Bill Simons
Mike and Bob were silky shadows – they moved and played as one. Bob hopped, Mike hopped, Bob twitched, Mike twitched. They shaped, defended and popularized modern doubles. And always they offered an appealing mix of athleticism, grace and glee that prompted Mary Carillo to ask, “What’s not to like about those guys? They act like they’re at their own eighth birthday party!”
Next August, the best doubles tennis team ever and the foremost twins in sports history will enter the International Tennis Hall of Fame.
Bob, who is now the US Davis Cup captain, once observed, “We bring some joy to people’s lives. It’s really why we love to play. It’s about giving back. That’s basically why we’re out there.”
The bounding boys from Camarillo won 119 titles. That’s almost twice as much as any other team. These included 16 men’s Slam doubles crowns – and they banked a tidy $36 million.
They’ve thrown out the first pitch before games at Dodgers and Yankee Stadiums, rung the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange and signed endorsements with every possible company, from insurance to lounging chairs.
In my coverage of tennis for nearly 50 years, no other guys were more cooperative or forthcoming. By my count, I’ve been to 237 interviews with Bob and Mike, from beer joints in the Coachella Valley to tiny rooms overlooking Australian railroad tracks. I’ve seen them triumph in Portland and bear insufferable losses in Carson, California, and Seville – in front of 27,000 throaty Spanish loyalists.
Time and again I heard their formative story of how their loving dad Wayne took them to San Diego to see the Davis Cup when they were six or seven, and pro Ricky Leach gave them an American flag. That’s when they got hooked on tennis.
Just maybe, the brothers were the luckiest kids in tennis history. Their mom, Kathy, who was No. 11 in the US, was an inspired coach who’d give them 25 cents every time they came to net in a match. Their charismatic dad Wayne was No. 1 at UC Santa Barbara, and one of tennis’ most energetic enthusiasts, who single-handedly saved the modern doubles game when the ATP wanted to kick it in the shins.
Just like Serena and Venus, there was a master plan from the beginning. Wayne became an expert on child-rearing. Of course, that didn’t stop him from tossing the boys’ video game down a ravine when they were getting too rambunctious.
The twins started hitting balloons at two. They won their first tourney at six and said they would be No. 1 at eight. They were rarely allowed to play each other in junior finals. They always had built-in practice partners – have any two ATP players ever hit with each other so much? Their skill sets blended perfectly. Bob is a lefty with a booming serve and a mighty forehand. Mike is right-handed, has devastating volleys and returns like a demon.
Their talents drew the attention of Stanford’s fabled Dick Gould, who snatched the young boys from the clutches of USC. As a freshman, Bob snuck a mattress into Mike’s room just to be close to his bro. Soon they led the Cardinal to the 1997 and 1998 NCAA team championships, and Bob also won the singles and doubles titles in 1998. The rowdy battles of college proved to be handy preparation for the unkind jeers they’d hear from fans around the world, from Chile to Croatia.
Soon enough, the Bryans would be chest-bumping the doubles record book off its moorings. They won 16 Slam titles together, were ranked No. 1 for 438 weeks and for 10 years they finished as the world’s top doubles team. Their favorite tennis moment was winning the 2012 Olympics at Wimbledon.
Much of their glory came at the Davis Cup. For 14 years, they stepped up and played sublime Saturday ball. They were as close to an automatic point as possible – advantage USA. They won a record 25 matches and were part of America’s last winning team in 2007.
They recalled that at the Davis Cup, “It was incredible running out to the pyrotechnics, standing there hearing the national anthem or having stealth bombers flying over. So many times we were wobbly in the knees.”
Of course, there were obstacles. When they first emerged, officials thought the baby-faces kids were ball boys. Opponents razzed them, claiming they were cocky punks. It took forever for them to even make the Davis Cup team. Lest we forget, their teammate James Blake fleeced them out of thousands at assorted poker tables. A wrenching divorce that Mike endured affected both their spirit and their play.
While the music-playing brothers were often inseparable, there were brotherly spats. Once in London, Mike’s criticism of Bob’s serving led to a brawl, complete with slammed doors, “I hate you” taunts, mule-kicks and a smashed guitar. Then there was silence, before they had dinner and soon won Wimbledon.
Toward the end of their career, the brothers admitted their patented chest bumps were getting lower, and Bob’s devastating hip injury led to pain, tears, surgery and a brief, noble return.
The brothers favorite venues were the La Jolla Beach Club and Winston-Salem, and the best advice they ever got came from coach Gould: “Be proud, but don’t be satisfied.”
Over their 22-year career, what was most amazing about the Bryans was just how giving they were for so long, as well as their stunning synchronicity. CNN featured this dialogue:
Mike: “We’re pretty telepathic. I know what he’s thinking.”
Bob: “Yeah? What am I thinking now?”
Mike: “You’re thinking I just gave a crappy answer [to that last question]. “
Bob: “Yeah, you’re right.”
One Saturday, when Mike was in California and Bob was in Miami, they were on the phone when they realized that they’d just simultaneously bought the exact same brown-beige Crate and Barrel couch for the same price.
Chanda Rubin noted, “You get a sense with the Bryans that they just know where to be. One hits a shot, the other knows where to follow. It’s like a dance out there.” Watching the Bryans was going to the ballet: timely thrusts, deft volleys, inventive flicks, desperate karate-like stabs.
In the end, noted Coach Gould, “No one could have represented their family, their school, their sport or their country like Bob and Mike. They had great values, yet were fun. And they were great leaders. They made me better. They made us better.”
Tennis misses these good men and hearty warriors. Doubles is just not the same these days. Their kindness, wisdom, and joy once led me to write this ode to brothers:
Brothers know.
They sense nuance, read subtleties.
Intuition is their friend,
A trusted ally.
Brothers know secrets – a vacation
Gone awry, family triumphs,
Hidden excesses,
Coming-of-age realities.
Silence speaks to brothers.
Don’t even try to hide your vulnerability.
Brothers’ laughter resonates
Hearty, free.
It emerges from
A different, safer place.
Sure “How dare you say that!” anger flares fierce
Forgiveness is required.
Yet ultimately brothers show the way
The twists of the path are revealed.
So, go ahead, bro, finish my sentence.
You always do.
Go ahead, smother me with your pranks.
You always do.
So go ahead bro, embrace me
You always do.
