High life
Lament
Taki
Athens Mo. 2 Boulevard Reine Olga is the add- l. ress of what used to be known as the Royal Athens Lawn Tennis Club. I say used to, because about nine years ago, after a referendum that saw the monarchy abolish- ed in Greece, some stickler for the correct form sued the club because it continued to call itself 'royal'. The stickler also insisted that the club not use the word 'lawn' any longer either. Now I'm the first to admit that there were never any lawn courts at 2 Boulevard Reine Olga but, as a committee member said at the time, 'it sounded so much better to say lawn, rather than hard court'. Needless to say, down came the beautiful bronze plaque and in its place went something plastic that simply read 'Athens Tennis Club'. Worse, the club had to open its doors to people it wouldn't have allowed to slip through to deliver olives a few years back.
The club was built around the turn of the century, next to the pillars of the Temple of Zeus, below the Acropolis, and adjacent to the first Olympic stadium. The surroun- dings were gardens and public parks, and the only sign of progress was a swimming pool that was built next to the club just before the second world war. When I joined the club in 1953 the place was still run on the lines of Fort Zinderneuf. The president, Mr Ketseas, was a gentleman of the old school. His mother had been a lady-in- waiting to old Queen Olga, a queen known as having said that Queeen Victoria was a bit too progressive. Given such a background it was not surprising that Mr Ketseas — who loved my uncle and my father — and I didn't exactly see eye to eye where manners were concerned. Although he was very old, Mr Ketseas came to the club every day and kept an eagle eye on the young players. When I came out with my first swear word he called me over, told me to get dressed and suspended me for a week. When, having given up swearing, I kicked a ball towards a ballboy because he had dared to move, I was again sent home for another week's enforced holiday.
There was serious trouble though, when I insisted on playing with the rest of my team-mates in the upper courts, which were reserved for members. The fact that I was both a member and a competitor did not faze Mr Ketseas. He called me a com- munist and threatened to suspend me for life. When I went bonkers during a tourna- ment, however, and hit my opponent and the referee, it was Ketseas who pleaded with an outraged committee not to do just that. As his was the final word he even minimised my five-year suspension to 18 months. He died soon after, and 1 for one cried at his funeral. The club has gone downhill ever since.
The last ten years, needless to say, have done the real damage. Four major motor- ways now crisscross all around the club, and membership is open to anyone who can afford it. The Karamanlis government pass- ed a law outlawing private clubs unless the land had been bought by the members on that understanding. As the club's land had been given to it by the king, we were the first to be invaded. Perhaps I was prejudic- ed but I had always thought that the place was the most beautiful club I had ever played in. Last week I couldn't wait to get away. Hundreds of overweight Athenians, wearing tight fila trousers and shirts, ran unco-ordinatedly around trying to lose the Lebanese muscle from their stomachs. The waiters were surly and dirty, the players try- ing to emulate McEnroe's behaviour. We used to hold a dance once a week, and there were tea dances every afternoon, but now there is only some vile rock music coming from the taverna next to the locker room. And, despite the fact that I won the doubles championship many times, the trophies have been relegated — along with pictures of kings past and present — to the cellar. Oh well, I shouldn't complain. My tennis today is on a par with my manners of yesterday, so why should I care that the place has gone the way of the city? But I guess I am among the unhappy breed that misses good times gone by, as well as nice places.
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