Many good points here, ABMK. And as far as the former pro majors in '68, McCauley hinted in his book that they lost their importance because they were now pro-only events in a sport that was going Open. As of the end of '68, the Grand Slam events had gone open along with other tournaments, but there were still many pro-only events that year. That's the reason that McCauley decided not to stop his history with '67 and to add one more chapter for '68:
However, as there were so few Open tournaments in 1968, a full circuit of Pro events took place and, for this reason, I have decided to include it as our final chapter.
That is the reason that McCauley listed the '68 editions of Wembley/French and US Pro in his results section at the back of his book -- because he made a judgment call about whether to continue his history into '68, not because he he felt that those tournaments still had the same importance as they did on the old pro tour. In his text, as I said, he actually suggests that in a now-Open sport, pro-only events were losing their drawing power.
Laver noted something similar in his book written with Bud Collins, when he discusses the Tennis Champions Classic of '71.
There was actually a similar format, between the TCC and some YEC's (don't know if that's the reason you chose this analogy): preliminary rounds, followed by conventional semifinals and a final.
Laver actually described the TCC as a series of one-night stands, in his book.
Dan, I believe, said that the TCC was more of a tour than a tournament (despite the formal tournament title), and I almost never agree with Dan but in this case I think he's right on. Dan has looked VERY closely at the schedule of the old pro tours and he probably noticed that on those tours, as on the TCC, the players would do their one-night stands, take a break to play a tournament or two, then resume the tour of one-night stands. The intervening tournament would not count for the standings of the tour, because tournaments were separate from the tour. That's how the TCC was: a series of one-night stands spread out over many weeks, interspersed around tournaments that had nothing to do with it.
Here's the excerpt from Laver's book:
Thus ended a season [1971] that began with the brightest tournament concept yet for pro tennis as well as an event I called “The Rod Laver Benefit.” That’s not what Fred Podesta, the promoter, called it, but he might as well have because Laver was the only one who made any money out of it. The “Benefit” was a $210,000 series of one-night stands across the U.S. actually named the Tennis Champions Classic. Rosewall and I launched the series at Madison Square Garden in New York, and the idea was that the winner would take $10,000, the loser nothing, and at the next stop another pro would appear to challenge the winner. I loved it. I don’t think I ever sent Podesta a thank-you note, but, Fred, here’s a capitalized Thank You in print. Thirteen matches I played and thirteen matches I won, extracting $160,000 of Podesta’s $210,000.
Getting myself into fantastic shape before the trek began, I found myself back in the old days of one-nighters in varying arenas. I had a good night right away to take care of Rosewall, and then I had a lineup of guys who weren’t quite used to this sort of bounding: Newcombe, Roche, Emerson, Ashe, Okker, Ashe, again, Taylor, Okker again, Ralston and Emerson again. Eleven matches--$110,000. Like plucking mangos from the trees at home in Queensland. Nobody was quite sure how Podesta decided who the next opponent would be, but we wound up with a four-man lineup for a semifinal and final at Madison Square Garden. I beat Ralston for $15,000 in one semi and Okker took Emerson in the other. Finally I overwhelmed Tiny Tom, 6-5, 6-2, 6-1 for $35,000 more.
The year had hardly begun and I had won more than any other player up to that time except Laver. I guess you think I was greedy in playing out the rest of the season. Only Roche had a real chance at me, holding a match point in grimy Boston Garden where I’d made my American pro debut, losing to Barry MacKay eight years before.
The crowd in Boston told me something: the Tennis Champions Classic was a mistake. Just as when I’d faced MacKay and pro tennis was a zero, there were about 2000 customers in a building holding 15,000. They looked like the same people, left over from 1963 – the hard core you could expect to show up at any tennis event. Tennis was appealing to a wider audience than that hard core, but for the one-nighters only the core corps bothered to stop by. One-nighters were dead, and the Classic couldn’t revive them or anything but my savings account. Regardless of the money involved, the Classic seemed an exhibition. The customers wanted tournaments.
