What makes a tennis player immortal? Book excerpt from ‘Immortals of American Tennis’ by Steve Flink

When it comes to tennis journalists, Steve Flink is something of an immortal.

He’s been covering the sport for more than 50 years. In 2017, he was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame.

Flink, the author of “The Greatest Tennis Matches of the Twentieth Century” (1999) and “The Greatest Tennis Matches of All Time” (2012) has now turned to defining greatness on another plane: That of players, specifically in American tennis.

In “The Immortals of American Tennis”, Flink has laid out his criteria for a lasting legacy in the sport, and documented the players who fit the bill. In an interview this summer, he discussed the evolution of the book, his definition of a tennis “immortal” and why he ranks Martina Navratilova ahead of Serena Williams.

“The immortals establish themselves as authentic by virtue of their far reaching impact and influence and not simply with their numerical successes,” Flink said.

An excerpt from Flink’s book follows the interview, focused on an immortal whose renown could, and perhaps should, have been greater at the time of their success.

This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

How did this book come about?

Gelding Street Press, an Australian publisher, contacted me and asked me to do the book. They sent me a couple of sample books they’ve done on other immortals. We bounced around the idea of doing two books, one on men and one on women, I thought it was better to combine them.

As an American journalist who covered even some of the old-time figures like Don Budge … I’d had many interviews with him and many interviews with Jack Kramer and Pancho González. It was the right fit, as a veteran American tennis journalist.

It’s 19 players and a little over 200 pages, with a lot of pictures. How hard was it to limit your summation of these monumental careers of players like Arthur Ashe and Billie Jean King to a handful of pages?

I worked it out that that I could get 3,000 words on all of the immortals. The honorable mentions are short, but the main accounts, I thought if there was anything less than that it was going to be too tall a task.

Given America’s population, its prominence in the sport, and the benefits of the U.S. Open, should the U.S. have produced more immortals, given the advantages?

It’s a very valid question. Up until Andy Roddick, who did not make the book, I would say if you take it from that era to the last 20 years or so, one could say: ‘Where have the immortals been across the last couple of decades on the men’s side?’ But I would say up until that point, sometimes we had almost an embarrassment of riches.

I look at the people I put in the honorable mentions. I had people of the stature of Alice Marble, Ellsworth Vines, Jim Courier, Lindsay Davenport, Jennifer Capriati are also an honorable mentions.

So what was the criteria for landing in this book? You mentioned some of the people you left out. The one immortal that stuck out to me, especially in comparison with some of people who were left out, would be Stan Smith. He has a shoe that is immortal, but when I put his numbers up against Monica Seles or even Davenport, I’m curious how it compares?

It was a large judgment call. This was not a ranking list of the greatest American players based on the numbers. You bring up Smith, which is a great example. I would say maybe the same for Tracy Austin. Maybe some people see them as the surprising choices in the book.

Stan, because he was such a prodigious and enduring figure in American tennis throughout his life. And then the shoe came into it. Like Tracy, his career was cut somewhat short by the injuries and he really didn’t get a chance to play his best tennis after his mid- to late-20s and then the surfaces changed. But while he was at the top there, there was a five-year period, where he won the U.S. Nationals in 1969 and the first Masters in 1970. He won the U.S. Open in 1971. He won Wimbledon in 1972, and then he won the WCT Finals in 1973. There was this five-year period where he was really kind of a larger-than-life figure in tennis.

His record is better than many may think it is. But his lifetime impact on the sport turned him into an even more immortal figure. He was considerably larger than the sum of his accomplishments and the success of his tennis shoe was proof of his lasting stature and hard-earned reputation as a sportsman of the highest order.

I felt that about Tracy too. She was a great player and won two U.S. Opens but then the career was cut short. I thought that she had much more impact in that short span when she was winning the U.S. Open at 16 and 18 in 1979 and 1981. She was such a big part of the mix there, along with Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova.

They say the music you’re in love with for your lifetime is the music that you are in love from the age of about 15 to 25. I wonder if it’s that the younger part of your career had a bigger impact on you than the people later on?

I was trying to balance all the eras and try to do justice to all the eras in American tennis. I met Stan when I was still only 19. I was in Bucharest when he almost single-handedly won the Davis Cup for the U.S. in 1972. He beat Ilie Năstase and Ion Țiriac in the singles and won the doubles. That was a very crucial stage of my life, transitioning from fan to reporter.

The other part was just eras. Bill Tilden in the 1920s; Budge in the 1930s; Kramer in the 1940s and González in the 1950s. The dominant figures of those decades.

