Men's Journal

On this particular afternoon, the newlyweds are seated beneath a patio umbrella outside Evert’s tennis school in Boca Raton, Florida. Evert’s eyes are concealed behind Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses; Norman’s are shaded by his trademark black straw hat, like the one favored by Australian cattlemen.

“I’m a motivator,” Evert says. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have my own tennis academy.”

“Good point,” says Norman. “It’s not just husbands and ex-husbands.”

You can see instantly why Norman and Evert work so well as a couple. He’s wary and cautious; she’s energetic, enthusiastic, and knows absolutely how to have fun. She first met Greg 32 years ago at a tennis exhibition in San Diego. He was an unknown rookie not yet ready to crash the U.S. tour; she
had been the best woman player in the world for three years, the winner of two Wimbledons, three U.S. Opens, two French Opens, two Italian Opens, four Virginia Slims championships, and was on her way to 125 consecutive victories on clay. Both were 22.

“I passed her fleetingly in the locker room,” Norman recalls. “She was beautiful, and I’d been following her career since she was 16.”

“Really?” Evert says, bemused. “I honestly don’t remember you.”

“I guess that shows the impact I’ve had on your life,” Norman says, sighing.

“I was a nobody then, and I’m still a nobody.”

Over the next decade they passed each other some more at banquets and barbecues and birthday parties. “I realized that Chrissie was as good at listening as she was at dispensing wisdom,” says Norman. “I might not have always agreed with her, but I respected her opinion.”

By the late 1990s, being the Shark had become a burdensome duty. “It was difficult to sit back and talk to people about having been number one unless they’d been a champion,” he says. “Chris had.” Laura had not.

“I think sports comes down to decisions you make under pressure,” Evert says. “At one time or another, everybody chokes.”

Norman enunciates the word “choke” with grave finality. “Nobody seems to flinch at the word ‘tight,’ ” he
says, “but people react to ‘choke’ as if you’ve dropped dead.”

Evert chuckles and says, “Choking is a human reaction.” At one point in her rivalry with Martina Navratilova, she lost 13 matches in a row. “I’d get tight, hold back, and not go for a winner,” she says. Rather than simply reacting, she would paralyze herself by trying to anticipate the future. “I’d walk onto the court knowing I was going to lose. No matter how many times people tell you you’re capable of winning, you won’t if you don’t believe you can.”

Norman seems to have receded into one of his Zen trances. Evert nudges him gently and watches him slowly stir to life.

Norman: “You’re an always-in-the-moment type gal.”

Evert: “I’m a procrastinator!”

Norman: “Yes, but even when you let things go, you’re always in the
present.”

In the depths of his long slump, Norman was consumed with the disappointments of his past. To Evert he was a tightly clamped spring who never allowed himself a moment of casual laughter or casual pique. He was caught up in a backwash of self-pity. “So much emotion in Greg was bottled up,” says Evert. “He was suppressed, hesitant. I knew any vindictiveness came from a place of pain. He had to just let it go.”

“I was businesslike,” suggests Norman.

“You were guarded.”

“Let’s leave it at that.” And they do.

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