CARLOS RAMOS
It is well-documented by those who know him that Carlos Ramos is one who chooses to shun the spotlight. He’d just as soon blend nicely into the backdrop than be recognized. It’s the way he is and has always been. And up until last September’s U.S. Open Women’s Final he had no problem calmly navigating the waters of relative anonymity.
That was then.
As with any sport, fans pay to see the combatants, not those who officiate.
(I would be remiss if mention was not made of the families and significant others of those who enforce the rules; they attend perhaps only to watch their people work. Understandable and reasonable of course).
When the men and women in zebra stripes, shades of blue or natty blazers to describe a few, climb their respective professional ladders, the inculcation of the worth of — and high premium placed on — the demand, the imperative to be impartial and to remain on the action’s periphery takes firm hold. A seamless outing renders the arbiter virtually invisible.
This is the blueprint and the ultimate goal, that for which the official strives. Generally, bountiful fruit is borne of this endeavor; sometimes not. After all, the world is hardly perfect.
John McEnroe is rightfully considered among the greatest tennis players in the sport’s rich history. His shot-making artistry and volleying skills vaulted him to 881 career match singles wins, the sixth-most in the Open Era. He was also a championship doubles player, achieving World №1 rankings in each. He notched 77 singles titles and 72 in doubles competition.
The combined 149 championships are the most ever and are highlighted by his performance in the 1979 season when he won 10 singles and 16 doubles titles.
In 1984 McEnroe had perhaps his most prolific year on tour, compiling the best single-season W/L record in the Open Era: 82–3 (96.5 winning percentage).
That year he advanced to his lone French Open final, losing a hotly-contested five set match to Ivan Lendl after winning the first two sets (3–6, 2–6, 6–4, 7–5, 7–5). He proceeded to win his third Wimbledon by annihilating Jimmy Connors, 6–1, 6–1, 6–2 and then evened the score against Lendl in the US Open final, 6–3, 6–4, 6–1.
McEnroe was ranked in the World Top 10 in singles for nine years, finishing №1 four years in a row (1981–1984) and spent 170 weeks atop the rankings. He was the top-ranked doubles player for five consecutive years (1979–1983). And he also played Davis Cup for a dozen years helping the Americans to the hardware five times (1978; 1979; 1981; 1982; and 1992).
But there was another side to the kid from Douglaston, Queens.
He was a tennis bad boy, the enfant terrible.
In early ’79 he fired his racquet in a fit of rage that missed opponent Ilie Nastase’s head by inches before turning and proclaiming to the gallery, “He’s worse than Connors and me put together!”
And this was just the beginning.
His temper tantrums, volatile outbursts, vitriolic and toxic invective and persistent racquet abuse became signature features of his performances.
At the 1990 Australian Open he became the first player to be ejected from a Grand Slam event in almost thirty years.
The British press dubbed him, “Super Brat.”
His incredulity on one occasion at an umpire’s perceived ineptitude assumed a life of its own with his, “you cannot be serious” remark; it was the title of his 2002 autobiography/biography (with James Kaplan) which reached the top of the New York Times bestseller list.
McEnroe’s behavior, unpardonable in the tennis fraternity and in most every other setting, frequently unnerved his opponent(s) and somehow served to sharpen his focus rather than accelerate his combustion.
(The aforementioned renowned nefarious and bilious eruption spewed forth torpedo-style during his match against unseeded Tom Gullikson at the 1981 Wimbledon Championships. As it turned out, McEnroe won the Men’s Singles title and partnered with Peter Fleming to take the Doubles crown in that year’s All England Lawn Tennis event).
At nearly sixty years of age today, McEnroe concedes that his demeanor as a player was sometimes “too much for me and maybe too much for other people… I’ve definitely mellowed but I think in certain things I’ve gone a little soft. I don’t have that killer instinct that I wish I did have in a way. Just in general. Whether it’s parenting, a social game or playing seniors tennis, I’m not all over it the way I used to be…I have had to step back.”
Then this would be the time — as opposed to back in the day — that Carlos Ramos would be most comfortable assuming his position as a gold badge chair umpire officiating a McEnroe match.
Scaling the heights and reaching the top in any pursuit requires an unbridled and fathomless passion among other things. That deep reservoir of fervor, zeal, ardor, intensity, desire and dedication can be tested but never drained. Even when reality pervades. Especially then. Because it is then when adjustments must be contemplated and ultimately made. New ways, different methods must be found and put to use in order to attain the goal.
Carlos Ramos loved to play tennis as a teenager in Lisbon. He practiced for hours on end with friends and alone. He was persistent but unspectacular. He was average. But he still loved the game. And he knew the rules inside-out and embraced them.
To his pals and others, it was a no-brainer. However mediocre he was as a player he was regarded as excellent when he was seated eight feet above the court in the umpire’s chair. “We knew he wasn’t good,” remarked his friend Jose Miguel Fernandes sheepishly, recalling with a smile Ramos’ ineffectual one-handed backhand. Friends can be cruel and caring at the same time. “So we said, ‘Hey, go with this.’”
