“For me, she was not too impressive. Of course she’s a good player, of course I respect her. But I could have won today. I wasn’t impressed. Probably it was more difficult for her to play against me. I know she’s a fighter but I am also a fighter. Today I lost. Probably next time I will win.” --Aravane Rezai, after losing to Serena Williams in the Sydney quarterfinals
Brad greets the news of the Brandre split with “a toothy smile”.
The break up, according to him is the “best thing that could have happened to his tennis”.
Agassi’s licking his wounds holed up in “Bachelor pad #2”, into which he has a new fireplace installed (because I guess that’s the kind of thing you do after a break up).
Nothing soothes the grief-stricken soul like a well-stoked fireplace (and nothing offends it more than than a cheap imitation stoked with illusory coal fire).
Before long Brad’s seated comfortably in his favourite armchair and the two are watching late night highlights of a match featuring Serena Williams and Steffi Graf.
“That’s your play right there!”
The ‘play’ Brad has in mind is of course, Steffi Graf.
Andre had already tried one (unsuccessful) charm initiative with Steffi back in 1992, but Brad is adamant, and being Brad, won’t take no for an answer.
Andre’s pursuit of ‘Stefanie’ Graf (he’s adamant about using her full name) is, as you might have expected given that extra bit of loving attention and page space.
It’s a lengthy affair with Stefanie (who was in a relationship with a race car driver at the time) initially tentative, gradually opening up to the goof that is so obviously nuts about her.
It’s not all plain sailing: there are caveats to resolve, and the two still have very active careers to consider.
But this courtship and eventual marriage forms the undercurrent to most of the remainder of the book.
Agassi’s life is on the mend and everything that was once so intractable, misunderstood and downright irritating, is beginning to magically fall into place.
What follows is mostly a catalogue of how they grew ever closer whilst respectively navigating the demands of a very busy tennis calendar – a period that ended when Steffi famously declared in 1999 that she “was done” with tennis. She would begin to spend more and more time with Andre, attending his matches (his offer to book her a seat at Flushing is flatly refused, she “knew her way around that place”) and eventually moving in with him.
I myself, preferred the initial phases of the relationship, where Agassi so very resolute in his mission, has at the same time no compunction in embracing much of the the ridicule that goes along with being in love and having your underbelly exposed as a result of it. The later descriptions of them running together on a beach (The Blue Lagoon?) and discovering they too share a love of ‘Shadowlands’, seem to have been lifted straight from a candy-coated Brooke Shields movie.
Look out for his first practice hit with her, arranged quite deliberately (by Brad) so that he might hit on her. Steffi’s as ‘proper’ about things as you might expect, and apart from agreeing to share a court with him, is not giving an inch.
Be warned though, it’s not all tennis and romance – there’s also the steamiest survey of groundstrokes you’re ever likely to read without venturing into that curious halfway house of your bookstore that sits in between ‘Sports Bios’ and ‘Erotica’.
Everyone’s forehand is like a fingerprint, we are told: with ‘minute but concrete subtleties of force and spin’.
Andre makes it his mission to acquaint himself with “her subtleties”. Actually, go read it yourself.
Agassi entered the 1999 French Open with about as much confidence as is possible whilst recovering from an injured arm.
In fact were it not for Brad’s incessant badgering, he likely wouldn’t even have taken part.
Brad, in case you haven’t already noticed, is not your ordinary coach.
He plays Cupid, is Sage-like in his insistence that Andre play through his lowest ebbs, and was instrumental in fashioning Andre’s more emotionally attuned relationship with the game.
Everything about the occasion this time round, would seem to indicate it’s not meant to be: he’s even forgotten to pack underwear.
Any reader, whether they’re familiar with tennis or not, cannot fail to be struck by the digitally enhanced recounts of Agassi’s matches, which seem to have been captured with a photographic memory. Agassi claims to remember all the 1144 matches he played in this way, so it’s of little surprise that he reserves perhaps his most evocative visions of life on tour for his first Slam title back from the Dark Side.
