The Match of the Century,” which it was for me, but certainly not for Riggs.
I mean, while just about everyone who has ever picked up a racket and learned that “love” actually means “zero” has dreamed of tennis glory, Riggs actually had won the grandest and most prestigious tournament of them of all. Me, the only way I was going to get into Wimbledon was if I bought a ticket, though I did once get a check for $100 for winning a tournament in Klamath Falls.
At UC Davis we were lucky to draw 200 people to a home match if mom and dad and our next door neighbors managed to show up, but I had never played before anything that could be classified as a crowd.
There were three main courts at the new club, and Eppie designated the middle one as "Center Court," hiring an outdoor stage outfit to construct bleachers stretching to the sky on Courts 1 and 3, bringing seating capacity to 3,000.
With a month of non-stop promotion, Eppie was able to fill all those seats, creating an atmosphere I could only describe as "terrifying."
Channel 3 in Sacramento called me a week before the match and asked if they could come to Davis and film me "training" for the big match.
I told them it would be hard to improve my tennis game in a short period of time, so I was spending what time I had by jogging on the country roads around town, hoping that I'd be in good enough shape that I at least wouldn't run out of gas against the mighty Bobby Riggs.
So there I was on the 11 p.m. news, huffing and puffing alongside a vibrant cornfield between Davis and Woodland, trying my best to look like a serious athlete.
As the date drew closer, the hype continued. I told KFBK that this, in effect, would be my own private Wimbledon. A once in a lifetime opportunity for an average tennis player to experience the roar of the crowd, even if the wild applause was for the opponent.
If I had planned and plotted my entire life to make something like this happen, I would have failed. It was one of those magical, mystical, miraculous experiences that just mysteriously lands in your lap through no effort of your own.
The match was scheduled for Saturday, May 14, 1977, exactly 48 years ago today.
At a pre-match party the night before, with TV news cameras rolling, Riggs took off his thick glasses, looked the reporter straight in the eye and said “Who is this guy Dunning presuming to play me? I could beat him with both hands tied behind my back.”
Then he sauntered over to where I was standing, put his arm lovingly on my shoulder, gave me a knowing wink and whispered in my ear, “Don’t believe a word I just said — you’ll probably kill me tomorrow.”
When the same reporter asked me how I thought I’d do, I told him that just being there, in that moment, was a “win” I’d remember for the rest of my life.
My thoughts weren’t so much about winning or losing, but the very real fear that I’d be so tied up in knots at the size of the crowd and the bullring-like atmosphere that they’d have to call in the paramedics before the match was five minutes old.
Friday evening’s Enterprise noted that “Saturday’s activities will begin at 10 a.m. with a motorcade parade featuring local officials from Woodland, Davis and Dixon, tennis exhibition participants (including Bobby Riggs) and several bands. Clowns will pass out Sugar Daddys (Bobby’s favorite candy) and gliders to children along the route.”
No mention of me. I wondered if maybe I’d been dropped from the program altogether.
The same Enterprise article polled local teaching pros for a clue as to the outcome.
Vic Strange said “Bobby Riggs, easily.” John McIntosh said “I’ll take Riggs.” Steve Shulman said “I’ll pick Riggs.” Phil Cello said “I think maybe Bob can beat him.”
Three votes for Riggs and one qualified “maybe” for me from those who knew the game best. Not an encouraging sign no matter how you slice it.
However, longtime local tennis legend Roger Ricketts said “I see Riggs losing in a tie-breaker in the third set.”
As I headed for the Tennis Club along Chiles Road in South Davis late on that Saturday morning (match time was 1 p.m.), I noticed that the needle on my gas gauge was registering below “empty.”
Deciding that running out of gas would be a poor excuse for not showing up to The Match of the Century, I pulled into a station downtown and waited my turn in line.
The guy in front of me said “I’ll be just a minute. I’m going to watch that Bobby Riggs match and I don’t want to be late.”
Hey, I thought to myself without saying a word, I’m playing Bobby Riggs and I don’t want to be late either.
Eppie, who was Riggs’ equal when it came to flamboyant self-promotion, had hired a band to entertain the crowd prior to the match. He wanted each player to be introduced individually, emerging from the shadows for dramatic effect, arm in arm with well-dressed escorts.
When Riggs was introduced, the band played “California Here I Come” and Riggs circled the court throwing those familiar red-and-yellow wrapped Sugar Daddys to the crowd.
When I was introduced, the band played the inspirational theme from the 1976 movie “Rocky,” the story of a prizefighter who fought the heavyweight champion of the world, Apollo Creed.
And lost.
I was told ahead of time about the "Rocky" introduction, so I threw on an old blue bathrobe to look like a prizefighter as I strolled onto the court, then presented Bobby Riggs with a dozen red roses, just as he had done with Billie Jean King prior to their match.
The crowd loved it, causing Riggs to look at me with a frown, as if to say "Hey, local guy, I'm supposed to be the showman here, so cool it"
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. What if Bobby Riggs is way better than I am and it's hardly a match at all? What if whatever tennis skills I have abandon me as the magnitude of this event rattles my nerves?
I prayed for rain, but the sky was blue. I prayed for peace, but my nerves were at war. I prayed for a quick death, but my heart kept beating.
And then, all at once, the band stopped playing. The birds stopped chirping. The crowd grew silent. And Head Umpire Dick Cable, the famed Channel 10 anchorman, leaned into his microphone and said somberly “Begin play. Mr. Riggs serving.”
The moment had arrived. All the questions about what might happen would soon be answered.
(See Roger Ricketts above.)
Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com
i know what happened :)
I was there that day and it was an epic confrontation. I note that Bob failed to report that Riggs was 59 years old. The match amounted to elder abuse.