A CHAMPION’S MIND For my wife, Bridgette, and boys, Christian and Ryan: you have fulfilled me in a way that no number of Grand Slam titles or tennis glory ever could Introduction Chapter 1 1971–1986 The Tennis Kid Chapter 2 1986–1990 A Fairy Tale in New York Chapter 3 1990–1991 That Ton of Bricks Chapter 4 1992 My Conversation with Commitment Chapter 5 1993–1994 Grace Under Fire Chapter 6 1994–1995 The Floodgates of Glory Chapter 7 1996 My Warrior Moment Chapter 8 1997–1998 Wimbledon Is Forever Chapter 9 1999–2001 Catching Roy Chapter 10 2001–2002 One for Good Measure Epilogue Appendix About My Rivals Acknowledgments / Index Copyright A few years ago, the idea of writing a book about my life and times in tennis would have seemed as foreign to me as it might have been surprising to you. After all, I was the guy who let his racket do the talking. I was the guy who kept his eyes on the prize, leading a very dedicated, disciplined, almost monkish existence in my quest to accumulate Grand Slam titles. And I was the guy who guarded his private life and successfully avoided controversy and drama, both in my career and personal life. But as I settled into life as a former player, I had a lot of time to reflect on where I’d been and what I’d done, and the way the story of my career might impact people. For starters, I realized that what I did in tennis probably would be a point of interest and curiosity to my family. If and when my children (and the members of my large extended family) want to experience and understand what I was about, and what my times were like, I’d like them to experience it through my eyes. As I write this, both of our sons, Christian and Ryan, can already throw a ball straight—which my father, Sam, said was my own first sign of athletic talent. And I’d like for my fans, and tennis fans in general, to see it through my eyes, too. This book is my legacy. And there was something else: my ability to fly pretty low beneath the public’s radar was a great benefit to my career; it helped me stay focused and out of the limelight. That’s how I wanted it. But that also meant that my career would only be known in a piecemeal way. I liked the idea of pulling all the bits and pieces together, putting them in perspective, and making the connections that were ignored or not noticed. In the course of writing this book, I realized that I led a pretty eventful career without ever letting individual events overtake it. My first coach spent time in jail; the mentor who was instrumental at the time when my mature game was really emerging was stricken by cancer and died at an early age; I lost one of the closest friends I had among the players to a tragic accident. I had some stress-related physical problems and at least one career-threatening injury—at a time when I was poised to overtake Roy Emerson as the all-time Grand Slam singles champ. I had my tiffs with fellow players and even my sponsors and the tennis establishment. Yet those aren’t the things that come to most people’s minds at the mention of my name. I’m glad and proud of that, but I also want to acknowledge those events and incidents, and reveal what they meant and how they affected me. This isn’t one of those score-settling books, though. From the outset, my goal was to write a tightly focused tennis book—one that tells my story in a way that also celebrates the game, and the period in which I played. Truth is, I’m a live-and-let-live guy. My lifelong tendency has been to deal with things head-on and then move on. I played tennis during a time of sweeping changes. It started with a burst of growth in the level of international competition, and included features like the revolution in equipment, the intense commercialization of the game, the first high-profile performance-enhancing drug scandal in tennis, and the slowing down of the speed of the game—a process that began at the tournament I loved best and where I probably played my best, Wimbledon. It was a glorious period, my time, especially for American tennis. My generation included four Grand Slam champions (Michael Chang, Jim Courier, Andre Agassi, and me), and players from other nations proved to be some of my most fierce and determined rivals. That high level of competition has continued as Roger Federer, a Swiss who has become a good friend, has emerged to pick up Grand Slam titles at a record-breaking clip. Time seems to move slower or faster as events change, and the time came for me to add my story, told in my words, to the record. Ted Williams, the great Boston Red Sox slugger, once said that all he wanted out of life was that when he walked down the street, people would point and say, “There goes the greatest hitter who ever lived.” Early in my career, I adopted a similar attitude. It may strike some as arrogant, but that’s the kind of fuel you need to really reach the heights of achievement. There were times in my career when I would step up to the service line at a crucial moment in the heat of combat in a big match and pause to drink in the atmosphere. Fired up by adrenaline, I’d look toward the crowd and defiantly say to myself, All right, everybody, now I’m going to show you who I really am. Most champions have that kind of aggression, that competitiveness. It comes with the territory. You don’t survive long with a target on your back without it. But there’s this, too: in our sport, the best of players and fiercest competitors are often also gentlemen—good sports and role models. Just look at Rod Laver before my time, and Roger Federer after it. This book will tell you, in a broader and less intense way, who I really am. LOS ANGELES, JANUARY 2008 A CHAMPION’S MIND I’m not sure you need to know who you are and what you want from the get-go to become a great tennis player. Different players have arrived at that destination in different ways. But me, I knew. I knew, almost from day one, that I was born to play tennis. It may not be mandatory, but knowing who you are and what you want—whether it’s to play a violin in a concert hall or build great big skyscrapers—gives you a great head start in reaching your goals. I was born in Potomac, Maryland, on August 12, 1971, the second youngest of four kids. Gus, my brother, is four years older than me. My sister Stella—the other serious tennis player among my siblings—is two years older, and the baby of the family is my sister Marion. My father, Sam, is of Greek stock. When I was born, he was working in Washington, D.C., as a Defense Department mechanical engineer. With a wife, Georgia, and four kids to support, he also was part owner—with three brothers-in-law—of the McLean Restaurant and Delicatessen in suburban McLean, Virginia. Although it wasn’t a Greek joint per se, my family brought a Greek flair and love of good food to the establishment, so it was very successful. I have almost no memories of life in Potomac, but I do remember getting hold of an old tennis racket and taking to it like it was the ultimate toy or something. I hit against anything I could find that was hard enough to send the ball back. Mostly it was the cement wall of a nearby Laundromat. Eventually I gravitated toward a local park that had some courts, and I took a lesson or two. I just fell into it, but I believe there was a reason I was drawn to it, just like there was a reason why Tiger Woods picked up a golf club, and Wayne Gretzky a hockey stick. My dad remembers that some guy came up to him in the park in Potomac and said, “Your son—he looks like he can really play tennis.” I think Dad took that to heart, even though he wasn’t a huge sports fan and we had no real tennis tradition in the family. We were Greek Americans, firmly connected to our roots in many ways. Some small nations in the Western world, like Croatia and Sweden, have a rich tennis tradition. But Greece isn’t one of them. Culturally, tennis was completely off our radar. Dad knew nothing about tennis, so he had no aspirations for me until I displayed interest in the game. He also was utterly unfamiliar with the tennis scene, which is insular and mostly made up of people whose families have been involved in the game for multiple generations. But he noticed that I had a strong athletic bent. Even as a toddler, I could kick a ball well and throw it straight. That stuff just came naturally to me. When I was seven, Dad had the opportunity to transfer to the Los Angeles area, a traditional hotbed for the aerospace and defense industries.