Roland Garros clay resembles “dried blood”, and quite appropriately, his first round opponent’s Franco Scolari – the late 90s equivalent of David Ferrer, an encounter Agassi describes as “a street fight, a wrestling match and pistols at fifty paces”.
Agassi would get through, though he calls it “one of the most improbable wins of his career”.
During his match with Carlos Moya, Agassi discovers another more sinister side to himself, and we learn of his love of “maiming” the opposition, running his opponents ragged, and “cutting the legs out from them” - a match Agassi dubs “Run Moya Run”.
Not quite the point finisher we take him for then.
A subtle wrinkle in his game specifically for RG, or a result of learning to enjoy tennis for it’s own sake?
We never find out – it’s interesting though, that we never once (apart from ‘The Summer of Revenge’) got sight of this darker side of Andre during all those years of pronounced hatred.
His opponent in the final is Andriy Medvedev, a guy whom Andre met in a bar some time back (after his own divorce with Brooke), and who was at the time undergoing a tennis crisis of his own.
“I’m done with tennis!”, barks a 24 year old Andriy, a couple of glasses away from a drunken stupor.
For better or worse, Agassi (now 29) had by now come through drugs, injury and divorce, and you might understand why he at first appears a little indignant at the young (drunk) hot head, who doesn’t appear to know his a*s from his tennis elbow.
Agassi was by this point over the worst and was empowered and non-conflicted enough to give Andriy a “Bradesque” appraisal of his game, and how he might turn things around for himself.
Since that day Andriy has followed Agassi’s advice to the letter, and is seemingly on the mend.
Gil had previously remarked that Agassi was on “a collision course with destiny”, but Agassi now realises his collision course is not with destiny, but with “a fire breathing dragon which I helped to build”.
A dragon Andre? Again? But of course.
The final is as graphic as the Baghdatis encounter from the beginning of the book.
Andriy quickly races to a 2 set lead, and would hold match points before the weather and a lot of hot air from Brad in the locker room would intervene.
The sun dries the clay and the pace picks up. Andriy’s had “too long to think about winning” , and is now “living in the past”. Haunted by it.
The dragon begins to snort through his nostrils.
Agassi would win the next two sets, and then the match. Just before the final game, Brad would hold up four fingers. “Four more points – four points equals all four Slams”.
“…I’m terrified by how good this feels: winning isn’t supposed to feel this good – never supposed to matter this much – but it does, it does – I can’t help it.
“I walk off the court blowing kisses in all four directions, the most heartfelt gesture I can think of to express the gratitude pulsing through me.
“I vow that I will do this from now on, win or lose, whenever I walk off a tennis court. I will blow kisses to the four corners of the earth thanking everyone.”
-- ‘Open’, An Autobiography
Murray has heard before the calls to adopt a more dynamic tone, to tear into the opposition like a trigger-happy gunslinger. “It doesn’t get me angry, just a bit annoyed because there are so many questions about it,” he said. “People forget I’ve done pretty well with the game I have and it is too easy to sit back and say ‘he needs to come in on that shot, he needs to be more aggressive on that point, he needs to hit the ball harder’.
…
“In Tim’s [Henman] playing days, you could come forward more because the opponents didn’t necessarily answer pace that well, they would have a weaker shot from the back of the court and may not have returned serve that well. The guys now return incredibly and pass great on both sides and they play with so much spin it’s not as easy as it sounds.
The Times
With what we know about Murray’s game and of the way it’s evolved, I do wonder which trigger happy galoot it was that suggested he reinvent himself as a “trigger-happy gunslinger”.
Not only is such a wholesale reversal likely to be impossible, I’m guessing it’s not quite what his critics had in mind, when they emphasised the need to come forward and to be more aggressive.
What I meant by those things is that he attempt to remain more anchored at the baseline (rather than being bullied behind it) and try and dictate more of the rallies (criticisms I even have of Nadal, despite Murray possessing nothing like his forehand, fitness and unnerving topspin) – not that he turn himself into a serve-volleyer or even a gunslinger cut from the same cloth as James Blake.
