Luke and Murphy Jensen: Double Trouble
Luke and Murphy Jensen were raised to be smashing heads, not overheads. Their father, 59-year-old Howard, a former offensive guard with the New York Ciants, left the pros to coach football and tennis at the local high school in Ludington, Mich. As kids growing up in this small resort town on Lake Michigan, the Jensen boys were obsessed with football: They went off to quarterback camps and reached the semifinals several times in the national Punt, Pass and Kick competitions. All of this is bad news for their opponents waiting across the net.
Take a look at these two as they prepare for a match, and you’ll understand why. Luke is 6 feet 2 inches; Murphy, the little brother, 6-5. Both tip the scales at 195 pounds and wear size 13 shoes. Black, of course. Even the socks. “With black shoes, you gotta,” says long-haired Luke and then points out the skull and crossbones printed on the side of each sock. On the back of his sneaks is 42, the jersey number of his football hero Ronnie Lott, free safety for the New York Jets.
The Jensens are addicted to the NFL-style psych up. On the tour, they carry ritual items to make sure they hit the courts pumped. Exhibit A: the soundtrack to Patton, cued up to George C. Scott’s fire-and-brimstone speech to the troops. Exhibit B: Xeroxed copies of Vince Lombardi’s famous speech “What It Takes to Be Number One.” Then, with Metallica blaring, they pummel the lockers, slip on their Oakleys and head for the courts.
These tactics have worked well recently, as their June victory at the French Open proves, their first Grand Slam notch and their entry to the big time. Never mind that their specialty is doubles, the often neglected and untelevised version of the genteel game of tennis. That’s about to change.
This could be good news for tennis, which has lately been suffering from an excitement drought. The quality of play on the pro tour may be higher than ever, but you could say that about the Pro Bowlers Tour, too. Gone to the announcer’s booth is John McEnroe, who would horrify crowds with his screeching expletives. Connors is gone, too, off to the seniors circuit. No more Nastase. As far as personalities go, the best tennis has to offer is Andre Agassi, who is strangely becalmed and Zenlike these days. The great Pete Sampras isn’t very chatty. Jim Courier’s charisma needs jumper cables.
“Tennis right now is at a standstill,” says 24-year-old Murphy. “In the old days, when Connors would play McEnroe or Borg would play McEnroe, they had those great rivalries. When they were on TV, everyone would tune in. Even if you weren’t a tennis fan, you knew there was going to be a grudge match. There was something personal about it. Now everyone is so gentlemanlike about it. People want some of that hype, and they really don’t get that anymore.”
You want hype? The Jensens deliver a menu of theatrics so extensive it’s a wonder they ever have time to concentrate on the game. During a recent tournament in California, Luke and Murphy arrived courtside on a Harley-Davidson; they play in a rock band with Courier and Patrick McEnroe. Luke favors American-flag bandannas. They throw rackets. They yell and scream and wear leather jackets of their own design. You’ll see them smash full-forearm high-fives — Oakland Raiders style — after making a tough point. Their wraparound shades keep opponents from seeing where the brothers are looking. They tackle each other in sheer joy and point their index fingers at opponents like Western gunfighters. It’s tennis as blood sport.
“We actually try to damage our opponents,” says Murphy with a mischievous grin. “If things are going bad early, our way of winning the match is hurting the guy and maybe winning on default.” Murphy glances over at his brother Luke, who is cracking up. “Maybe he’ll get scared,” Murphy continues, “or maybe we’ll hit him in the face with the ball, [he’ll] need a doctor and go home. Really! We just try to hit the shit out of the ball.”
And that they do. Luke does it with both his right and left hands, which has earned him the nickname of Dual Hand Luke. How’s the serve? Between 120 and 130 mph, no matter which side he hits from.
Still giggling, Luke catches his breath to elaborate on Murphy’s remarks about how they play the game.
“It is just very physical tennis,” Luke says. “There is no finesse involved. It is not white. It is not country club. It is kind of a football mentality. When you watch us play, there is always dirt and blood on our shirts. The other players see what we do to each other on and off the court, and they think, “Man, just think what they would do to us if he is going to do that to his own brother — damage.’ ”
Now they’re in hysterics. They can’t help themselves.