Tennis According to Marx

By Sara C. Medina

Czechoslovakia's best-known defector went home last week. Eleven years after leaving her homeland, Tennis Superstar Martina Navratilova, 29, headed the top-seeded U.S. team as it arrived in Prague for the Federation Cup, the women's equivalent of the all-male Davis Cup. Local media ignored her, but the applause that greeted her appearance at the opening ceremonies -- where she wept during the playing of the national anthem -- more than compensated. "I think it showed that the people here still remember me and that they like me," she told a press conference. "Not because I have come back but because they appreciate what I have done in tennis." Navratilova is only the biggest star in a whole galaxy of Czechoslovak players. How does the country turn out so many winners?

The answer lies on red clay courts far from Wimbledon or Flushing, where on summer mornings teenagers meet to work on their strokes and serves. They dress in fashionable warm-up outfits or immaculate whites adorned with well-known logos and swing imported Volkl, Kneissel or Belgian "Snauwaert" carbon racquets. Hovering nearby, track-suited trainers murmur advice. The days are a regimen of practice matches, endurance training and chalkboard strategy sessions, followed by evening shape-ups with sports psychologists.

The scene is not a New England tennis camp but the Prague Tennis Club, and the teenagers are the honors class in the Czechoslovak national tennis program. With 30,000 youthful players and 2,650 coaches, the program has brought the small (pop. 15.4 million) East European nation to the heights of international tennis: besides Navratilova, its alumni include Ivan Lendl, the world's No. l player, and such other top seeds as Miloslav Mecir, Helena Sukova and Hana Mandlikova -- who surprised the tennis world last week by marrying an Australian restaurateur between rounds of the Federation Cup.

Building on a century-old tradition (as early as 1888 there were nearly 500 tennis courts in the country), Czechoslovaks have dominated major tennis competitions in recent years, making a virtual sweep of last year's U.S. Open. Says Frantisek Pala, head coach of the national team: "Twenty years ago, parents told their children, 'Play piano.' Now it's 'Play tennis.' And we are getting results."

Tennis players are manufactured on a centralized industrial model, with a five-year plan, a budget set in Prague and a chain of bureaucratic command that runs from rural sports committees up through the central committee of the Union of Physical Culture. According to the locker-room wisecrack, the only difference between player development and the national economy is that the tennis program works.

The talent search begins with children of six or seven, whose parents can enroll them at nominal cost (about $10) for summer lessons at day camps. About ! half are encouraged to pursue more intensive practice and coaching at one of 831 local clubs. Further winnowing occurs until the most promising nine- and ten-year-olds are ready to enter one of 400 annual junior tournaments. National coaches scout the competitions, inviting winners to 14 regional training centers. From among these finalists come about a dozen hopefuls, who are sent to one of three "national tennis centers for high-performance sport."

At this level, perks and luxuries appear. Racquets, shoes and warm-up gear are supplied by Western equipment sponsors. Conflicts with academics are nonexistent: players attend a "sports school." It requires half the usual number of classroom hours and often excuses students for training or tournaments. A personal coach works out an individual schedule with hours of practice, calisthenics, lessons and perhaps a set or two with fellow trainees. All this is followed by sessions to review videotapes of each day's performance and plot strategy for matches.

The pressure to perform is fierce: 20 players compete for every place on one of the national teams. Says Jakub Zvara, 15, a member of the Prague center, presently ranked 20th in Czechoslovakia in his age group: "I am sacrificing everything, including training and education for a normal job, for tennis. If I am not a good player, then I am nothing." The payoff: a chance to travel freely in the West, rake in hard-currency winnings, and live better than Central Committee members. Any player 18 or over with 120 points on the international tennis rating scale in singles or 60 points in doubles, or who is a member of the Davis, King's or Federation Cup teams, can launch a pro career in the West with the permission of the Tennis Federation Board. As one coach put it, that means "no problems with the government, no problems with school and a good image for Czechoslovakia."

The result is an astonishing array of premier players. Lendl is backed up by Mecir (worldwide pro ranking, 20), Milan Srejber (32), Tomas Smid (35) and Pavel Slozil (85); fourth-ranked Mandlikova's teammates include Sukova (7), Andrea Holikova (78) and Regina Marsikova (79). In return for a passport, each of the athletes has agreed to clear participation in tournaments with the board, pay 20% of after-expense prize money to the federation, and kick in an additional $3,000 annually to defray travel expenses for junior players.

Ironically, the very success of the Czech tennis program has brought the country a continuing headache: emigration. Since the Communists took power, 14 top Czechoslovaks besides Navratilova have defected to the West, along with dozens of lesser talents. Lendl, though nominally still playing for his native land, has not returned home since 1980, and now refuses to play in team competitions. Those who do stay face the problem of conformity. "The system is fine for ordinary players," says the unconventional base-line worker Srejber, who rose from 120 to 32 in less than a year. "But it doesn't adapt well to people like me who play a special game." The program also suffers from the deficiencies and idiosyncrasies of a socialist economy. Despite the importance of tennis, there is a surprising paucity of special courts: out of 3,734 nationwide, only three are grass. The country still cannot produce a high-quality racquet. Locally made tennis balls bounce eccentrically or not at all, and supplies have to be imported for major events.

Still, every time it seems in trouble, Czechoslovakia always manages to overcome its problems by producing more champions. With Mandlikova, Sukova and the other top Czechoslovaks facing Navratilova as head of the U.S. team in the Federation Cup finals this week, it is evident once again that tennis according to Marx can be a winning proposition.

While Navratilova enjoyed her return, another Czechoslovak sports figure headed the other way. Michal Pivonka, 20, a center on the national ice-hockey team, appeared in the U.S. to announce that he was defecting to join the Washington Capitals. "My ambition is to play in the National Hockey League," said Pivonka. "I can hardly wait for the season to begin." He was the second Czechoslovak hockey player to defect in a week: four days earlier, Defenseman Frantisek Musil had joined the Minnesota North Stars.

With reporting by Kenneth W. Banta/Prague