Vicious stings in the tales of the old hands

As the prime time for publication of tennis books, Wimbledon will be considerably enlivened by the Irish factor. Or, more accurately, the Irish-extract factor, as epitomised by John McEnroe and Pat Cash, a talented, headline-creating duo described by Cash as "two of the sport's most notorious outlaws."

The autobiographies of Cash, four generations removed from Co Wexford, and McEnroe, three generations distant from Cavan and Co Westmeath, do not disappoint those seeking a lively read, encompassing the break-up of relationships, remorse and revenge, stinging attacks on authority and pomposity, the joys of family life and a minimum of the stuff which stifles so many books – "and then I was fortunate enough to win..." As Cash points out: "We are both men of passion who find it difficult to do anything half-heartedly."

Though McEnroe's is the better book, a fascinating examination of what drove and continues to propel the finest player and one of the most complex personalities of the open era, the Cash opus is the one which takes an opener to a jumbo-size can of worms.

There is certainly nothing half-hearted about the Cash attitude towards those perceived to have crossed him. Such is the vehemence towards Greg Rusedski, accused by Pat of making use of his coaching expertise and then refusing to pay anything, that the Lawn Tennis Association are reported to have withdrawn co-operation over planned signing sessions for Uncovered, which is published on Thursday. Taking a cleaver to the British No 2, Cash has reignited the controversy over the relationship between Rusedski and Tim Henman, alleging envy, resentment and childish behaviour by Rusedski. The two have never made a secret of their unwillingness to socialise and their differences are well enough recognised inside tennis. Now everybody has been told.

Cash accuses Rusedski of flying into a "frightening, paranoic rage" when discussing Henman, writing: "One of the most embarrassing instances came in the Key Biscayne locker room when Greg's abusive jibes were audible to everyone only moments after Tim had walked by."

Mark Philippoussis, the player Cash helped to coach before Rusedski, also comes under the microscope, being criticised for alleged laziness and a fondness for night life, alcohol and lap dancers.

Perhaps most venom is aimed at an Australian icon, John Newcombe. These two go back a long way to when Cash feels Newcombe was miffed because the promising youngster preferred to stay with his coach, Ian Barker, rather than join Newcombe's group. This, he feels, is why his is the only head among Australia's Grand Slam champions not to be sculpted and on display at the National Tennis Centre in Melbourne.

Cash is also curious why, as a London resident for 16 years, the LTA have never tried to make use of him, why Henman never replied when he offered to be Tim's coach. While waiting for his ultimate ambition, captaincy of Australia's Davis Cup team, Cash makes his career out of running a tennis academy in Queensland and sharing TV commentating duties at Wimbledon and the Australian Open with, among others, McEnroe.

As a native New Yorker, McEnroe has that direct approach to everything, mistakenly labelled rude by those who do not realise that, in that wonderful city, everybody talks and acts like that. What to turn his hand to next is not something McEnroe has needed to ponder on. He moved smoothly from the pro tour into senior tennis, he is a commentator par excellence, runs an art gallery and enjoys a happy second marriage.

McEnroe shares with Cash a love of music and musicians, a past of dabbling in drugs and a failed relationship. In Pat's case it was to Ann-Britt, a Norwegian lady he never married but who gave him two children, in John's the crash and burn of his marriage to Tatum O'Neal.

Mac tells movingly of how abandoned and bereft he felt when Bjorn Borg walked out of tennis at 26, of his distaste for Jimmy Connors, of his dislike of Ivan Lendl and of his own decision that it was better to play doubles rather than get involved in boring fitness training. Hence the McEnroe record of 77 singles titles matched by 77 doubles.

But mainly, of course, he is required to explain and dissect the rage which drove him onwards, and frequently over the edge. The explanations clearly disturb him. "I know people have seen me as a spoiled, loudmouthed, ill-tempered crybaby," he writes. "I don't deny I've acted that way a lot... I sometimes worry it's all I'll get to leave to posterity."

As star performers, and tellers of fascinating tales, neither of the outlaws should have worries on that score.

'Serious', by John McEnroe with James Kaplan (Little, Brown, £17.99) 'Uncovered', by Pat Cash with Barry Flatman (Greenwater Publishing, £17.99)