For one thing that kind all out aggression goes against the grain of his tendency to want to carve his opponents up with a mixture of slice, drop shots and backhand passes. Having a big serve complements that “holy” trinity quite nicely.
His backhand slice remains for me, amongst the best (if not the very best) in the game, and I wouldn’t want him to change it for the world; but if last year has demonstrated anything, it’s that such passive-aggression won’t cut it at the Slams where the top five are at their very focussed, and the best of the rest at their most ravenous.
I agree that the passing shots of today are light years ahead of the nineties, and I can understand his frustration at the armchair critics - but when did anything like that ever stand in the way of someone as obstinate as Murray, when the need to change has been so abundantly well-demonstrated?
What was very evident [during Hopman Cup] is that Murray was willing to open his shoulders more on his cross-court forehand, a stroke that has been regarded as a defensive option, a rally extender, rather than a rally ender. “It was one of my best shots growing up,” he said. “Then the backhand down the line improved and I started to hit that more often. It is practice and confidence.
“I believe I can hit the forehand harder than most players and flatter, I can get the ball to go through the court. I don’t have physical problems to worry about, like when I came back from the wrist injury in 2007 and I was scared to tee off on my backhand.”
The Times
Might I request leave from the bench to disagree with those assertions in the strongest possible terms?
It may have been one of his stronger shots growing up, but to claim he can hit it harder and flatter than most players, sounds like wilful delusion. I hope his coach isn’t the source of such thinly veiled deception.
I think hard and flat and I think, Soderling, Nikolay, and Juan del Potro. I don’t even put Federer in that group, even though he’s far more adept at “getting the ball through the court”.
To be fair to Murray, the bar for hard and flat has been raised like never before with what Juan and Big Rob have achieved in the last 8-9 months.
Juan’s fly-swatter cross-court winner in particular, remains for me the best newly-introduced stroke of 2009. Watching it in the final of Flushing was like witnessing the unveiling of the latest brand of Supercar
Murray needs to respond to this latest threat by recognising it for what it is – and attuning his game accordingly – which at this point sounds like a happy compromise between all those glorious slices and drop shots but also more of a focus on serving big (which he can) and quickly gaining control of the court.
None of this will be possible if he continues to persist in that ridiculous pretence of ‘toying’ with his opponents with those slow-to-medium pace “no balls”, that are pitched from far behind the baseline, and land high up on the opposing service line nicely in the wheelhouse of his opponent.
When that opponent is someone as hungry and capable as Marin Cilic, Andy might find (as he did on at least three separate occasions in 2009) that the “toyer” has quickly become the “toyee”.
As great as ‘Open’ is, it’s just occurred to me that there’s little over a week before Oz gets under way, and to tell you the truth I’m a little behind some of the storylines that have emerged in the first ten days of the tenties (please tell me we can do better than that for something we’ll be stuck with for the next ten years and beyond).
So let me make good on that right now.
(Photo: AP)
It’s not all altruistic of course (there’s a reason we call these things cash cows), but the environment of an exho sometimes feels like a strange behavioural study into the effects of playing for pride.
When it’s done right, the results can be very positive indeed.
Muscles are flexed. New weapons developed in the off season get to be ground-tested in a contained environment. You also, and here’s where I think Abu Dhabi’s positioning on New Year’s Day really comes into it’s own, get to send out a message at the beginning of the season, and just two weeks before Oz.
True, nothing sets you up for a season of tennis down under, like a lively but mostly carefree little exho – but whereas in the past they might only have been considered one rather makeshift step above a practice session, the players nowadays seem to place a lot more stock in playing for pride.
And just in case you were still in need of any convincing, they signed up both Rafa and the Sod to really liven things up (presumably without telling either of them who else is invited). How cute.
Rafa, as we all know picked up the title, but the bigger story for the few remaining enclaves of Soderling fans out there (we know not our true numbers, living our precarious scattered existences mostly as creatures of the night), was his 13th-time-lucky outage of Roger Federer.
