Johanna Konta has spent much of her adult life looking for serenity and lost innocence, so it seems rude to intrude on her philosophy when things go wrong, which they have a little lately.
As she sees it: “When I was young I associated playing tennis with being part of historic moments, being part of these epic battles and coming out victorious, having those trophy moments. That for me is what I saw and aspired to. I didn’t associate playing tennis with making a living until I was maybe 18 or 19.
“I still approach it from quite a child’s mind-set. I’m playing because I want to be a part of those moments. I have good people around me who guide me, tell me where I should put my money. I’ve been raised with a decent head on my shoulders. I look to take care of my family, currently, and to plan for the future. I’m very lucky I still get to play tennis today as when I was nine years old.”
But, of course, the stakes have risen appreciably. Innocence, peace of mind and free expression are not the currency of modern sport. At the French Open a few weeks ago Konta lost in the first round to a player 100 places below her in the rankings and there was despair all around her – yet she was an island of calm. Happiness, she insisted, did not depend on results. Andy Murray had said something similar after losing to Novak Djokovic in the Australian Open final once. But it jarred.
Professional sport is about results, is it not? She smiles – or rather, continues smiling – and says: “For me results aren’t everything. For me my health, the health of my family, that is everything. I do try to put it in a very harsh perspective. If I lose a tennis match, so what? Actually, we are so fortunate in tennis that usually next week you get to try again. We have four slams a year. So many other sports, they look to peak once every four years. We are very spoilt.”
But there was a period in her young career when results mattered to the point where they consumed her. What happened?
“You go through a period when you start realising exactly what the career you’ve been given came along with, in terms of what my parents sacrificed, to give me the opportunity to really live my dream, more than anything. That can be quite a heavy weight, something that is not easy to digest, to work through as a teenager, as a young adult. I don’t know where I’m going now with this …”
We pause. Within earshot in the media room at Eastbourne, Djokovic is trying to explain his struggle with expectations and how he might launch a credible assault on Wimbledon next week. “I’m not concerned,” we could hear him say, discussing his recent meltdown at the French Open. “I try to take this process one day at a time. I’m just trying to embrace whatever life throws my way.”
Konta continues: “Once you get to a certain age you also realise more of what it actually meant. I think that’s more of your own guilt, not my parents putting that on me. But my parents are great. They’ve always wanted me to play as long as I enjoyed it, as long as it’s something I wanted to do.”
They brought her to the southern shores of their adopted country when she was in her mid-teens. Soon she was on the road, still is and, if form and fitness hold, will be for a little good while yet. But home to Konta is more than just the new flat she has bought a short drive from Wimbledon. It is not contained on a map even. It is more deeply rooted, in the embrace of her parents, Gabor and Gabriella, Hungarian by birth, world citizens by choice.
“I have been fortunate to live in a lot of different places,” she says. “They are my home.”
She must have imagined, though, what her life, tennis and circumstances would have been like had the Kontas remained in Sydney, where she was born 26 years ago.
“I guess everyone thinks what life would be like if it took a different turn, if I didn’t pick up a racket, for instance. I was a decent runner. I’m very, very fortunate that I get to play tennis for a living. I can really only be accountable to myself. That’s not something I take lightly.”
She was asked a couple of years ago, as she began to rise through the rankings from the outer limits of her sport, if her east European background gave her an extra edge, such as some of the Tour’s young lions and lionesses have. She did not think so. Still doesn’t. But she does remember that her mother’s father, Tamas Kertesz, played football for Hungary a couple of times alongside Ferenc Puskas. She has excellent sporting genes.
“My grandfather passed away before I was born. I did know about him, little bits here and there, from my mum. His football career wasn’t as long as I think he would have wanted it to be, because of injury, but he became a very good coach after, so my mum moved quite a lot with him [ Ghana, Libya and Iran]. Also my mum’s grandfather, he was a very good jockey, he travelled the world for years, actually lived in Jersey, and his stuff is in a museum in New York.”
But back to expectations: Murray admitted that when he went up to serve out the final at Wimbledon against Djokovic in 2013, his hands were sweating, his heart pumping. How would she handle such a moment if it arrived three weekends from now? Winning, surely, would matter a whole lot at that moment.
“Don’t get me wrong. I feel nerves when I serve for matches or serve for titles. Also, remember when you’re on a stage, you’re surrounded by tens of thousands of people. There’s a lot of nervous energy. It’s not just your own nerves that you’re feeling; you’re feeling the anticipation of everyone else. There’s a lot of excitement that’s not just your own that you have to deal with. If I’m ever in a position where I’m serving to win a grand slam, I’m sure that I will be feeling giddy inside. I will have sweaty palms. Then I shall let you know what that felt like.”
