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It was September of 1981, and on a windy Saturday afternoon on Louis Armstrong Stadium, Martina Navratilova and Tracy Austin were tied at a set apiece and 6-6 in the third. Everyone knew what that meant.
Eleven years had passed since the U.S. Open had become the first major to adopt tiebreaks in 1970. It was always going to come to this, once the sport had decided to let the tiebreak beast out of its cage only a matter of time before a Grand Slam title would be decided by the 7-point roulette that traditionalists had pegged as the latest sign of the tennis apocalypse.
On what was then the center court at the U.S. Open, the moment had arrived. The country that loves shootouts, sudden death, and Game 7 those critical moments when two combatants or rival teams face off with everything on the line had its tennis nirvana.
One of Americas sweethearts, the 18-year-old star from southern California, was going for her second U.S. Open title in three years. On the other side of the net was one of the countrys newest citizens, six years removed from defecting from Czechoslovakia at the same tournament and about to emerge as an overpowering force. She was trying to win her home Slam for the first time.
The other Grand Slams would go on without playing deciding-set tiebreaks for decades. In America, nothing could have been more red-white-and-blue than deciding the biggest tournament with a first-to-seven shootout.
Navratilova told herself not to think of it that way. Shed played plenty of third-set tiebreaks on the WTA Tour. Here was another one. No big deal.
America was still getting to know her then. She was a rare openly gay athlete, with Nancy Lieberman, the basketball star who lived with her for several years and served as her physio, often sitting courtside. Renee Richards, a transgender player, had just started coaching her.
Austin was the girl next door with the pink bow in her hair. She had won the U.S. Open two years before, and a few days later was back in chemistry class at her California high school. Her demeanor disguised a fierce competitiveness: She can remember driving to age-group tournaments with her mother in California when she was 10 and 12 and 14, visualizing her opponent, Kelly Henry, the other best girl in her region. She knew she had a special ability to focus, whether she was playing card games or solving puzzles.
She had graduated from high school the previous spring, so she no longer had to balance academia with professional tennis, but her health had become a new obstacle. An ailing back, caused by a problem with her sciatic nerve, had caused her to miss roughly three months of competition earlier that year. She skipped her prom to play Wimbledon, not even giving it a second thought.
It was an important summer for me to get back on track, to get back to my top level and top gear, Austin, now 62, said in an interview this summer.
Navratilova offered a new puzzle to solve. A lefty, who, unlike most women, played serve-and-volley tennis, Navratilova had a brutal slice backhand she could knife through the court. Richards would soon teach her a topspin one-hander that would make her nearly unbeatable, but it wasnt ready that day at the U.S. Open, and certainly not in a deciding tiebreak.
The day had been strange from the start. There was a ferocious wind blowing off Flushing Bay. Then the first mens semifinal, between John McEnroe and Vitas Gerulaitis, went five sets. This was back when the womens final was wedged between the mens semis.
The wind was still whipping when Austin and Navratilova took the court in the late afternoon. Austin, a steady baseliner, spent the first set trying to figure out how to hit passing shots through the gusts. Navratilovas ability to come in and finish points was proving as difficult as ever to attack, and she took the first set 6-1.
But as the match wore on, Austin began to have more success. She had a game plan: Pound Navratilovas slice backhand. Her forehand, flat and hard when she wanted it to be, was too deadly. Stay away from it. She did, and she started to get her teeth into the match.
The second set went to an ordinary tiebreak. Now it was time for Austins focus to play its role. She played flawless tennis. Navratilova flubbed a couple of forehand volleys and dumped a ball into the net on set point, and off to the third they went.
Austin was brimming with confidence and Navratilova was wondering how they had arrived in a decider with the match nearly two hours old. At least she knew what Austin was going to do to her for the next set: She was going to pound her backhand, as she had all day. Thats essentially what she did, until the first deciding tiebreak in Grand Slam history.
Navratilova long assumed someone told her to change things up, surprise her in crunch time. No one did.
The whole match Ive been going deep, deep, backhand. Shes a lefty, so in the deuce court, trying to just pin her, Austin said.
I just must have felt that there was an opening down the lines. So I just ripped three down the line for three points. And its so funny because years later, we did television together and it was raining at the U.S. Open, before there was a roof. They played that match, funny enough, and we commentated and Martina said, Oh, and this is where somebody in your camp must have told you to hit down the line forehand.
I swear on my childrens lives: No one ever told me, do this, do that, serve here, serve there. I played instinctively. Theres no way I would have wanted anybody telling me what to do. There were three down-the-line forehand winners that she was not prepared for because Id been going forehand cross, backhand line pretty much all day.
All day, until Austin saw Navratilova cheating the backhand in the most important part of the match. Bang: a down-the-line forehand, for 2-0. Bang, a down-the-line forehand, for 3-0. Bang, one more, for 5-1. Navratilova missed a backhand volley for match point, then double-faulted to end it.
America had its fairytale tennis hero, and Austin felt like she was on her way. But just like the volte face that won her the match, thats not the way it went. Injuries kept sidelining her through the 1980s, and while she attempted a series of comebacks, she retired in 1994 when she was 31. She never won another Grand Slam; Navratilova went on to win 18 major singles titles.
Austin still loves her career and all that tennis gave her. She does commentary at major tournaments, especially Wimbledon, where the BBC works her to the bone. She has a son, Brandon Holt, on the ATP Tour. But those halcyon days four decades ago feel like a different life. She rarely thinks about her old matches.
If you walked in my house, you probably would not know I played professional tennis, she said.
Navratilova has never watched that tiebreak again, even though its a couple of keystrokes away on YouTube. She does not even remember the score, just that it was lopsided.
She remembers the awards ceremony, the crowd cheering for this new American as it never had before, even in the afterburn of a crushing defeat.
Thats why I started crying, not because I lost the match, she said.
America got to know her a little better that day.
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