What favorite anecdotes or surprises did this project conjure for you?

I used an anecdote from Jimmy Connors that I thought worked well. It was from a World Tennis Magazine interview I did with him in the middle of the 1974 U.S. Open, which was of course his greatest year.

He’d won Wimbledon, but I said to him that Arthur Ashe had said, that as an American, he’d almost rather win the U.S. Open than any other tournament. And then Jimmy, in his typical fashion, said: “Everybody always said Wimbledon was the biggest. Now I win it and they try to tear it down. Why don’t you ask Arthur, if he’d won Wimbledon, which one would be the biggest?”

Who’s the immortal of the immortals? I’ll give you one woman and one man.

Because perhaps he changed tennis more than anybody else and propelled it forward at a crucial stage when the sport was exploding in the 1920s, I would say Bill Tilden. They used to say Tilden and tennis were synonymous.

Then perhaps Billie Jean King, maybe because she was so transcendent but also highly underrated as a player. Her achievements don’t match her abilities in some ways. And she obviously was distracted at times by all these causes and getting the women’s tour started with the original nine in 1970.

In terms of the greatest male player, if it was a ranking list, it would be Pete Sampras far and away. Women, it’s probably Martina.

You put Martina higher than Serena?

Yes I do! With Serena, you can’t ignore the 23 majors. She’s three sets away from winning a calendar Grand Slam in 2015. That might have changed things. I just felt that Navratilova, just like Steffi Graf, that they were so much more consistent over time.

I’m probably in the minority on that, by the way, but, I just feel that you can’t ignore what they did year in and year out. Serena had a lot of ups and downs, and she really made up for it in her 30s.

Who do you think will make this book in 20 years?

We’re still waiting for the first male player since Roddick to win a major. I believe it will be Ben Shelton and I believe he’ll get more than one before he’s through. He’s a work in progress and I expect him to keep improving. He has the mindset, he’s got the mentality, he’s got the drive.

Coco Gauff already has her two majors. I expect her to add to that — maybe significantly — in the years ahead. It’s really hard to speak about anybody else yet on the horizon that I would say, ‘I can’t see how this player does not become an American immortal.’ That chapter is yet to be written.

The following, abridged excerpt introduces Ricardo Alonso “Pancho” González, one of Flink’s immortals.

Perhaps no other American male or female tennis player has lasted longer in the hearts, minds, and imaginations of the sport’s most fervent fans than the charismatic and enigmatic Pancho González. From the late 1940s into the early 1970s, his prominence was extraordinary and his exploits astounding.

An explosive personality and immensely imposing figure prone to inexplicable and irrational outbursts on the court, González would almost always emerge from dark mood swings to find sunlight in his psyche and turn likely losses into rousing victories. His ferocity left spectators dazzled and kept adversaries at bay.

González climbed to the top of the American tennis mountain in 1948, reaching No. 1 in the United States when he was just 20. No fewer than 24 years later, only three months shy of 44 years old, Gonzalez claimed the last singles title of his career in Des Moines, Iowa.

At the end of that year, he was ranked ninth in the United States, which was no mean feat. He was a fearless individual with a seemingly limitless supply of willpower; the bigger the stakes, the better he played. González was as imposing a champion as tennis would ever produce. He was a big man for his time, standing at 6ft 2in or 6ft 3in (depending on your source), weighing 180 pounds when he was in the best of shape. His eating habits were erratic but whenever González reached a point where he felt his tennis was suffering from being overweight — or out of shape due to dietary issues and his habit of smoking cigarettes — he took matters into his own hands. As González told “Sports Illustrated” magazine during his heyday in the 1950s, “If I lose a few matches, I stop smoking, go to bed early and pay more attention to what I eat. In a few days I’m all right again.”

González was the first of seven children. His father, Manuel, was a house painter. His mother, Carmen, was a seamstress who gave Pancho his first tennis racket, which she bought for 51 cents as a Christmas present when he was 12. His parents came from Chihuahua, Mexico and settled on the south side of Los Angeles where they raised Pancho.

His real name was Richard, but the nickname, given to him by a friend, stuck. His childhood shaped his life in a number of ways. He was underprivileged with a strict upbringing. Given the nature of his personality and outlook, González understandably wandered into trouble over his teens, including burglarizing houses at 15.

