🎾 Pete Sampras A Champions Mind¶
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Tóm tắt nội dung (trích từ tài liệu gốc): 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 M
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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
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.
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
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. Tennis was
probably the furthest thing from his mind. Unbeknownst to us, but very, very
fortunately, Southern California is also the epicenter of U.S. tennis culture--
especially the populist branch of it. Tennis in the United States always did have
two faces. It was a preferred sport of the wealthy, especially in the Northeast in
places like Boston, Newport, New York, and Philadelphia, which traditionally
hosted most of the major events, including the U.S. Open. The game there was
laden with tradition, and up until shortly before I was born, grass was the major
surface. California was a different story altogether.
The sunny climate on the West Coast made tennis a year-round, outdoor game
that anyone could play with limited resources, and there were no socially
intimidating overtones. There was plenty of space, so public courts sprang up all
over the place. Most of those courts were made of cement, because they were
cheap to build and easy to maintain. California evolved into a major tennis
location. The earliest great players to come out of the West Coast were guys like
Ellsworth Vines, who is still legendary for his awesome serve, Jack Kramer,
Pancho Gonzalez, Stan Smith, Billie Jean King, and Tracy Austin.
The big serve and an aggressive style of play were the underpinnings of the
"California game." Techniquewise, tennis is played a little differently by region
and on different surfaces. The contrasts are pronounced enough so that the most
common grips used in tennis--the Continental (European), Eastern, and Western
--are all named for the regions where they were popular and suited the courts in
use.
Part of my legacy--or so I'm told, anyway--is that I came close to being the
model all-around player. I had a big serve and aggressive baseline game, which
was pure, populist California. But I eventually embraced serve-and-volley tennis
and did my major damage on foreign soil at the greatest--and most elite--
tournament in the world, winning seven men's singles titles at Wimbledon. The
only surface I never entirely mastered was slow European clay, insofar as I never
won the biggest clay tournament, the French Open.
In my style and results, I transcended my regional and even national
background to a greater extent than some of my predecessors as the world
number one player. Take my countryman Jimmy Connors. Although he was
from Illinois, he relocated to California at an early enough age to mature his
game on the hard courts there. He "only" won Wimbledon twice, clinging to his
all-court style, although that game was good enough to earn him five U.S. Open
titles, three on his beloved hard courts.
The most important thing about California was the opportunity presented by
that strong, diverse, deeply rooted tennis culture. Lacking a strong family
background in tennis, we were going to have to play it by ear and make it up as
we went along. Thankfully, we were right in the eye of the Open-era hurricane
that started in 1968, when professional players finally were invited to compete
with the amateurs at the four "majors," or Grand Slam events (the Australian,
French, and U.S. Opens, and Wimbledon). That shift to Open tennis ensured that
all the good players in the world could compete in the same tournaments, so you
would end up with a true champ, and it launched a tennis boom that brought the
game to millions of new players and potential pros.
By the time I moved to California, the state was teeming with world-class
players and prospects, and it offered great development, training, and playing
opportunities. It was mind-blowing--or would have been, had we been aware of
all that. But we were not.
Anyway, my father cashed out of the deli business. It was getting old for him,
what with brothers-in-law for partners. He had done very well and he needed a
break. He finally felt secure enough to take the plunge that so many newly
minted Americans and immigrants had taken before him. He was going west,
following the American Dream to California. After a few trips to the coast to
establish our home in Palos Verdes, he returned to Potomac and gathered us up.
One fine morning in 1978, he got us all packed into the car. I remember we
had a tiny blue Ford Pinto, a bare-bones economy car (the Pinto later became
famous when somebody discovered that if you rear-ended it, the car blew up).
We piled into the Pinto--all six of us--and headed west. Wait, make that seven,
because we were also taking our parrot, Jose. If you're familiar with the classic
Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon's Vacation, you'll know all you need to
know about our situation.
I hit the ground running when we arrived in Palos Verde and moved into our
modest 1,500-square-foot home. As the oldest child, Gus had his own room, and
I ended up sharing with Marion--in fact, I didn't have my own room until I was
fifteen or sixteen. Shortly after we got to Palos Verdes, we found out that it was
a tennis-rich environment. The Jack Kramer Club, which had been instrumental
in developing so many fine players (including Tracy Austin), was nearby in
Rolling Hills. And then there was West End, where I began taking lessons from
one of the all-time great coaches, Robert Lansdorp.
