Syndicated columnist Kathleen Parker recently wrote an inspiring column about the final of last year's Wimbledon Championship between new champion Rafael Nadal of Spain and Roger Federer of Switzerland, title-holder for the previous five years. Few are likely to challenge her assessment that it was the greatest match in Wimbledon history. Perhaps even in the history of tennis.

Despite the intensity of both players to win in the nearly five-hour five-set marathon, their sportsmanship was always superb. As Ms Parker pointed out, they introduced a quality all too often missing from major sports events today. Class!

They were good friends when the match began. They were even moreso at the end of the titanic encounter. Their praise for each other's efforts was from their hearts. Nadal emotionally conceded he had defeated "the greatest tennis player in the history of the game". Kathleen concluded: "It doesn't get any better than that."

My memory slipped back 76 years to when I was 16, as I recalled another tennis player to whom I could easily ascribe the same qualities of skill, grace and class.

It was September, 1933. I was on my way home to Bermuda, having completed my four years in Scotland at school. The sea voyage took two weeks.

As a service to passengers, the purser posted a news summary on a notice board. The Untied States Tennis Championship had just started at Forest Hills. The bulletin included the match results. I scanned t hem quickly and was stunned to read "B.M. Grant defeated H.E. Vines 6-4, 6-4, 6-4".

Ellsworth Vines, the defending American champion was known worldwide. The lanky young Californian had already won Wimbledon. He seemed invincible. But who was B.M. Grant? No one I talked to had heard of him. I read and reread the result. I could only think he must be the latest powerhouse to emerged from California in the Bill Tilden era. I was never more wrong.

Bryan Grant of Atlanta, Georgia proved to be a diminutive tennis genius, standing a mere five feet, four inches. Surely he could hardly weigh more than 120 pounds. Someone nicknamed him "Bitsy", the name by which he would be known for the rest of his life. One sportswriter even dubbed him the "Atlanta Atom".

I have always been an admirer of style in sport, and have no hesitation in describing Bitsy Grant as the most stylish tennis player I ever saw. Watching him drive from both sides was to witness an exhibition of supreme tennis artistry.

In the early 1920s, Bermuda had become one of the most important tournament locations on the international winter circuit. Our sub-tropical facilities were regarded highly. The Bermuda Championships followed closely the US Indoor Championships.

It's worth taking a moment to remember that Mary Outerbridge of Bermuda had first introduced tennis to the United States in the 1800s. It's also worth noting that, before he decided on a tennis career, Roger Federer was good enough at football and had considered being a professional before switching sports.

Grant's physical limitations were all too obvious. His lack of height and reach were critical, but his perseverance and fighting spirit made him a formidable competitor in America and international tennis.

He could not hit hard, but adjusted his game so well he could use the speed his opponent put on the ball to return it with remarkable pace and dexterity. His objective forever was pinpoint accuracy.

Like Nadal, Grant's favourite playing surface was clay. Again like Nadal, he became the pre-eminent clay court player of his generation. Nevertheless, both succeeded in conquering grass surfaces.

On clay, Grant made the maximum use of "slide", a technique that enabled him to reach shots well beyond the sidelines. His deft use of drop shots from any part of the court (even from behind the baseline) was a significant and effective part of his attacking strategy.

His skill in serving and returning service were almost unbelievable and entirely of his own invention. His service, at a pace usually more like that of an ordinary club player intent merely on putting the ball in play, employed every known form of spin, bounce, direction and guile. He even disguised a beautiful drop-shot-serve that barely skimmed the top of the net for an ace.

Some days during a break in the day's schedule, he could be persuaded to perform a serving stunt to illustrate his control. He would place tennis ball boxes (cans had not yet appeared) in the service box on the court and try to serve balls into them. He secured a remarkable number of "hits".

Returning service was the most spectacular stroke in Grant's repertoire. Throughout his career he had tod deal with high powered servers, mostly fellow Americans, successors to Bill Tilden, inventor of the "cannonball".

