Underrated: Andrea Temesvari

Who?

In la primavera a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, in the summer it turns to tennis. Back in the days of wooden racquets, all white clothes and Dan Maskell I was crazy about tennis. I used to play all the time becoming quite adept at the sport.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful Hungarian tennis player called Andrea Temesvari. She batted balls in the 1980’s and is a contemporary of me. When she was winning the Italian Open in 1982 I was celebrating being crowned school champion. It was a vintage year for tennis.

Despite her successes, Miss Temesvari never quite reached the top of her profession though she was top drawer in other respects. Blessed with a stunning body that had curves like the Hungaroring, she also had a dazzling smile. The impression given was one of feminine grace and tigress charm. I dreamed of playing mixed doubles with her and whispering in her ear, “Fifteen, love” instead of fifteen-love.

Never in all my wildest Decembers did I think my long distance love affair with this Hungarian princess would be reciprocated. Until, one day, she phoned me! She phoned ME. There was a new pro/celebrity tournament coming up and she wanted to partner me. My first thought was am I the pro or the celebrity? The celebrity, most likely. Andrea had probably looked at my stats and figures and selected me. Me, I just looked at her figure.

Another aspect of tennis that appealed to me was the drinks breaks. After every two games refreshments are taken. As one who drinks cola by the gallon this was heaven to me. I imagined having a cool cola with Andrea while we towelled the sweat away after our exertions on the court.

The big day arrived for me to meet my heroine courtside. There stood my princess, she was slightly older though still sultry and looked to be radiating a passionate aura towards me. Or was it just a perplexed look because I still use the wooden bat I call the “Blue Special”.

We decided to have a practise match against one another. Andrea pounded me with her ground strokes. I was a bit taken aback by the intensity of her hitting and called for a break.

As we stood by the umpire chair replete with built-in fridge, Murray mints, magazine rack and a dart board I cracked open a Coke and offered one to the Budapest beauty. She was furious. After not saying anything all morning she let fly with a volley of abuse.

“You canzot be serious. Cola est bad for you. You should be drinking energeez drinks. This ees a mistake. You haf zee worst backhand I have ever zeen. I am, how you say, off ski.” And with that she departed the scene.

Rejection didn’t bother me or the fact she was unimpressed with my skills, I couldn’t understand how she could not like cola. I won’t hold it against her because as tennis babes go, Andrea is the real thing.

You can check out the old love of my life at the 2.10 mark or thereabouts.