I was a shy, introverted kid, but if you "took" from Lansdorp, you were right
in the thick of things and a lot of people checked you out. It seems weird now,
but we were told shortly after I started working on my game that I was going to
be a great tennis player. Almost immediately, people were comparing me to guys
like Eliot Teltscher, saying I was as good at fourteen as Eliot, a prodigy, had
been at sixteen. (He went on to have a great pro career, becoming a perennial
world-top-ten performer.)
By the time I reached my teens, I assumed that I was going to win Wimbledon
and the U.S. Open, which was a real reach. A lot of kids are told they're great,
believe it, work toward it--and eventually fall by the wayside. They may not
have the right temperament or long-term physical assets; they might not be able
to handle the expectations, they may have insurmountable flaws in their
technique, their dedication, or approach to their career. The idea that none of the
things that could go wrong would go wrong is borderline preposterous--except
when it isn't.
But maybe the assumption that I was going to be as great as everyone
suggested helped me become what I am. Deep down, I knew. I had that
confidence. The amazing thing is that nothing happened to break it, tone it down,
or take it away--and I went through a lot that could have robbed me of that
sense of destiny.
Not long after I started playing at the Kramer club, my dad became acquainted
with a member named Pete Fischer. He was a successful pediatrician originally
from New York, and he looked the part and played tennis like it. He was thickly
built, with a big belly, and had one of the most horrific tennis games anyone ever
laid eyes on. But he was a very smart, stubborn tennis visionary--a true tennis
nut.
Fischer looked at me and saw some kind of supernatural talent, so he
befriended my dad, who would take me to and from lessons, and ultimately
convinced Dad to allow him to become my coach. In retrospect, "coach" is not
exactly the right word for Fischer, because his greatest asset was knowing what
he didn't know. He was a hacker tennis player who masterminded my tennis
development in a wise way--by having various coaches and specialists bring
their unique skills to my development. He had grand, almost preposterous plans
for me. He was like a combination of mad scientist and general contractor--one
who was in charge of building the all-time Grand Slam champion.
Fischer's smartest move, by far, was convincing my dad to let him take charge
of my tennis career. He became our adviser, confidant, and tennis go-to guy. In
hindsight, the thing I valued most about Pete is what he did for my relationship
hindsight, the thing I valued most about Pete is what he did for my relationship
with my dad. He kept tennis out of it. Pete was in the driver's seat. My dad, who
would have been the first to admit he knew nothing about the game, did not have
to take on the responsibility of my development. The lines between parent and
coach would never blur; my results, or lack thereof, never caused strain or
tension. My dad was always present in my development and career, but he was
in the background. As Robert Lansdorp later put it, "He was the guy on the other
side of the Cyclone fence, standing back, just watching."
This was an especially good approach because of the kind of man my father
is. He isn't a hugger, and he's not a big communicator. Like most of the Sampras
men, including Gus and me, he's reserved. It takes some time for us to warm up
to people and we're more likely to linger in the background than to step out and
be the life of the party. We share a sarcastic streak. It's not an ideal temperament
for dealing with the nature of the pro tennis tour, where you're constantly
moving, meeting new people, making chitchat, and trying to remember names.
On the other hand, our natural shyness and reticence makes it easier to stay
above the fray and avoid getting sucked into distractions. That's a huge asset
once you become a top tennis player.
I didn't see much of my dad as a child, because he worked two jobs--he was
all about supporting the family while my mother took care of us, physically and
emotionally. But as I got deeply involved in tennis, the game became a way to
spend time with my dad. He would take me to and from tennis lessons after
work, or to junior tournaments on weekends. But even then, it wasn't like my
father and I talked a lot. My confidant was my sister Stella; she was a little older,
so I looked up to her, and she was the only other serious player in the family.
Occasionally the entire family would travel to a junior event. For a while, we
traveled around in a beat-up Volkswagen van.
Dad was somewhat intimidating, but if he wasn't my best friend, he wasn't a
big disciplinarian, either. I remember one time I said a bad word, and he tried to
put soap in my mouth. He wasn't physical with us--we didn't get spanked, but
then we didn't do much that would have called for spanking. Parties?
Recreational drugs? Delinquent behavior? We just didn't do any of that in our
youth. It was especially easy for me: I was very focused on tennis, and I didn't
let anything knock me off that trajectory.
The nurturer in our family was my mother, Georgia. She was the
compassionate one. She would listen, be there to talk to you, and walk you
through whatever was on your mind. My mom has been way under the radar as
far as an acknowledged influence goes, but some of my best--and toughest--
qualities probably come from her. She's the sweetest lady on earth--she gave us
lots of hugs, she felt our every adolescent pain. But underneath that warmth and
deep concern for her family, she was tough.