Nevertheless, Bitsy Grant was difficult to ace. He had God-given reflexes. He must have been able to determine the direction and pace of these thunderbolts the moment they left the racquet strings.

Unable to take up a normal position to receive service behind the baseline, because of his size, he developed his own method of handling this constant barrage. He had to, otherwise the high bounding ball would fly high over his outstretched racquet. Instead, he took up a position four feet or perhaps a little more, inside the baseline. That way, as a serve bounded high off the court, he stood virtually on tiptoe and held his racquet as high as he could reach. In this way, he was able to return the streaking 60-degree bounce. The ball literally drifted from his racquet in a high arc, dropping slowly in the area of his opponent's backhand corner.

For a stroke of comparable control in any other sport, the only one I can think of is the execution of a perfect bunt in baseball. He thus earned time to return to the middle of the court where he could exchange strokes with anyone in the world – as Ellsworth Vines among many others was to discover.

I'm not sure of his ranking in 1933. However, he was off to a great start and I think he was, at that time, perhaps ranked 13th.

I had only to wait until the winter of 1935 to see all this for myself for he came to Bermuda to play in our championship. His timing was especially good, as recently the courts had made the transition from cement to clay.

Bitsy reached the 1935 Bermuda semi-finals where he faced Lester Stoefen (America's towering number three ranked player, who also played extremely well in doubles). Stoefen was six feet, four inches tall. The contest was a natural. The tennis version of David and Goliath at its best.

By the fourth set, Bitsy was leading two-sets-to-one, and 3-0 in games. He was setting the stage for another phenomenal upset. But sub-tropical Bermuda had other ideas. A devastating squall broke over the Islands. The court flooded and there was a long delay. That proved to be all Stoefen needed to swing the match in his favour.

The clay surface was entirely different. The dampened balls became heavier. "Slide" was no longer a factor. Stoefen had shown signs of cracking prior to the stoppage. He recovered with a vengeance, reeling off 12 games for the match.

The Grant-Stoefen match remains the greatest tennis match I ever saw. Six months later, Bitsy reached the US championship semi-finals, where he lost to Sidney Wood. If memory doesn't let me down, he forced Wood to 12-10 or 14-12 in the final set.

Bitsy Grant represented America in the Davis Cup in 1935, 1936 and 1937, helping his country regain the cup after a lapse of 12 years.

He advanced to the Wimbledon quarter-finals in 1937 and 1938, His American ranking rose to third, and to sixth in the world.

I don't think he returned to major competition after the Second World War, apart from seniors' tournaments. Atlanta built a large public tennis centre, and appropriately, named it in Bitsy's honour.

He devoted the rest of his active life to other aspects of tennis, especially teaching and encouraging youngsters.

If you come across errors of any kind, especially dates, I beg forgiveness. At nearly 93, age is my favourite excuse for everything.

We look back with admiration on Bitsy's memorable and amazing tennis career, and his remarkable triumphs. He was the epitome of what, in my time, we all expected of a Southern gentleman.

There was the same aura of class about Bitsy Grant that so impressed Kathleen Parker about Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer.

A very special Bitsy trademark often surfaced during his matches. Long rallies were a regular feature. When eventually his opponent won one of them, spectators would applaud both players. Sometimes Grant would acknowledge his opponent's skill by dropping his racquet on the court and clap along with the spectators. There was genuine class in his gesture. During the applause, perhaps you could be lucky enough to see him smile and his lips move. Undoubtedly, he was saying something like "good shot" or "well done".

Seventy six years ago, my life was brightened and rewarded by the skill, sportsmanship, class and example of our all-time diminutive superstar of tennis. Seventy six years from now, those who saw Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer at Wimbledon this year will look back with vivid memories of all they both are. For me, the inclusion of Bryan 'Bitsy' Grant's name makes the trio immortal.