Yes it’s a mistake to read too much into an exho; and considering what happened in Kooyong 2007, I’m guessing A-Rod fans still regularly convene for Wicker-Man-like May Day sacrifices where items of memorabilia gathered from the bomb site that was Melbourne 2007 and hastily assembled Federer effigies are set ablaze.
But when the score reads as close as 6-7 (6-8) 7-6 (7-1) 6-2, it’s a little difficult to argue that they weren’t both invested or that Robin shouldn’t take any encouragement from the win. I certainly intend to.
Soderling was unable to follow up against Rafa in the final, but their handshake at the end of it was as civil as I’ve ever seen. Let’s be having no more of that Gentlemen – I expect a full return to unmitigated hostility by the end of the month.
As for Fed, taken by itself Big Rob’s win over him is of little consequence. Viewed alongside Davy’s second consecutive win over him however, it could mean everything and nothing; there’s been signs since last year (as great as it was) that that great Swiss ship of his might not be as tightly run as it once was: that whatever greatness he’s still capable of will find itself nestled amongst shorter periods of rampant mediocrity.
That might not necessarily be a bad thing. Whatever philosophical position you choose to take on whether it’s increased competition or Fed’s own regression behind the state of near parity that seems to exist amongst the top 5 (almost as great a debate as nature v. nurture), I almost think it might be in his interest if he, you know, checked out every once in a while.
Such a managed setback might actually turn out to have a shorter lifespan than one of the unplanned variety, like he experienced in between Oz and Madrid last year.
Even if he continues to play at the height of his powers however, I don’t believe the occasional shock, like he just suffered in Doha, should be so very shocking.
Davydenko d. Federer 6-4 6-4
At least not against players as adept as Davy.
"Before I lost 12 times in a row to Federer, but because I beat him in London I felt like I really could win," Davydenko said.
"I still had the level I had in London, and that was good - but I don't know how long I can keep it up."
BBC
Davy’s going to have to drop the awkward social graces, this uneasiness under the the limelight, if he’s to step up as a serious contender at any Slam.
But even if he talked a better game, I’d be a lot more confident about his quest to fashion something between a silk purse and the sow’s ear that is currently his H2H with Federer, were he to defeat him in a Slam; there’s certainly no other reason he ought not to make at least the final of a Slam: outside of Fed, there’s not a single player in the top five (or beyond) he can’t beat.
The only thing that might (somewhat paradoxically) come in between him and his quiet quest for glory, is his own fitness. When he was in the top 5 for all those many years, he wasn’t perhaps as finely developed at the net as he is now and didn’t serve half as well, but his fitness was off the charts. The result? Four QFs and four Semis at the Slams. Scored during an era of alleged lesser competition.
Since Miami 2008, we’ve seen a more versatile though no less Playstation-like Davy, capable of ghosting in to the net with that scythed put-away of his and serving with more confidence and variety. He has however, only made a single QF.
Part of this has been down to injuries, and as I see it, a period of natural adjustment to his new found well-rounded prowess. But he’s also seemed less enthusiastic at the prospect of lengthy five setters – so long the staple of his stay in the top ten.
Davydenko d. Nadal 0-6 7-6 (10-8) 6-4
Davy overpowering Nadal on a hard court ought to surprise precisely no one.
But what happened in that first set? After just the first few games, he looked so worked over that I actually took off.
When I returned they were embroiled in a third set with Davy 5-4 up and serving for the match.
"In this tournament I came back to play my best tennis for a long time," Nadal said.
"I lost today but he played unbelievable tennis - he was just better."
BBC
I would focus on that first sentence – we all know Davy is on an all time high right now and I actually think he’s the better player on a hard court.
But here’s the thing: Nadal wasn’t actually injured during that poor spell he had at the end of last year, merely out of sorts and not at all match fit.
That’s not generally a worrying state of affairs where he’s concerned. It would be more concerning had he turned up injured with those bands of tape beneath his knees, and insistent about playing through all sorts of pain like some puerile rite of passage.
Rediscovering his confidence in an uninjured state is something he’s actually rather good at.