Mom was born and raised in Salacia, a village near Sparta. She grew up dirt-
poor. She had seven siblings, and slept on a concrete floor for a good part of her
youth. When her oldest brother emigrated to Canada, he basically took his
siblings with him. So my mom landed in North America without speaking a
word of English, and ended up working with some of her sisters (she has five, all
close in age) as a beautician in the Toronto area.
When Mom was in her twenties, she moved with her sisters to Washington,
D.C., and that's where she met my dad--they were introduced by mutual
friends. My dad's father had advised him to find a nice Greek girl to marry and
start a family with, and Georgia turned out to be the one for Sam. They shared a
vision based on the importance of family life and creating a home where their
children could flourish.
Partly because my mom is a relatively new American, we were raised with a
very strong Greek influence. We have an enormous family support group--I
must have thirty cousins, although my life has made it tough for me to cultivate
relationships with them. We attended Greek Orthodox church every week, and
we went to all kinds of Greek festivals and outings--it was just like that movie
My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Mom still cooks traditional Greek dishes like
spanakopita (a spinach-based dish) and dolmades, and I've heard more than my
share of bouzouki music. But we were on the road to assimilation. We never had
to wear any of those crazy traditional costumes or anything like that, and we
often had spaghetti bolognese for dinner.
When I think about my mom and how poor she was as a child, I realize she
had to be pretty resilient and very strong. She immersed herself in a totally
foreign culture--as a woman from a traditional society, no less--at age twenty-
three. She had family to help, but still--it couldn't have been easy for her.
If I got my calm, reserved nature from Dad, I got my toughness, a share of my
resilience, and a measure of my stubbornness from my mom. She helped instill
my basic values--showing me that I wasn't going to get anywhere by taking
shortcuts. I think I may have gotten my ability to focus absolutely and
exclusively on the task at hand from my mother, too. Throughout my career, my
mind rarely wandered, and I was never sidetracked by distractions, no matter
what I was going through off the court.
Mom had her hands full with the four of us, and my budding talent didn't
make it any easier. Stella and I, the two enthusiastic athletes, kind of
overshadowed Gus and Marion, and I gradually overshadowed Stella. I guess I
was the "golden child," although I've never liked putting it that way. But a lot of
the focus was on me. A lot of money was spent on me. At times this led to a
the focus was on me. A lot of money was spent on me. At times this led to a
little resentment.
Gus was a big surfer and had an active social life, which was a good thing
because I was always with Dad. Still, like any kid brother, I occasionally wanted
to hang out with Gus and his friends, but you know how Toxic Kid Brother
Syndrome works. In that sense, having tennis helped me; I was so focused on the
game that I was immune to some of your typical sibling turbulence. I wasn't
competitive with Gus in childhood; the age difference of four years meant we
lived in different worlds. But I know that my privileged place sometimes
bothered Gus. He would have to drive me and Stella to tennis lessons, and I
could sense he didn't like that job. I think it was a reaction to not getting enough
of Dad for himself; he felt a little left out because Stella and I, especially as we
got a little older, were catered to in the family.
Sometimes Gus could be a little bit of a pain in the ass. I remember my dad
got him this guitar, and he'd come into Stella's room, or our (my and Marion's)
room, and he would start playing really loud and yelling. It was obnoxious, but I
guess he just wanted a little attention--he was annoyed at me because it seemed
to him that I was being spoiled, so he would just bang away on his guitar.
Stella, who now coaches the UCLA women's tennis team, could do no wrong.
She was the perfect daughter, and maybe that was because she was more
outgoing and expressive, and kind of up for anything--as well as talented in
tennis. It was one of those deals where my parents just felt that if she and Gus
were getting into a fight, it was always Gus's fault. I didn't mix it up much with
Stella; our common interest in tennis made us allies.
My most powerful memory of Stella is from a day when we were taking a
lesson from Robert Lansdorp. (It may come as a surprise, but I almost always
shared my lessons with Stella--she had thirty minutes, and I had thirty. It was
written in stone.) So this one time, she was at the net and Robert was really
banging balls at her. He was being extra mean, which is saying a lot, and she
was trying to fend off his shots--almost in self-defense. And she started
hyperventilating, and then crying. "Why are you crying?" Robert asked in his
gruff voice, feigning disgust. "Come on, toughen up." And Stella turned away
from him; she couldn't take his demanding ways anymore. I remember walking
over and putting my arm around her and trying to console her. I just said, "It's
okay, Stella, everything is going to be all right." It was kind of funny. Here I
was, this twelve-year-old kid, consoling somebody: "Aw, don't worry, it's
okay." I felt so bad for her that I remember this incident as if it happened
yesterday.
