Andre

by Pete Bodo

Andre Agassi will be inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame this weekend, and much will be made—justifiably so—about his evolution into the citizen he is today. His "journey" from a discontented punk who often seemed on the verge of exploding from sheer self-involvement into dedicated philanthropist, school founder and education activist is one of the great inspirational tales spun out of our sporting milieu in recent years.

Given the power of Andre's personality and his gradual rise in status to tennis ambassador and, finally, beloved icon, it's easy to forget that everyone's journey, including Agassi's, is shaped by his environment and heavily influenced by his life's experience. Agassi is astute and forthcoming about this in his remarkably frank autobiography, Open. We are well aware of the negative impact caused by the burden of his prodigy, the harsh demands of his father Mike, and the challenges posed by a competitive, individualistic, sometimes terribly lonely-making sport.

What gets lost and ultimately remains unremarked as the Agassi bio unfolds is the influence the game of tennis had on him as his career flowered, episodes of blight notwithstanding. The positive role tennis played in making Agassi the man he is today is a tale not often told, and a hard one to articulate in a series of compelling anecdotes or experiences. The game was like an unseen hand moving around the pieces on the chessboard of his life.

I posted some thoughts on this earlier in the day over at ESPN, where the typical reader probably has a less textured understanding of tennis and its history. One of the reasons tennis became a popular sport in the Anglo world and Europe (with small outposts in other nations) is because it was seen as a worthwhile and fun means to two ends, health (fitness) and character development. You know the old saw about the battle of Waterloo having been won on the playing fields of Eton.

In fact, the game of doubles may owe its existence to the latter of those two ends. The teamwork required in doubles was originally seen as the source of useful lessons that could not be learned through the more glamorous and perhaps more challenging game of singles. Back in the amateur days, some British educators actually looked down their noses at singles, and had their students playing mostly or all doubles.

Along came the Open era, and that lofty idea of why tennis mattered began to change. Today, the game is seen mainly as an entertainment, a business (and I don't say that holding my nose) and the source of a remarkable lifestyle complete with fame and fortune for those lucky enough to be among the very best in the world at it. That old-fashioned view of tennis still exists, of course; it will continue to do so wherever good men or women aren't entirely seduced by money or the hunger for celebrity. But even if that ethic seems irrelevant and is no longer articulated, it doesn't mean that effect isn't just as powerful as ever. It doesn't mean that tennis, or aspects of tennis, don't have a significant role in shaping the character of those who play the game.

In this regard, tennis can be proud of itself. Something about this game still tends to shape stable character, at least in those who don't get all caught up in the trappings that are part of the pro life. You just don't hear as many horrors stories about former tennis pros as you about other sports stars, and very few of them get caught up in scandals of the kind that are daily fare in many of the other sports we follow. This, I think, is partly because the game tends to weed out the bad actors early on.

There's just no place to hide on a tennis court, the way there is in team sports. You can't blame a lost championship on a teammate who fumbled the football on the three-yard line. You can't fault a game plan or a coach, at least not nearly to the degree that you can in team sports. When you get beat, you have nobody to blame but yourself, and no one with whom to commiserate besides your nearest and dearest, who usually love you anyway (for which reason their sympathy doesn't necessarily help much). You need to embrace a certain measure of loneliness to be a great tennis player, and you certainly need to learn how to work out your own problems. Play it any other way and you end up an excuse-maker or underachiever—the specter Agassi ran from for so long.

While I've always been careful not to make too many assumptions about a person's character based on his or her performance in tennis, there are points where the two intersect. Those are particularly valuable points of reference for the players themselves, because they encourage self-awareness and a confrontation with your own weaknesses. And that's how you get progress.

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Dre

Dre

During one period in Agassi's life, he was enamored of the word, "progress," particularly as it obtained to—get this—court speed, and how it influenced his ability to manipulate his opponent ("I can't get any progress," was his repeated lament when a court was too slow and high-bouncing for his taste). That complaint struck just the right note of impatience in a way that became almost symbolic of his desire to get where he is today—a quiet, satisfying, clean place.

Given an appropriate degree of talent, the more honest you are with yourself, the more likely it is that you'll succeed in tennis. It always seemed to me that, over time, Andre shed many of his affectations and self-inhibiting habits. He made progress. And the more progress he made, the more he implicitly understood that he was being shaped as much as he was shaping his career, his future. That's why he grew to love this game: not because of what he made off it, but because of what it made of him.

When Andre finally triumphed over himself, or those portions of himself that were self-injurious, he realized he loved tennis. He understood the role the game itself played in his own more personal evolution, and at that point he stopped seeming himself as "just" a tennis player, yoked to a great wheel-of-fortune that meant little to him. He recognized that tennis not only offered the key to a better life, but the secret to becoming a better person.

I still think that was one reason for his longevity; starting at that successful French Open of 1999, he began to see that tennis was leading him out of the same woods into which it it once drove him because of Mike Agassi's overwhelming ambition for his son. It was the long-deferred reward for having trusted the game, because in truth, Agassi might have quit the sport at any number of junctures in his career.

In the big picture Andre was always there for tennis; and tennis was always there for him.