Once he became immersed in tennis and realized he had some exceptional ability, González wanted to leave high school and devote himself comprehensively to tennis. He did not have the approval of his parents to make such an audacious move. His father told him to go to school, find work, or get out of the house. Briefly he left before his parents allowed him back into their home. Meanwhile, Perry T. Jones, the czar of tennis in Southern California, informed González that if he did not return to school he would be suspended from all tournaments. González defiantly disobeyed that order. He left high school after two years and was kept out of tournaments

For more than three years. González went into the navy but left after a bad conduct discharge in 1947. That proved to be a turning point in his life. González was ultimately reinstated into tournaments and made inroads in the men’s game across that season, rising to No. 17 in the United States. All along, the cornerstone of his game was his magnificent serve. His motion was exquisitely fluid and the incomparable power on that delivery seemed effortless because his mechanics were impeccable. He could count on that serve endlessly all through his career, but he also was outstanding at the net and had a knack for making low returns of serve that he blocked skilfully, making it tricky for opponents to dig out difficult volleys. He had a tremendous overhead as well. His ground game was not his strong suit but he could, when necessary, out-steady opponents from the baseline.

In 1948, only eight American men were seeded at the U.S. Championships when the field assembled at Forest Hills, and González was at the bottom of that list. Nonetheless, he survived an arduous five-set skirmish against countryman Art Larsen before ousting the top-seeded American Frank Parker in a four-set quarterfinal. Next among the Gonzalez victims was No. 2 foreign seed Jaroslav Drobny of what was then Czechoslovakia, a formidable left-hander. González battled from behind to win that one 8-10, 11-9, 6-0, 6-3. And so the 20-year-old Californian was in the final against No. 5 foreign seed Eric Sturgess of South Africa.

Undaunted by appearing in his first major final and standing one match away from becoming the champion of his country earlier than anyone expected, González met that challenge honorably, casting aside his adversary 6-2, 6-3, 14-12.

González, however, was not ready to embrace his exalted status. In fact, he fell into a slump. He would tell “Sports Illustrated”, “I lost so many tournaments the next three months (after winning at Forest Hills in 1948) that they called me the cheese champion.”

Hence, his fellow players and writers started calling him “Gorgo,” which was a shortened version of gorgonzola.

The letdown did not last long.

Although he took his share of hard knocks in 1949, he came back to New York and was victorious once more at Forest Hills, demonstrating a command of his craft and mastery of his surroundings that was commendable. González was seeded second among Americans behind Ted Schroeder. He overcame a tenacious Art Larsen in another five-set quarterfinal and then rallied to defeat No. 5 seed Parker in a four-set confrontation.

That set the stage for a dramatic duel with Schroeder in the final. Schroeder had been his nemesis, beating Gonzalez at one stage in eight of their nine duels. He was a ferocious competitor who was known for the essential soundness of his game. Schroeder had won Wimbledon a few months earlier with a fortitude rarely surpassed on the lawns of London. Four of his seven matches at the shrine went to five sets but he refused to surrender. At Forest Hills, Schroeder had secured two more impressive five-set triumphs, over the Australian Frank Sedgman and the American Billy Talbert.

Facing González, the top-seeded American Schroeder nearly toppled his opponent. Schroeder was ahead two sets to love but González needed to find a way to get back into the match. He had lost in the fourth round of Wimbledon and he knew that any chance he had to turn professional would depend entirely on finding a way past Schroeder in the single most consequential match of his amateur career.

The 21-year-old soared to another level in the third set and sustained his excellence in the fourth, allowing Schroeder only three games in those two sets combined. The fifth set was tighter and tougher but González was the better man on the biggest points. From 4-4 he took two games in a row to complete a 16-18, 2-6, 6-1, 6-2, 6-4 win for one of the signature victories of his career.

At the age of 30, González curtailed a lot of his activity in pro tennis. He kept winning in his sporadic appearances, securing his seventh and eighth titles at the U.S. Pro Championships in 1959 and 1961, losing to Rod Laver in the final of that tournament in 1964. He was also the runner-up to Rosewall at the French Pro Championships in 1961.

But he was no longer playing as regularly. There were more semi-wasted years. He abandoned pro tennis in 1962, and hardly played in 1963. He enjoyed success periodically from 1964–67, most prominently in his 1964 tournament triumph at the U.S. Professional indoors in White Plains, New York when he took his quarterfinal over Rod Laver 1-6, 6-3, 6-3, ousted Hoad 6-8, 6-4, 6-3 in the semifinals and upended Rosewall 5-7, 3-6, 10-8, 11-9, 8-6 for the title after being behind two service breaks in the fifth set.

