The demise of TennisWeek.com on Dec. 1 marks the sad end of a once-bright chapter in American tennis journalism. The often-thoughtful publication was founded by the cerebral (and more-than-preppy) Gene Scott, who passed away before his time in 2006. Here’s our remembrance (from our April 2006 issue) of a great voice that once so richly blessed the tennis community:
Gene Scott: 1938-2006
A Voice Is Silenced
It made absolutely no sense.
After I lobbied the USTA to name their new U.S. Open stadium after Arthur Ashe, I got a call from Tennis Week publisher Gene Scott. His magazine was going to name “little‚ ol’ moi” the Publisher of the Year.
“What?” I thought. “One publisher naming another publisher (and a rival no less!) to a cushy award — that’s absurd.”
Wrong! It was just typical of the guy.
For the late Gene Scott, 68, who on March 19 succumbed at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn. to amyloidosis, was a man apart. Of the establishment, yet anti-establishment, he cut a singular swath across the game. Wordsmith, promoter, risk-taking innovator, gifted athlete, caring family man, tennis politico, adept businessman and agent, telling critic: in a field that punishes whistle-blowers, no one rattled the cage like Scott. Many simply saw this patrician, tell-it-like-it-is observer as the conscience of our sport.
I always had a special feeling for the guy. It wasn’t that I viewed him as an older brother. After all, we rarely had in-depth conversations. Still, I grew up in suburban Larchmont (New York); his office was in neighboring Rye. And while I collected a few hit-‘n-giggle titles. Gene’s world-class trophy room bulged. Yet while Scott was truly a preppy, inside-the-beltway East Coast old-school fellow; a Yale grad, who played Davis Cup, and sat on the boards of the USTA and the Hall of Fame and (whether negotiating in a penthouse office or schmoozing in the Royal Box, sporting a tux or wearing tennis whites) was the game’s ultimate insider, I was merely a California guy with some guts and staying-power. Still, I somehow shared a deep kindred spirit with Scott. After all, we were the only two independents to publish tennis rags over the past couple of decades. We both loved storytelling and delighted in the written word. We both wrote regular columns, relished wordplay and (dare I say) embraced ideas. We both knew too well the gritty pains and pleasures of producing free-form (ink-under-your-fingernails) publications with distinct, spunky signatures, in the midst of a conformist, often ho-hum tennis universe. We both managed to surf the turbulent waves of that most stormy tempest, the tennis industry. In the end, Tennis Week, largely on the East Coast, and Inside Tennis, out West, were cousins‚ competitors and, very much, mutual admirers. When perhaps the most respected man in tennis since Arthur Ashe greeted me at the Carson Davis Cup with the far too generous quip — “my hero” — it was for me a memorable “wow” moment.
Scott’s provocative opinions seemed to emerge immaculately. His writing was literate, grand and elegant, his. His voice was unique, unafraid. He loved to pose prickly, often bemused questions. He delighted in a playful sense of whimsy and was a master of the elliptical digression. No one had a more adept eye for the revealing detail. He tirelessly tweaked the stodgy establishment he knew so well and relished being the impolite rascal who made the stuffed-shirts twitch. Pretense, hypocrisy, duplicity, rigidity, greed and excess, all suffered from his withering pen.
Scott was ever candid. So I will be too. His sudden loss is a heart-felt shock, in part because he was still so trim, vital and athletic. (Just last year, he won the 65s Men’s National Parks Championships doubles.) His departure leaves a vast void. Some among us just seem irreplaceable. Fortunately, Gene left us a fabulous publication, a stadium full of memories, a storied body of work and a do-the-right-thing ethos.
