Ready to give up and go back to Iran, Bahrami stumbled upon an old friend and fellow tennis player Farokh Moazed, who encouraged and helped him to continue playing. Bahrami fled to France, where he found himself broke, homeless, and unable to play his sport. But in 1979, revolution broke in Iran, and tennis, seen as a capitalist sport, was banned. It seemed as though he was on the cusp of becoming a successful pro he was playing – and winning! – quite a few local tournaments, and was even invited to play in the juniors’ draw at Wimbledon. But when Bahrami tried it out for the first time – sneaking onto the tennis courts with a friend who had access to them – he was physically beaten, and his racket broken.ĭespite having to fight so hard just to be allowed to play tennis, Bahrami earned himself a spot on the Iranian Davis Cup team at the age of 16. Shirzad struck a deal with him – offering him a surprise at the end of his session if he passed the ball back conventionally. But this didn’t deter Bahrami –it encouraged him! He got as close to the sport as he could standing at the bottom of the drained Olympic swimming pool, hitting a ball against the wall using a broom handle as a racket.īahrami didn’t get a real racket until the age of twelve – and if it wasn’t for his (now) famous on court antics, he might have had to wait even longer! When ball-boying for Shirzad Akbari, one of the players at Amjadieh, Mansour was fooling around, using trick shots to pass the ball back. ![]() The tennis courts were off limits to all but the Iranian middle-class. He spent his childhood at Amjadieh, the sports complex in Tehran, where he was able to box and swim – but not play tennis. Love for a sport he wasn’t even allowed to play. But Mansour Bahrami’s The Court Jester overflows with a love for tennis. ![]() In Open, Andre Agassi famously admits that he hated tennis throughout his career, and in Serious, John McEnroe says that he didn’t find a joy in winning tennis matches, just a relief in not losing them. I’ve only read two tennis biographies before Bahrami’s, and both spoke of tennis with an underlying negativity. When I didn’t find it in my stocking, I bought it myself. So I asked for his autobiography for Christmas. I’d never seen a player with that sort of rapport with the crowd before, delighting them with just a simple whistle. But after seeing him play live (twice – I ended up buying a ticket for the final as well… I had really wanted to see Roddick!), I knew I was seeing something special. I recognised him, but I hadn’t ever watched him play or paid much attention to his career. I have to admit that I didn’t really know who this man was. But I shouldn’t have been so disappointed – I got to see Mansour Bahrami, the court jester of tennis! I’d bought the ticket to see Andy Roddick, so I was pretty disappointed when the schedule got changed and I didn’t get to see him. In those days a racket would have cost about two months’ wages for my father.In December, I went to the Statoil Masters at the Royal Albert Hall in London. “I haven’t got any money to buy a racket. “But, Mansour, why don’t you play with a racket? Tennis is played with a racket, you know, not a broom.” She answered me with a tone both astounded and naïve: Sometimes I use a shovel but a broom’s better I can hit the ball better …” “Well, it’s better than playing with my hand. ![]() “Mansour, what are you doing? Why are you playing with a broomstick?” She knew me in the way that she knew all the kids at Amjadieh hanging around the entrance for the privilege of picking up the balls. The one who arrived was a very beautiful woman, aged about forty: the wife of a big-wig. I was secretly hoping that there wouldn’t be a client coming to ask me to act as his ball boy. I, on the other hand, preferred hitting a ball against a wall with a broom, rather than lazing in the shade. Everyone was taking a siesta the shopkeepers would draw their curtains, and no-one reappeared before four o’clock. These really hot afternoons in Iran were rarely devoted to sport. One summer’s day, when I must have been ten years old, I was waiting for clients, not feeling too hopeful. A racket: what would I not have given for a racket?
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