At age sixteen, he did just that.
And his trajectory from mediocre tennis player to the upper crust of tennis officiating traveled a path fraught with peril.
He had to overcome a lisp which his mentors thought would threaten his authority; he learned and honed his craft on the hardscrabble Portuguese tennis circuit where the matches were adrenaline-addled and feisty; and he had to reconcile his understanding and interpretation of the rules with the demand to become less rigid and inflexible, a reputation he was cultivating even among fellow umpires.
He was developing an assertive persona in the chair, far different than the quiet, unassuming one he displayed away from the court.
Ramos was (and is) a stickler for the rules and his senior colleagues were concerned about the degree and application of that as well as his overall ability to communicate. He agreed to have his speech impediment corrected surgically and today he speaks four languages fluently: Portuguese, English, French and Spanish. So clearly it was not a simple matter of intelligible exchange.
Rather the consternation and disquiet were rooted in Ramos’ starchy nature along with his acute ‘my way or the highway’ rule-by-the-book predisposition.
Remarked Norm Chryst who spent nearly two decades as an umpire on the ATP Tour which employed Ramos on a contract basis through the 1990s, “The impression I got was that he was fairly straight-laced, and he wasn’t very flexible.
And when we would talk about, ‘Gee, how do you think we could change the way we officiate and try to make it better for the players and sport and the fans?’ he’d always be the one who’d push back and say, ‘What we’re doing is the way we should be doing it.’ He was less likely to say, ‘Let’s try that.’”
The fear early in Ramos’ career was that his at-all-costs strict and rigid adherence to the code would at times hinder him in adapting to individual players and situations. Though well-founded, Ramos continued his ascent and thrived.
In 2004 he was awarded a full-time position under the I.T.F., overseeing Men’s Singles finals at all four Grand Slam tournaments and serving as the umpire for the Men’s Singles gold medal match at the 2012 Olympics won by Andy Murray over Roger Federer (6–2, 6–1, 6–4).
“Umpire Golden Slam” had carved out a niche for himself as one of the very best, highly proficient and an exemplar in many ways. At the same time there remained traces of discontent among top players regarding his officiating.
His unrelenting and maniacal focus on order re-opened his history of verbal dust-ups with the likes of Murray who accused him of “stupid umpiring”; Novak Djokovic who asserted that Ramos employed “double standards”; and Rafael Nadal who openly bemoaned the fact that he was overly strict. To a fault (pardon the unintended pun).
And then there was Serena and the Big Apple debacle.
Serena Williams may very well be the greatest tennis player — male or female — who ever played the sport.
But Richard Ings, a former top-level umpire and the director of officiating for the ATP Tour (2001–2005) minces no words when he says that the treatment of Ramos after the controversial Final which sparked debate on several fronts left “umpires everywhere seething.” Ramos, he states was “thrown under a bus” by the governing bodies of tennis.
“Carlos Ramos has been a professional umpire for four decades. There’s no one more experienced, no one more knowledgeable, no one more capable as an umpire than Carlos Ramos.”
(Under the terms of their contracts umpires, employed by Grand Slams and Men’s and Women’s tours, are not permitted to speak publicly).
Billie Jean King believes that Ramos could have easily diffused the incendiary situation before its volcanic upsurge by simply explaining to Serena at the start that he was not in any way attacking her character. He was not being sexist. He was not playing favorites in any way, by any measure.
But King conceded that she “felt at the very beginning he blew it. As an umpire you’re supposed to keep the flow of the match going and he did just the opposite.”
While King said that Serena’s behavior was “out of line,” she was clear in her belief that Ramos did not control the match.
As for the sexism accusation, King acknowledged that it remains an issue in today’s (tennis) world. “Men are outspoken when they stand up for themselves. And women are looked at as hysterical,” she lamented. “We are not. We are also speaking up.”
After the match King tweeted a similar sentiment and thanked Serena for calling out the double standard.
What began as a warning to Williams regarding receiving coaching, before precipitously spiraling downward into racket-smashing (one point docked) and verbal abuse (one game penalty) stoked spirited banter about the rules.
On-court coaching — where a coach can come on to court once per set — is allowed on the WTA Tour but not at Grand Slam events. Coaching from the stands is banned at all times but many, including King have suggested that it be allowed because it happens all the time.
Be that as it may, all of this could have been easily averted, allowing Naomi Osaka who beat Serena fair and square to bask unsullied and unencumbered in her moment in the sun.
A gold badge chair umpire, universally recognized as one of the very best in the world might have reminded a 23-time Grand Slam Singles champion that coaching in this particular event was prohibited and then advised her that any further evidence of it would result in the issuance of an official warning.
And arguably the greatest tennis player of all-time might have thanked him for his understanding and assured him that it wouldn’t happen again.
Case closed.
[Editor’s Note: This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in November 2018.]
