David Brunat is a consultant and writer. His latest book: Une princesse modèle (éditions Héloïse d'Ormesson, 2022).
Every time I go to Roland-Garros, and even more so since the completion of the stadium modernization work, I shudder with emotion. Crossing this temple of tennis awakens in me memories of children, childhood dreams, each year revived. As the poet would say, I have more memories here than if I were a thousand years old. Memories of spectators only, unfortunately – having never walked the short racket in hand -, memories of lovers of the yellow ball, admirer of the great champions, amateur of the history of the place and this ball game that unfolds so sumptuously. I marvel at the remarkable beauty of the new stadium, with its superbly renovated central courtyard, its beautifully landscaped Auteuil greenhouses, these well-designed squares, its buried Court 14 and quivering with life and energy, all these small and big things that make it one of the most harmonious jewels of world tennis.
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Every time I walk through the doors of this sanctuary of the yellow ball, I am pleased that it continues to carry the colors of the sports France very high. I do not forget that Roland-Garros is the only Grand Slam outside the Anglo-Saxon world. The other three are English, American and Australian. The Porte d'Auteuil is the guardian of a certain idea of tennis where the "Latin" world continues to assert itself and shine. I walk the aisles, the bays, the stands, all the spaces accessible to the public with an insatiable gluttony. When I am invited by some official or by someone close to a champion, I interfere in spaces forbidden to the public with a mixture of childish enthusiasm and childish vanity.
Enjoy a salad in the players' restaurant and, in doing so, in the proximity of the greatest champions and coaches; slipping like a thief into the basement of the Lenglen; take a seat in the players' box, exchange a few words with them; Taking myself for what I am not, which is to say a guy who has talent to practice this sport: all this gives me a kind of unfettered enjoyment. I am not the only one in this case, far from it! Experience as banal as intense ... I also like to imagine that, from my early arrival in the stadium until my evening departure, I maintain a dialogue with some of the great sporting figures of the past, keeping in mind Descartes' beautiful words: "Reading all the good books is like a conversation with the most honest people of past centuries."
When I am in "Roland", a territory that is both universal and local, global and tricolor, vernacular and planetary, popular and elitist, I am proud and I am happy.
David Brunat
Except that here, this is the great book of tennis, with its heroes and heroines. Among them - solar figure among all - the divine Suzanne Lenglen. Or Simone Mathieu, patriotic champion and eminent figure of the Free France, justly honored for several years in the stadium. Or the Musketeers, unbeatable in the legend of the tournament. Or the last two French riders to win in singles on Roland's crushed brick, Yannick Noah and Mary Pierce. Not to mention Philippe Chatrier himself. Who gave his name to the aforementioned court after ruling world tennis as president – and what a president! - the International Tennis Federation. Chatrier has also given a new impetus and a new luster to this sport which, let us never forget, has a French name (tennis comes from "tenez", exclamation of the waiter at the palm), even if a certain dialect across the Channel has melted on him with all its linguistic wings so effective and domineering that even Roland-Garros at the controls of his Morane-Saulnier could not have, if he had wished, to slow down his inexorable progress.
When I am in "Roland", a territory that is both universal and local, global and tricolor, vernacular and planetary, popular and elitist, I am proud and I am happy. Why masochistically spoil my pleasure? I could complain against the French players so often struggling. I could lament their results that are consistently below our expectations. I could be enraged at the sometimes deplorable attitude of the public. I might wonder about the governance of this sport. In short, I could go for the little beast of criticism and sad passions that nestle and proliferate everywhere.
"Roland" embodies a certain idea of France, its elegance despite all the attacks on good taste, its relationship to the past and the future, its affirmation in the concert of nations.
David Brunat
But what's the point? What's the point of vilifying our ball ambassadors? What is the point of demanding from them efforts, a brass disciple, a lifestyle of which the vast majority of us would be perfectly incapable of? What is the point of seeing the box of balls half empty, vituperating against the holes in the racket, denouncing loud and clear the relaxed springs of our nets and flogging our national sporting pride so often abused? What good is this sterile "furious Roland"? I go to Roland to see and to applaud, to love and to enjoy, to admire and to be moved. In a word, to vibrate and to dream. And that's good enough.
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"Roland" embodies a certain idea of France, its elegance despite all the attacks on good taste, its relationship to the past and the future, its affirmation in the concert of nations. Roland is a unique and singular French way. It's a voice that counts. It is a capital faith Made in France in the values of sport and in the greatness of athletes. What a chance to have such a nugget on our soil! On the side of the Porte d'Auteuil when summer is not forthcoming, Paris is a party. The capital of the France is worth, and will always be, a sporting mass of this magnitude. Come on! Vamos! Andiamo! Come on Roland!
