WHAT'S IN A NAME ?

As a rule, names of foreign tennis players do not phase me. I can rattle them off correctly, foreign accents right on key.

I breeze through Helena Sukova, Yannick Noah, and even Claudia Kohde-Kilsh. However, I have extreme difficulty with the names of two tennis greats, namely Martina Navratilova and Hana Mandlikova. For some inexplicable reason I cannot make them come out right unless I see them in print.

A ‘few’ years ago I had the good fortune of seeing Martina finally succumb to Hana, a nifty little tennis player, who finally came through after losing all seven of her previous matches to Martina. My head was still moving from left to right and from right to left as I drove home after the match.

Inspired by what I had seen, I arranged for a game of singles. While warming up, my friend asked, “Say Oscar, who won the match?” Hana,”I answered quickly, hoping it would end there.

“Who did she play?” He was relentless.

“Martina,” I said, as I lofted a warm-up lob purposefully behind him. It was no good. He persisted. “Martina who?” he shouted from the base line.

Go slow, I cautioned myself. “Naravlotiva” I finally sputtered.
“Repeat that please,” he said. I was anxious to get at his throat.

“Natralova,” I managed to squeeze out. He let that pass, for a moment, but only a moment and then he pounced again.
“Natralova?” he queried innocently. “Who is that?”

My hands were ready to kill. “You know,” I said desperately, “The one who played Malindovaka.”

He was on the ground a full five minutes, holding his stomach, while great gusts of laughter came bursting forth. I took him in three straight sets. He was silent as a lamb all through.