Not that I think he’ll defend his title in Oz; for now I’ll content myself that he’s attempting to draw more upon that flatter breed of hit he fashioned in London and that he’s put a dampener on the ravings of those galoots that continue to insist his career is winding down.
It’s not necessary to say too much on the happenings in Brisbane; while not all of us might have been convinced it would happen so soon, I doubt anyone out there thought Henin would be unable to rise quickly above the rest of the field, and assume her rightful place alongside the Williamses and the rest of the Pre-Safinite Sisterhood.
Early on it looked like Kimmie was set to run away with the match with a sustained bout of metronomic play we usually associate with Davydenko.
And so it more or less continued until she quite carelessly allowed Justine back into the match during the latter part of the second set.
But I still believe the right woman won. I’m not sure a win for Henin would be quite the right result to usher in this new Post-Safinite age of hopefully more ordered tennis.
And while we’re on the subject, I don’t know that that there’s anything significantly different with the look or feel of Justines new-fangled service motion.
While it’s competent enough, there’s nothing like the revamp (either in pace or first serve percentage) we were promised. Maybe we’ll get to see it in Oz.
[You are reading the ninth in a series on Andre Agassi's 'Open'. Click here to start at the very beginning]
And just like that, riding a blazing wave of optimism, Agassi hits the road once more.
Or, you know, not quite.
He’s dropped to #141 in the rankings, and is playing Challengers in places like UNLV and public parks. Having to self regulate and fetch your own balls once again – oh the indignity of it all.
Agassi is humbled - at least that’s the way the Press see it.
His own view of things is rather different:
“I was humbled in the hotel room with Brad – I was humbled smoking Meth with slim - now I’m just glad to be out here.”
-- ‘Open’ An Autobiography
But it was at this point too that Agassi would begin to fashion (with Perry’s help) the beginnings of what would eventually be known as “The Andre Agassi Foundation with Education”.
And despite everything still being in it’s infancy, it’s effect on his tennis is electric.
His results don’t suddenly improve of course – but there’s an unmistakable paradigm shift in almost every other sphere; a palpable sensitivity and respect towards the game.
At Key Biscayne, he describes himself as “crazy to win” rather than desirous of avoiding a loss, so long the staple of a pre-Philanthropic Andre. An exact inversion in fact, of his earlier years.
‘Open’ presents these feelings of elation as being born of playing for his foundation, clearly a higher purpose; one that’s “large than myself - yet still closely connected to me – it bears my name but isn't about me”
When a shoulder injury he receives attempting to parry the powerful ground strokes of an angry young Russian going by the name of Marat Safin, puts him on the sidelines for a while, he even speaks of missing being on court. “I will never again take for granted the privilege of hurting on a court”.
Noble sentiments indeed, and as close as you might ever get to a religious experience on a tennis court, without the aid of Gack.
With this spiritual upgrade going on, it’s only natural that order be restored in other spheres of his life, and time is finally called (by Brooke) on the troubled and incongruent match up that is “Brandre”.
The episode is subject to the same breezy treatment we saw with Gak, but this time it was a little too skittish for me.
In their efforts at limiting the episode to what he presumably thinks are the most pivotal moments, the narrative lost much of it’s powerful honesty.
It’s not that I find Andre’s recollection of events difficult to accept – as with any break up it’s impossible to know what actually happened.
“Us is hard”, “You just want to stay home and watch TV”, “Your friends are bad for you” are common enough complaints in any relationship – but ‘Open’ lays out the details of the final moments of “Brandre” like a film script for a daytime soap from the nineties.
Andre comes off as the stereotypical “Frat Boy” that chooses to harbour latent resentment instead of expressing any honest emotion about the state of their relationship.
Brooke comes off as a slightly overbearing and demanding “Prom Queen”, someone intent on turning him into something he’s clearly not happy being.
Reality is usually a lot more complex than that.
It’s all very ‘high schooly’ – in fact the moments that led up to this showdown, where the ever increasing distance between the two is revealed in dribs and drabs of mutual apathy towards that growing distance, came off as far more realistic and honest.
