Vilas bemoans lack of grass distinction

There cannot, surely, be a more exquisite tennis venue than the Hurlingham Club, where for the past few days by the Thames they have been staging a corporate jolly called the Marsh Classic, a gentle curtain-raiser for the discerning, well-connected fan before tomorrow's kick-off at what our American cousins respectfully refer to as the Big W.

Out on the manicured lawns the post-prandial brigade could marvel at the enduring skills of such as Cash, Nastase, Amritraj, Okker, Drysdale and our own columnist, John Lloyd, as well as a fellow with a black headband, hedgerow hair and calf muscles like footballs called Guillermo Vilas.

Those who think the old King of Clay might be out of place on grass should think again. Vilas won two Australian Opens in the days when that Grand Slam was a grass event. He also became the 1974 Masters champion on grass in the same city, Melbourne. But those were the days, my friend, when grass was the pre-eminent surface and people like Vilas, apprenticed on the dirt courts of Argentina, adapted or disappeared. Now, perched alongside one of Hurlingham's gurgling fountains, he shrugs sympathetically about what has happened in his sport. "Grass is a very rare surface these days. Wimbledon is such a tradition but now you know beforehand who will win it. There are only four or five of them, not like in my time."

The other three Grand Slams capitulated to Vilas' bludgeoning tennis but his best shows at Wimbledon were quarter-finals in 1975 and 1976. That was, he says, because he always did so well at the French Open – four finals, once a champion – that he found himself short of time on grass. There was a problem back then, you see, that clay chappies from South America did not exactly receive an open-arms welcome at London's private clubs.

Vilas explains diplomatically: "It was very difficult to get practice time, very complicated. Even if you managed to get a court at Queen's you were not allowed to practise more than half an hour. And you had to know people in order even to do that." Vilas was also seeded by Wimbledon lower than his standing in the game, but no hard feelings from "Willie", as he is known on the seniors circuit: "They just dropped me a couple of places. At that time you could do that because the computer was not as good as it is now."

He is in agreement with the complaints of Gustavo Kuerten, Marat Safin and Alex Corretja about Wimbledon's seeding preferences, despite the face-saving changes implemented this year. "It is unfair when you have a ranking which is not recognised. If they go by the ATP computer at the French Open they should do the same at Wimbledon. There are players at Roland Garros who cannot win but they are still seeded high."

Vilas may be 48 now, with strands of grey escaping from the restraining headband, but he remains capable of working up a head of steam about what he regards as the iniquities of the computerised ranking system, past and present. "In 1977 I won 52 matches in a row," he says. "Then I lost to Nastase who was playing with the fishnet racket which was banned the next day. After that I won another 49 straight matches. Had it not been for Nastase I would have won a hundred right off. That year I won the US Open, the French Open, I was in the final of the Australian. I won 14 tournaments and still I didn't make number one because the computer was not right.

"It is completely unfair that your whole life is judged by a computer. They should have another way. Look at Formula One, it's easy to follow. Whoever wins gets the points, that's it. They should come up with an easier way of doing it, make the circuit clear. But they couldn't get the ranking system right, so now they brought in a second one, the Champions Race. That is just what the Grand Prix was in the old days, a qualification for the Masters."

In a golden decade Vilas could never elbow aside Jimmy Connors and Bjorn Borg to become number one. Not that he is complaining. "I was third of the three but it was an amazing time and I was happy to be part of it, that's how you make your name. I did the best I could and I am happy about that. Now they make more money and it's a different ball game but I was happy with my prize money and I am very well off. I was lucky and worked hard, so I have nothing but thanks to God for that. But not all the players made the same amounts I did."

The reference books still list Vilas as a resident of Buenos Aires. But for the last 25 years he has made his home in Monte Carlo, drawn there initially because of the chance to practise with his great rival Borg. It was also a more convenient place for travelling. "I used to leave Argentina in January and come back the following December."

Vilas, the poetry-writing athlete, was such a hero in his native land that there was talk 20 years back of putting up a statue in his honour. Had that happened, he admitted, he would go back to Argentina more often than he does.

"When you become famous they glorify you but you also have a few enemies and most of them are in positions of high power. It was great to see Fred Perry getting a statue in his lifetime, but that's something they have to learn in Argentina. That's one thing that would make me go back more, to see my name on a stadium, or have a statue put up, or even a road named after me."

The author of two poetry books in Spanish, Vilas has completed two more, one of them in English which this admirer of T S Eliot considers "the perfect language for poetry". The writing remains a vital part of his life, he says, and, what's more, those computers he hates in tennis have been a big help. "Before, I used to carry this big bag of papers and I was always afraid I was going to lose it. So thank God for computers."