The answer lies in this style of game. Richards uses a peculiar chop stroke from the baseline that is very steady. He can meet Kumagae at his own baseline game until he gets a chance to close in to the net, where his volleying is remarkable. The result is, against Kumagae's driving he is perfectly at home. Murray is a vicious net player who swept Richards off his feet. The boy has not the speed on his ground strokes to pass Murray, who volleys off his chop for points, and cannot take the net away from him as he cannot handle the terrific speed of Murray's game. Thus Murray's speed beats Richards, while Richards' steadiness troubles Kumagae, yet Kumagae's persistent driving tires Murray and beats him. What good are comparative scores?
Charles S. Garland always defeats Howard Voshell, yet loses to men whom Voshell defeats. Williams proves a stumbling-block to Johnston, yet seldom does well against me.
The moral to be drawn from the ever-interesting upsets that occur every year, is that the style of your attack should be determined by the man's weakness you are playing. Suit your style to his weakness. A chop is the antidote for the drive. The volley is the answer to a chop, yet a drive is the only safe attack against a volley. The smash will kill a lob, yet a lob is the surest defence from a smash. Rather a complicated condition, but one which it would do well to think over.
The most dangerous enemy to R. N. Williams is a steady baseliner of second class. Williams is apt to crush a top-flight player in a burst of superlative terms, yet fall a victim to the erratic streak that is in him when some second-class player plays patball with him. Such defeats were his portion at the hands of Ritchie and Mavrogordato in England, yet on the same trip he scored notable victories over Parke and Johnston.
Abnormal conditions for match play always tend to affect the better player more than the poorer, and bring play to a level.
The reason for this is in the fact that the higher the standard of a player's game, the smaller his margin of error, the more perfect his bound must be, and any variation from the normal is apt to spell error. The average player allows himself more leeway, and unknowingly increases his chances on a bad court. His shot is not judged to the fraction of an inch in swing as is the top-flight player, so a slight variation does not affect him.
Many a great match has been ruined by abnormal conditions. Rain caused Williams' downfall to N. W. Niles in the 1917 American Championships. Rain and wind marred a great battle between Gobert and Johnston at Eastbourne in the Davis Cup in 1920.
The clever match player must always be willing to change his game to meet conditions. Failure to do so may spell defeat.
It is this uncertainty, due to external conditions, that makes comparative records so useless in judging the relative merits of two players you know nothing of. Rankings based on mathematical calculations of scores are absolutely useless and childish, unless tempered by common sense.
The question of the fitness of conditions of play can never be standardized. In America you play only if clear. In England sometimes when clear but more often in rain, judging by the events I swam through in my recent trip. A match player should not only be able to play tennis, but should combine the virtues of an aeroplane and a submarine as well.