Mike Dixon's death rocks the tennis world
It was another busy day for British players at the Australian Open, but… the forehand and backhand blows failed to distract attention as much as usual.
The explanation was simple. Everyone involved in the tournament is still reeling from the most tragic news of all: the death of Daily Mail tennis correspondent Mike Dixon, who collapsed and died in the early hours of Wednesday morning. He was a week shy of his 60th birthday.
For the most part, journalists are a minor part of the giant operation that is the Australian Open. We ask a few questions and write down a few lines. Players and administrators view us as a minor irritant, like a room tax or athlete's foot.
And yet, every now and then, a reporter transcends the confines of the press room and becomes something of a sports conscience. In the 1960s, Brian Glanville (Sunday Times) was involved in football and E. W. Swanton (Daily Telegraph) was involved in cricket; in the 1970s — Bud Collins (The Boston Globe) in tennis.
Today, the fragmented media landscape makes achieving such iconic status difficult. But Mike was the closest modern equivalent. When he decided to broach an important topic, his words sounded like tablets of stone. It was the voice of effortless power.
His passing has left every member of the tennis bubble stunned and saddened. As soon as his Daily Mail colleagues were told about the news on Wednesday evening (Australian time), our phones started lighting up with messages. Condolences, expressions of shock, desperate hopes that the news might be fake. A host of major champions, including Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic, Martina Navratilova, Billie Jean King and Coco Gauff, expressed their regret on social media. The Tennis Australia hierarchy has discussed possible payments. A tweet sent by his family confirming the tragedy has received nearly three million views.
It's very sad to hear about the passing of Mike, who followed tennis all this time. years. My thoughts to his family and our tennis family on this loss. Rest in peace. https://t.co/PdwMY2HAQg
— Rafa Nadal (@RafaelNadal) January 17, 2024
Condolences to Mike Dixon's family 🙏 RIP https://t.co/skSMgwvBcZ
— Novak Djokovic (@DjokerNole) January 18, 2024
I am very sorry to hear this news. I express my deepest condolences and may he rest in peace ❤️
— Coco Gauff (@CocoGauff) January 17, 2024
Mike had friends everywhere, even among those he wrote about, which is an almost impossible feat. During the recent Davis Cup final in Malaga, he spent a couple of evenings in the company of Dan Evans, who tore his calf but still came out to support the British team. Last year he helped Cameron Norrie's parents, David and Helen, as they looked for a house in south-west London. Andy Murray never missed an opportunity to stop to shake hands and chat as he passed through the players' lounge.
Yet all these players knew there was not a soft touch to be expected in Mike's reports pedals, no sharp impacts. . Poor play, poor preparation, irritability on the court: he will write everything as he sees it. “I trusted him and knew he would always be fair,” Sue Barker said in a tribute published by The Mail. «That's all you could ask.»
It was Mike Dixon, the tennis guru. What about a private person? A fan of William Boyd novels and Joe Jackson records? A devoted husband and father who spent so many weekends watching his eldest son play for Wimbledon? A generous mentor who offered aspiring reporters advice, contacts and even free housing?
Suffice to say, I feel privileged to have known him. Mike was old school in many ways: upright in his bearing, dressed more formally than the rest of us scruffy brutes, conservative in his political views. But his X-factor was that he subverted these traditional values with his mischievous sense of humor and complete lack of pomposity and ego. It was a rare and winning combination.
When I think of Mike, I think of him sitting at the table, looking over his shoulder (tensely because he was a sciatica martyr) and delivering a wry one-liner followed by his signature infectious with a chuckle. It's hard to believe that I will never hear that laugh again.
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