I suspect the specific intention behind this selective narrative has a lot to do with not wanting to dig up the past – not any more than is necessary to shed some light into the turmoil within Andre’s head – and as a sentiment I laud that.
People will take what they want from this episode – and Andre is probably laying out an honest account of what he thought was wrong with the relationship.
But his cause would I felt, have been helped by – dare I say it – a slightly more ‘Open’ exploration: how much truth there is to many of her complaints against him is never given much attention (other than admitting that he would prefer a night in in front of the TV, or with JP and his wife round for dinner), nor does he ever admit to anything he might have done to contribute to the relationship’s demise.
I don’t think it would have changed anyone’s opinion that they were an ill-matched pair, both young rich and famous, and with careers that were pulling them in different directions.
But the book deserves it. More than it deserves this last installment of the 'MTV' edition of ‘Brandre’ – the only point I felt he was a little let down by the writing.
Agassi was clearly affected by the break up – but we only know this from the tears he sheds when he stops his car a mile away, having quickly thrown some essentials into it’s back seat and pulled out of their ‘sterile’ home for the very last time.
[You are reading the eighth in a series on Andre Agassi's 'Open'. Click here to start at the very beginning]
I haven’t got very strong opinions on the whole Crystal Meth thing one way or the other - it’s not actually the most interesting section of the book, and his revelation on it’s use was actually one of the reasons I was thinking of giving it a miss.
I certainly don’t want to moralise – I wonder how many of these holier than thou types would have acted any differently having fallen from grace and knowing they had everything to lose with a full disclosure.
Agassi was clearly a troubled soul by this point (or haven’t you been paying any attention), and troubled souls seem to veer towards further trouble, not away from it.
Nothing I read in the book changed my view of him or what he’s achieved in the game; in fact everything about the episode as it’s laid out in the book, from his derailment, to the epiphany that effected his turnaround and his eventual self-redemption through philanthropy, are actually in tune with that opinion.
It is at times however, rather tiring to be required to ‘celebrate’ such honesty (as much of fandom seems to insist upon) – specifically the part about lying to the authorities.
The point about coming clean and facing the music (good or bad) as I understand it, is just that: it’s not ever intended that celebrating anything, will now or should now, form part of the deal.
You may disagree with what Nadal and Navratilova had to say in the immediate aftermath of the revelations, but it’s a little worrying when supposedly impartial mainstream journos begin acting like having a post-Meth opinion on Andre’s life and career is only the provenance of a few very well worn fans; or that Rafa and Martina’s contribution was somehow in poor taste.
And so we come to the precise nature of “Gack” (Slim is quite clear on naming: “Because that's the sound you make when you're high.”).
Andre’s own little “field trips” left him with enough energy to go on an endless cleaning binge (“If I had leather shoes I would polish them”), and still retain the power to go the full 18 holes in a round of golf, should he have so desired.
The subsequent crash he experiences after 48 hours of sleepless euphoria causes him to lose to Scott Draper, a guy he says he can “usually beat with a spatula”.
There can be no question that such forays far from enhancing, actually proved detrimental to Agassi’s tennis, coinciding as they did with that well-documented slump to #141 in the rankings.
But neither is it accurate to characterise Gack as being completely inhibitive to athletic performance, as article after article has been at pains to do so ever since Andre spilled all.
Not unless that is, you habitually spend up to 24 hours at a time spring cleaning.
Somewhat appropriately, when talking Gack, the brisk nature of the book I’ve appreciated so much, undergoes a Gack-induced rush of it’s own. This increased pace is as much a quality of the writing as it is of the events that follow.
The entire episode is given the clarity it deserves without lingering consciously on what might rightly be considered the most explosive (and for Andre the most unpleasant) portions of the book: if Agassi had hit rock bottom in 1997, then this was it’s epicentre.
This breezy treatment translates rather well to the rapid sequence of events, that began with the acceptance of Slim’s invitation to ‘party’ and the fashioning of that now infamous lie about ingesting one of his Gack-laced drinks – and ended with formal clearance from the ATP of any wrongdoing months later in a hotel room in Rome.
