How Bobby Runs and Talks, Talks, Talks

(7 of 8)

Beyond its dubious value as any kind of test of intersex athletic prowess, the entire spectacle is a fascinating display of one man's ability to exploit the times. Whether Bobby Riggs is one of history's greatest hustlers conning the world or just a fortunate zany defies a quick answer. He is probably a bit of both. For a guy who would not know Gloria Steinem if she tap-danced across his chest in spike heels, he has gone a long way with sexism. But a true hustler does not depend on luck, and Riggs was awfully lucky to fall into the right game at the right time. Five years ago these superheated matches could not have happened, and five years from now they would not mean anything. But Riggs, properly overaged and frivolous, came along at the confluence of two phenomena: the rise of Women's Lib and the country's need, more desperate than ever, to be entertained. Watergate, inflation, shortages—the catalogue of ills is dispiriting to contemplate. Some buffoonery and sex offer a welcome change. In Riggs the public (as well as television and the press, which get as tired of depressing news as anyone else) found just what it needed. Not a hero on the order of Rockne or DiMaggio, certainly, but different moments need different kinds of celebrities.

Further, Americans have always worshiped at the fountain of youth, and here is Riggs, one of the most publicized and highest paid athletes over 50 in history, telling them that F. Scott Fitzgerald was wrong and there are second sets in American lives. Says Perenchio, who also masterminded the Ali-Frazier fight: "Riggs is the Muhammad Ali of the Geritol set." As Bobby boasts: "I've got Bobby's battalions all over the country, the over-45 guys who want to see one of their own make it big. I know beating a woman isn't like winning seven gold medals. But how many old guys are there in the world? You think they can relate to Mark Spitz? They relate to me, Bobby Riggs."

Gussie Moran calls Bobby "an honest hustler." Bobby agrees. "None of the gambling I do is really hustling," he says. "A hustle implies that the result is known in advance, that you set it up. But I don't do that; if it involves games of skill, I'll take just about anything. When luck is involved I'm more cautious; I never bet on horses, and I don't like to shoot craps. What I live for is the matching of wits, the game."

Super Moocher. That self-defense, like so much else he says, is subject to rebuttal. He is full of tips on how to unnerve an opponent, how to arrange for the other person to have the sun in his eyes, how to tease a tired adversary into forgoing a legitimate rest between sets. Perhaps his own favorite hustle of all time took place when he was on a golf kick. He knew that he could beat a particular teaching pro, and so he covertly arranged for the pro to be hired by a Florida club. Then Bobby would show up regularly and challenge the pro, making heavy side bets with spectators who were looking for easy money. When he loses at a particular gimmick, he drops it from his repertory immediately. With Riggs, it is not so much how you play the game but whether you win—and how much. And, much as he loves to play the high-rolling sport, he is actually a compulsive freeloader who mooches lodgings, meals, drinks and anything else he can.