TennisOne at the Pacific Life Open

Pancho Segura: The One & Only

Holding Court at Indian Wells

By Joel Drucker

Segura won three straight NCAA singles, became an even better pro, and later coached Jimmy Connors

It was past 9 p.m. Wednesday night at the Indian Wells Tennis Garden. The stadium had thinned out considerably after Andy Roddick's match.

On court now were Nathalie Dechy and Fabiola Zuluaga, fine players yes, but arguably keen fits for that longstanding cliché: someone who's not even a household name in her own house. When the history of tennis in the early 21 st century is told, it's not likely either will warrant more than a footnote.

But there, in a courtside suite, an 82-year-old man with a striking mix of dark skin and silver hair watched with keen interest and held court for anyone willing to listen and learn. Though not related to either player in the way common to most of us, in a broader manner he indeed saw them as kindred souls, all children in the family of tennis. His name: Pancho Segura.

In case you're unfamiliar with “Segu,” a quick summary: He grew up in Ecuador, child of a man who made $300 a year. Segura learned to play tennis, came to the U.S. in 1940, won three straight NCAA singles titles, became a fine amateur, an even better pro and later earned renown as a notable instructor and coach, most notably when he worked with Jimmy Connors.

All of that is but data. Segura himself stands for something bigger.

There is a saying I've often heard from coaches and old-timers that's one of the highest forms of respect: he lived his life in the game. In other words, he gave his heart and soul to this beguiling sport, this twisted mix of elegant surroundings and austere competition.

Nathalie Dechy (left) and Fabiola Zuluaga, fine players yes, but it's unlikely either will warrant more than a footnote when the history of tennis is written.

As a rising player, mesmerized by the genius of Don Budge, Bobby Riggs and Jack Kramer, he studied the game with extreme passion. “There was no other way,” said Segura. “It was either get better or go back home.”

Nicknamed “Sneaky,” on the pro tour he became a great crowd-pleaser, the lovable sidekick who'd often steal the show from those All-American leads like Kramer and Tony Trabert. His two-handed forehand and keen court sense made him not just popular, but also effective. For a time in the ‘50s, only the mighty Pancho Gonzales was better than Segura.

But Segura 's genius is not preserved in wax. His mind is constantly in motion, alive with possibilities and ceaseless conjecture, not just about the past, but the present.

Here were Dechy and Zuluaga, and there was Segura issuing all the strategic insights on their behalf that he shared with hundreds of students, ranging from someone who could barely hold a racquet to the likes of Connors and Agassi.

Not a natural, Segura willed himself to greatness - a journey that took him from Ecuador to the International Tennis Hall of Fame.

Why wasn't one of them punishing second service returns? “See, you do that and you make the other guy overplay his first serve,” said Segura . Why'd this player try a drop shot at 15-30? Segura: “Too big a point to try that shot! You've got to know how to play to the score.” Why not the occasional approach down the middle? How about the occasional serve and volley? On and on it goes. Segura's mind races across time and place, from the players on the court, to current players active at this event – Federer, Blake, Henin-Hardenne – back to the greats he played like Gonzales, Kramer and Trabert.

To sit at Segura 's side for a match is a lesson not just in tennis, but also in civics. No one proves the essentially democratic nature of tennis better than this man who willed himself to greatness, a journey that took him from Ecuador to the International Tennis Hall of Fame.

As Segura 's told me several times, and again last night, “Tennis, baby, without tennis, who knows what I'd be? Tennis, it's just so pure. Doesn't matter who your daddy is, or how rich you are, or if you went to Harvard or Yale or whatever, when you get out there it's just you and me in the arena, two guys knocking each other's heads in. Just you and me.”