I wake up in a sweat. Where am I? Then I remember – I already played the match. I was two sets up against Ivan Lendl in the final of the 1984 French Open. I was going to win against the man I hated most. And then I lost. But I suspect you might remember that from my last autobiography, which came out 15 years ago.
Today, though, I have a chance to put that right because I am playing an exhibition match against Lendl in front of seven people. The match starts well for me. I go a set up – and then Lendl retires! I am furious that he isn’t man enough to let me beat him fair and square. I force him to have another exhibition match in front of three people a month later. This time I whip his ass. I have finally got my revenge. I am the best. I am the champion.
Note from John’s wife Patty: I am sorry if John sounds seriously deranged. He really can be quite sweet if he tries. And he’s lovely to the kids except when they contradict him. I’ve found the best way to handle him is to let him rant until he’s exhausted and then just carry on doing what I was planning to do anyway. I suggest you do the same. Tell him he’s the greatest every five minutes and you’ll get along fine.
Was I planning to be the host of game show The Chair in 2002? Probably not, as no one watched it and it was taken off air long before the first series was due to end. But it’s a chapter in the book and it was a good learning curve for my tennis commentary. It also got me a walk-on part in a film called Anger Management that you probably also missed. Patty said I was the best thing about the whole film.
Remember what I said.
I seem to have run out of things to say already and I’m barely 50 pages into the book.
Why don’t you just namedrop a few of your acquaintances then, John? People are bound to be fascinated by that.
So I was hanging out with Vitas Gerulaitis – literally the coolest dude who has ever lived – when I met Andy Warhol for the first time. I never really took to Andy, because he felt like a fake and was a real nuisance when you were off your head. Interestingly, I did once win an auction to have my portrait painted by him but he died before he could hand it over. Luckily, I managed to rescue it from his estate but I didn’t put it up on my wall as it wasn’t very good. I much prefer the work of Damien Hirst, who is another great friend.
I’m also really good friends with Chrissie Hynde. I was thrilled when she invited me on stage to play with the Pretenders at Madison Square Garden. That, along with headlining Live Aid with Queen, was one of the highlights of my life. I also get on really well with Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood, who once asked me how big a tennis court was. I tried to get them to come on my chat show John Partridge: Knowing Me, Knowing You, but they said they were a bit busy.
Why don’t you move on to tennis? That’s what people will be really interested in.
The best period for men’s tennis was undoubtedly the late 80s, which was when I was at my peak. I can still remember the titanic clashes I had with Björn Borg, Jimmy Connors and that fuckwit Lendl as if it was yesterday ...
John, you went into all this in your last book. Try to think of something to say about some of the modern-day players.
Roger Federer is very good. Rafa Nadal is very good. Novak Djokovic is very good. Andy Murray is very good. Serena Williams is very good for a woman. I tell you what isn’t much good, though, is the BBC’s coverage of Wimbledon. The only good thing about it is me.
Anyway, I’m bored of talking about tennis. How about I list some more of the really famous people I’ve met? Let’s start with the presidents. I never bothered to vote till I was in my 40s but now I’ve met them all. George Bush was cool. Bill Clinton was a cool guy. George W Bush was quite cool and Barack Obama was way cool. Donald Trump is also cool guy. So I guess you could say that one of the things that unites every president is that they are cool.
I also have a Lucian Freud painting in my apartment. Larry David lives on the floor beneath, so he must be doing well for himself as I am completely loaded. Did I ever mention the story about the time I dyed my hair orange? I’m nearly 60 now. Whoever would have imagined I’d go from superbrat to superbore?
Digested read, digested: But Seriously Dull.
