TV View/Johnny Watterson: The Real John McEnroe (Channel 4, Wednesday) suggested that behind the former world number one and three-times Wimbledon champion lay another character, that in tandem with the petulant and abusive player an alternative McEnroe inhabited tennis earth.

The doubtless star attraction of The Real John McEnroe was the player's personality, his fits and tempers, nearly all of them captured on film due to the high profile of the competitions.

While it hinted at something more, the documentary also promised us lots of what we already knew. Therein it failed at a minor level and succeeded everywhere else. The Real John McEnroe was like the player himself, compulsive and invigorating. How can you not be drawn to a player who loses his temper so explosively at the 1988 Stockholm Open that his raging forehand smash at the drinks table soaks the king of Sweden, sitting in the front row?

"Just to see someone throwing off all restraint was stimulating," observed novelist and tennis fan Martin Amis after a McEnroe outburst at Wimbledon in 1981.

On the first day of the tournament, McEnroe faced Tom Gullikson. A serve from the favourite was called out, which slow motion and magnification, not available to the umpire at the time, showed was clearly in play.

"You can't be serious man. You CANNOT be serious," McEnroe shouted at the umpire, pointing to where the ball had landed. After a pause for reflection the switch tripped again. "You guys are the pits of the world," he screamed. The umpire, believing the player had said, "You guys are the piss of the world", deducted a point. Fred Hoyles, a Lincolnshire farmer and the then-referee, was summoned to court.

"We're not going to have a point taken away because this guy is an incompetent fool," argued the player, pointing accusingly at the umpire. Then having nailed him, McEnroe turned his ire towards the gentleman farmer, who left the court with the words "you're just a shit" ringing in his ears.

Another point was deducted for insulting the referee before play resumed and McEnroe beat Gullikson off the court.

The programme, in delving into McEnroe's privileged background, sought to substantiate the view that the son of a self-made and successful New York lawyer was premeditated in his acts of disruption. In delving into his school reports - "he is crushed at whatever errors he makes and pressures himself too much" - and comments from his parents - "If John got 95 per cent in school reports, she (mom) wanted to know where the other five per cent went" - it tried to show the abusive outbursts were no different to courtroom exchanges - he always knew how far to push it before giving way.

Mary Carillo, one of his first doubles partners and a professional who grew up with the player, probably knew him better than anyone in the game.

"Beating the opposition was primary. He was known as 'Runt' around the Douglas Club. He was small but used to slice people up, dice them. Beat people three feet taller than he was," she said.

When he turned professional and Jimmy Connors was his main rival, a player he disliked intensely, Carillo observed: "Connors was urging everyone in the stands to help him win the match. John was telling them to shut up. He was very much in control. When everyone thought he was losing it, he was exactly in control. Many times it was gamesmanship. He used to say when he was in the thick of it, 'I know just how far I can take it'."

For his critics, the Australian Open in 1981 provided evidence that McEnroe had been cheating all along. At 31, the left-hander had begun to play brilliantly again, having failed to reach his former levels of play following a seven-month break from the game when he was 27. He was first warned for intimidating a line judge. After breaking a racquet he was issued with another before he began cross-examining the umpire. Then he demanded to see the tournament supervisor.

Casually abusing him too, McEnroe was thrown out of the event on the spot by the supervisor, the first player ever disqualified for abusive language.

Afterwards, McEnroe admitted he didn't know the rules had been tightened, allowing players only two warnings before disqualification. It was a tactical error.

Whether seven majors and a three-year dominance in the game can be achieved by cheating seems gravely doubtful and in the end it was Amis, talking of the 1980 final against Bjorn Borg, who provided a more lasting image of John McEnroe.

"Borg might as well have had on his shirt 'Dispassion', McEnroe 'Fury'. It was elemental. Christ versus the Antichrist."