So brisk is this treatment in fact, that when formal clearance does arrive, it’s almost been too easy, and none appear more surprised by this than Andre himself, who we find confirming and then reconfirming that there will be nothing further for him to account for, nor any lingering consequences.
Part of this of course, is down to the natural feelings of uneasiness that must arise with getting off scot-free.
Was he also a little surprised I wonder, with the informality and lack of rigour present in the testing process?
WADA must be turning in their grave; except they’re not dead yet.
Though someone really ought to be talked into building a grave for them - expressly for the purposes of turning in.
Like it or not, Andre’s revelations raise some pretty serious questions about the nature of the testing process during this period.
We may choose not to dwell on whether or not any special concessions were made for him, yet that too, is both a fair and relevant question, and one ought not to be throttled for raising it.
But the real point of of the revelation I suspect, is to simply give us another ‘Open’ and honest account of his derailment: a wrong turn he took in a desperate bid at reacquainting himself with happiness itself, “however chemically induced”.
It cost him more dearly than anyone else, which by the sounds of it, was exactly what he had in mind.
…I had undeniable satisfaction from harming myself and shortening my career, after decades of merely dabbling in masochism I’m making it my mission.
-- ‘Open’, An Autobiography
Life is never as tidy as you’d like it to be, and the fallout from the positive drugs test (limited though it was), followed a stout resolution on Agassi’s part to turn things around.
1997 saw things go from bad to worse and it was no different on court. He pulled out of Wimbledon and following a series of early losses was dragged into a hotel room by Brad for a heart-to-heart. “We've got a big decision to make and we ain't leaving this room until we make it”.
Brad makes a simple case, but it is at it’s heart also a plea: “Good things can still happen”, but he can’t go on “embarrassing himself like this”. Agassi’s to train “like he’s not trained in years”, regroup, and start again from the very bottom – we’re talking Challengers here.
This is the first of two jump starts that would lead to an eventual Renaissance.
The gravity of the moment is not lost on Andre who speaks of being at a crossroads, “though it feels as if we've been headed here for years”.
In what has to be the turning point of ALL turning points, Andre finally appears to make his peace with tennis.
I hate tennis more than ever, but I hate myself more.
…
Maybe doing what you hate, doing it well and cheerfully is the point: hate tennis all you want - you still need to respect it.
-- ‘Open’, An Autobiography
I feel better in my Software Engineering skin already.
Let’s get one thing straight.
Agassi’s not on any grandiose self-proclaimed search for the answer to life, the universe and everything (which by the way is 42); his is a latent, though no less frenetic struggle born of a subconscious awareness that he’s fundamentally dissatisfied with being Andre. Whatever that is.
Also a struggle that’s played out in full view of an unforgiving media and public eye, but one that is no less real, for it’s want of a tangible Holy Grail.
Inspiration, true inspiration (rather than the chemically manufactured variety) comes from an unexpected source.
Gil’s daughter Casey, is in hospital having undergone surgery following an injury she sustained in an accident in the snow. The room she’s in is stifling hot and Gil (understandably distressed), in a stark contrast to the dynamic of their usual working relationship, has developed more of a dependency on Andre in the recent weeks.
In this instance it’s the simple act of getting out there and procuring the biggest AC unit he can find to provide Casey with at least some immediate relief, that leads to his second, and perhaps more fulfilling ephiphany.
An enlightenment Agassi describes as “The philosophers stone that unites all the experiences good and bad of the last few years”.
If you insist, though I much prefer this second more heartfelt description:
Her suffering, her resilient smile in the face of that suffering, my part in easing her suffering, this - this is the reason for everything.
…
How many times must I be shown? This is the reason why we're here: to fight through the pain and when possible to relieve the pain of others - so simple - so hard to see.
-- ‘Open’, An Autobiography
So…not 42 then?
While the realisation that came out of being stuck in a hotel room with Brad, made getting up for work every morning a more tolerable experience, this spiritual awakening spoke to those deeper existential conundrums that bothered him every time he looked in the mirror, refilling those great metaphysical fissures that once threatened to tear him apart.
