At the Miami Open yesterday morning, waiting with the media to go onto the stadium court for the ribbon cutting ceremony, I thought of Bud Collins.
Bud gave me my introduction to the world of tennis reporting back in the ’90s, when he would get me a one-day press pass, usually on the first Saturday, for the tournament on Key Biscayne. I had gotten to know him (personally) through his travel writing, as he would occasionally send me stories of his travels between Grand Slams, the photos taken by his talented wife Anita. Sitting in the shade of the press box at Crandon Park, I would listen to his stories, like the time he coached tennis at Brandeis University and had Abbie Hoffman on his team. Though Bud – despite his attention-getting outfits – was a quiet, unassuming, remarkably kind man who earned not just the respect but the affection of everyone he met, including the workers in the media cafeteria.
I mentioned his name to some of the reporters standing around me yesterday, and the stories started coming. “The first time I met him,” said Harvey, “it was like meeting my hero.” “He would count the shots in every rally,” Michelle said. “We’d look over to Bud after a long one and he’d say “27.” Immediately I wondered how many times I had been gabbing while Bud had sat silently trying to keep track of the shots.