At 36, this was a staggering display. As Gladys Heldman wrote in “World Tennis” magazine, “It was the greatest single display of tennis that New York, if not the world, has ever seen. Laver was brilliant on return of serve. Hoad was the perfect shotmaker, and Rosewall was the Little Master of the all-court game – but Pancho won. No one who saw González on those three days will ever forget him.”

When “Open Tennis” arrived in the spring of 1968, González was nearing 40 but delighted to have the opportunity to compete against all of the best players — amateur and professional — in his twilight. He had been barred from the four major championships for nearly two decades but wanted to demonstrate emphatically to the public that he was one of the greatest players in the history of the game and a warrior as well.

At the first French Open in 1968, he gave the public a chance to see him not far away from where he had once been. In the quarterfinals, he beat the Australian Roy Emerson. Emerson was slightly past his prime at 31 but at that time he owned the most Grand Slam singles titles ever garnered in the men’s game at 12. He was almost a decade younger than González and a supremely fit champion, but the American was stronger down the stretch. Although González was beaten in the semifinals by Laver, he had made a serious statement with his triumph over Emerson.

A year later, he celebrated one of the golden moments in the late autumn of his career. Taking on Charlie Pasarell – the No. 1 ranked American in 1967 – in the first round of Wimbledon in 1969 he was infuriated after losing a marathon opening set 24-22 when told that play would continue in the fast-fading light. He lost the second set badly after yelling at the umpire, and was booed off the court when the match was halted with Pasarell in the lead two sets to love.

The next afternoon, the surly González was replaced by a much more composed and dignified version of himself, and he made one of the most spectacular comebacks of his sterling career. Twice in the final set, he rallied from 0-40 and triple match point down on his serve. Altogether, he saved seven match points in the sunlight on the renowned Centre Court.

Showered with applause from the afternoon audience, the revitalized González startled Pasarell 22-24, 1-6, 16-14, 6-3, 11-9 in five hours and 12 minutes — then the longest recorded match ever on the Wimbledon lawns. He would lose to Arthur Ashe in the fourth round of that event, but the victory over Pasarell lingered a lot longer in the hearts and minds of an appreciative public.

Later that season, González made a magical run at the Howard Hughes Open in Las Vegas, cutting down one leading player after another, including John Newcombe, Rosewall, Stan Smith and Ashe, to win the title.

It was an insignificant tournament in the overall scheme of things, but knocking out that elite cast of four shining competitors was a stupendous achievement for González at 41. His late career heroics didn’t end there. In January of 1970 at New York’s Madison Square Garden, he stunned Laver in a five-set encounter only four months after Laver, 31, had completed his second Grand Slam not far away at Forest Hills.

As if to underline that his New York win was not simply a case of good fortune on a great evening against a subpar opponent, González went back to Las Vegas a few months later to defend his Howard Hughes Championships crown and, lo and behold, toppled Laver again in a four- set final. Temperatures were in the nineties Fahrenheit. González was 42.

It seemed as if González was determined to remind everyone that he was an iconic athlete who could still dazzle fans with his mastery of the game. He did that again in 1971 at 43 with one of his young protégés on the other side of the net. In the final of the Pacific Southwest Open in Los Angeles, González outmaneuvered 19-year-old Jimmy Connors from the backcourt and was victorious 3-6, 6-3, 6-3 in a crowd-pleasing spectacle.

After his playing career, González moved on to other endeavors, including television commentary. His last of six marriages was to Andre Agassi’s sister, ending in divorce like all of the others. He had eight children altogether.

He led a tumultuous life, bowing to cancer in 1995 at 67. He was a man of many sides, a conflicted individual, and a fellow who visited the extremes of his character across his entire lifetime.

How to define his legacy? He is one of the greatest and least appreciated champions of all time, as formidable a competitor as the game has yet seen, and a player with one of the two or three best serves in the history of men’s tennis. He was a complicated individual who sometimes drowned in the sea of his own frailties, but his character was revealed on the opposite side of the ledger time and again with his capacity to find the best in himself when the stakes were highest.

No American man in the history of the game has played top-level tennis for longer than did González, but his inimitable and timeless talent has often been overlooked. New York Times Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist Dave Anderson sums up the essence of González’s immortality better than anyone. He wrote in 2009 about this extraordinary figure: “He was the best tennis player not enough people saw.”

Excerpted from “Immortals of American Tennis”. Copyright © 2026 Steven Flink. Reprinted by permission of Moore Street Media, an imprint of Rockpool Publishing. Reproduced by arrangement with the Publisher. All rights reserved.

This article originally appeared in The Athletic.

Sports Business, Culture, Tennis, Women’s Tennis

2026 The Athletic Media Company