--What a classy guy.
I̢۪m not an obsessive follower of professional tennis, but I̢۪ve
always really liked Pete Sampras, and for this, I like him even better.
If there was ever anyone who could go out on the court at Flushing
Meadows and offer up a humble, fond and grateful farewell, it̢۪s him.
And I thank him for it. It is so very rare in this day and age for a
man to know his own worth and to be happy with that knowledge. Even
when it was obvious that Pete was struggling, you had faith he would
find his way because he knew what he was capable of, and he would not
be satisfied until he̢۪d achieved that aim. But that only really
covers half of what has made him so successful and really made you want
to see him not only thrive, but succeed. It was such a joy to watch him
play. I still think he̢۪s got the best serve I̢۪ve ever seen, and to
see him volleyâ€Â¦wow. He was no leaping gazelle on the court, with
grace and fluidity oozing from every pore. He stumbled, slid, and
sometimes completely wiped out. When he ran to the net, I always
thought he looked rather like a little kid scrambling for a fly ball in
a little league game. But, he wasn̢۪t a sloppy tennis player, either.
When I watched him play, it seemed that he didn̢۪t want to waste his
time with extra motion. If he had a graceful follow through on his
backhand, it was because that was just the best way to hit the ball,
not because it was essential to his game. I don̢۪t think he strived to
be beautiful on the court, but he was nonetheless. And even in the
unlikely even that I rooted for someone else (umm, ok, I did want Pat
Rafter to win that one time in the semis (or was it the quarterfinals?
I can never remember these things) at Wimbledon), well, it was because
I wanted to see if they could beat the best and Pete was the best.
I would not want to be on the receiving end of one of his serves. I̢۪d
cower in the corner, my arms protecting my head, and pray to God that
he̢۪d double fault the entire game and I̢۪d escape. It had to have
really been something to be on the opposite side of the court, waiting
for his serve, with a mixture of fear, awe and sheer hope that you̢۪d
be able to hit the ball back running through your system. I̢۪ve read
many articles and seen many critiques of him on the sports channels and
the sportswriters̢۪ complaints, it seems to me, mainly boil down to
his lack of flash; the solidity of his game; his lack of head trips,
and their bitterness that none of these produces interesting fodder to
fill column inches with shows. They respected his talent, that much was
obvious, but they seemed to begrudge him his choice in lifestyle and
essentially who he was as a human being. Winning his fourth Wimbledon,
which proved he was no slouch, was not as exhilarating an event for the
media as when Agassi finally won the French, and it showed. His triumph
moved off the sports pages rather quickly, whereas Agassi̢۪s comeback
was speculated on incessantly. I know I̢۪m not adding anything new to
the conversation here, but it still surprises me that as good as
Sampras was in his heyday, he still wasn̢۪t paid the attention I
thought was due because he wasn̢۪t flamboyant enough to pique the
sportswriters̢۪ curiosity. He bored them with his greatness. And that
irks me. But then again, he never wanted the attention of the press, so
I shouldn̢۪t be getting my nose out of joint on his behalf. The one
match that has been referred to over and over in the past couple of
days was the one I̢۪m sure he was the least proud to have won: his
defeat of Jim Courier in the quarterfinals of the 1995 Australian Open.
The match is infamous because he wept for the news that his coach had
just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The man broke down in the
midst of the match to the point where Courier gently suggested to him
that perhaps they could finish it the next day, which is an option in
tennis. But he didn̢۪t take the easy out. He pulled himself together
and actually won the match. The media and the public loved him for
that, because it provided great drama. But I̢۪m fairly certain he
thinks it̢۪s nothing to be proud of, that he was just doing his job
and there shouldn̢۪t be glory or celebration in that. I̢۪m sure he
thinks that match was harder than it should have been, that he was the
only one responsible for that fact, and he should have never let it
happen in the first place. He pulled his own chestnuts from the fire
and because of who he is as a human being, I̢۪m sure he doesn̢۪t
think that̢۪s anything too impressive in the scheme of things. This is
complete and utter speculation. I haven̢۪t been trolling the archives
of newspapers and Sports Illustrated looking for press conference
quotes from that tournament to back up my suppositions. It̢۪s just gut
instinct. I, for one, will miss him tremendously. Good luck with your
life, Pete and thank you for being such a classy man, as well as one
tremendously talented tennis player. Oh, and thanks for never tucking
in your shirt, either, says she with a knowing smile. --Here̢۪s your Chuckle of the Day:
Ah, there̢۪s one born every minute, and apparently the majority live
in Germany.
--Sorry for the short blog today, but I have been kindly asked to get
my butt out of the house and up to the pool for the remainder of the
afternoon. The husband has plans, apparently. Hmmmm. Speculation is
running rampant. You see, the reason for the evacuation is that today
is the ninth anniversary of the day he put on a tux, I threw on the
only dress I’ve ever worn with train attached to it, and we said “I
do” in front of our families, friends and a few people I still have
no idea who the hell they were. If I had it to do over again, I̢۪d
take the cash Dad offered to spare him a big wedding for his fourth
daughter and would elope. It̢۪s hard when this day comes around not to
think of all we went through to just get to the altar. But, despite all
the wedding related headaches, and the fact I̢۪ve never felt so
tempted to throttle my mother in my life, these are not the important
things to remember today. It may be our wedding anniversary, but for
me, it signals the start of our marriage. And what a marriage it̢۪s
been! In the immortal words of Keith Jackson, “WHOA, NELLIE!”
It̢۪s been a hectic, frantic, sometimes desperate, highly adventurous,
but always interesting ride, thus far. We should probably face the fact
that our marriage will never be boring, which is good, considering we
both have attention spans the size of your average gnat and need
constant stimulation and God only knows, if it isn̢۪t there, one of us
will provide it. Although, perhaps we might start to tone that part of
our lives down, if you take my meaning, says she with a wide grin on
her face. God gave me a rare gift in you at People̢۪s Bar and Grill
that cold December night back in 1992, and I thank Him every day for
it. You are not an easy man to live with at times, sweet pea, but I
will still love you anyways. And I know, because you̢۪ve told me many
times, that it̢۪s the same for you. If there is any person in the
world I wish I could be perfect for, it̢۪s you. You are my wonder in
life and I am exceedingly grateful for the knowledge.

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