My other sister, Marion, played a little tennis and she was pretty good at it.
But as the youngest child, she was slightly overshadowed. It wasn't surprising
that it happened, because she was introverted, and I think she had a hard time
trying to keep up and fit in with the rest of us. Trouble was, Stella and I were
always playing tennis, and Gus was a boy and so many years older that Marion
really had nowhere to turn. It was sometimes hard for her.
When Marion got a little older, she found God and really blossomed; her faith
helped her get through her awkward teenage years, and she made a lot of friends
through her church. She eventually became more confident, outgoing, and
talkative, and evolved into a wonderful person. I believe in God, though I'm not
especially religious. But in Marion I've seen how much faith can do for
someone.
In the big picture, we were good kids who got along well, despite the
inevitable conflicts and sibling rivalries. If our parents played favorites with
Stella and me, it wasn't because they loved us more--it was because of tennis. I
think that message somehow got through. I hope it did. And maybe that was why
things never got rough or ugly. In some ways, we were an All-American family;
in other ways, we were anything but. And we are very close, to this day.
By the age of eight, I was really serious about tennis. The days when I was
content to have my mom feed me balls in her spare time were over. I was getting
a strong dose of lessons. When I think about my developmental days, I have a
vivid memory of my dad having to go to the ATM to take out sixty bucks, or
whatever it was at the time, and giving it to me so I could pay Robert Lansdorp.
Cha-ching, cha-ching. There were lots of visits to the cash machine. My dad
didn't make a lot of money, but he had put some away from his restaurant
business and he had a pretty good job. He needed those resources when the big
expenses began to kick in.
Soon after Fischer began advising my dad and taking on his role as the
overseer of my development, I settled into a consistent training pattern.
Lansdorp was the forehand and groundstroke guy, Fischer was involved in
developing my serve, and another local coach, Del Little, was the footwork and
balance specialist. Eventually, I also had sessions on the volley with Larry
Easley, a Kramer Club pro who was also the men's tennis coach at Long Beach
State University. This was my unofficial developmental team.
The foundations of my ground game were laid by Lansdorp. He's an icon in
Southern California tennis circles, legendary for his no-nonsense drill sergeant
approach. His fingerprints were, and still are, all over some of the best ground
strokes in the game. Almost all Lansdorp prot�g�s developed huge forehands.
strokes in the game. Almost all Lansdorp prot�g�s developed huge forehands.
He teaches a fairly flat, clean, economical stroke, and he was especially good
with girls, including Tracy Austin, Lindsay Davenport, Melissa Gurney, and
Stephanie Rehe, all of whom were junior sensations and, to varying degrees,
successful pros. Robert's best male player, until he started to work with me, was
Eliot Teltscher. Ironically, Eliot became better known for his powerful
backhand, and that's what I meant when I said that every player has natural
tendencies that prefigure how he would turn out, stylewise.
Robert and Pete Fischer didn't get along--Robert flat-out thought Pete was a
quack. And that meant something, because Robert was a good guy who already
had great credentials when we met. Robert comes across as very tough; he's
certainly outspoken and brutally honest. If he didn't care for you, he didn't hide
it. Those qualities hurt him, but he was kind of a loner who always insisted on
doing his own thing his own way. I don't know if he intimidated Fischer, but
they more or less worked around each other.
I was a hard worker as a kid, and I respected Robert. He intimidated me. He's
a big guy with huge hands and a very gruff manner. My lessons were on
Thursdays, and I remember being in school and feeling kind of nervous, looking
at the clock, because I had Robert from 3 P.M. until 4, and as much as I liked
taking lessons from Lansdorp, I also couldn't wait until they were over.
When I started playing, it was still the wooden-racket era, and Robert taught
me to hit properly. A few years later, technology would transform the basic
tennis racket, and eventually it would be easier for everyone to develop a
weapon. But I shaped mine the hard way. Some of the things we did were very
basic. Robert would open his racket cover--back then, it was just a soft,
zippered vinyl case that covered the racket head down to the throat--put his
keys inside of it, and close it back up on the head of the racket. (Robert always
had about forty keys, so his key ring was heavy as an anvil.) Then I would
practice the forehand stroke with the weighted racket. For a little kid, that was
tough, but it taught me to drive through the ball. With Robert, it was all about
the sweet spot and driving through the ball.
There was no secret technique in Lansdorp's repertoire. His big thing was
repetition, which had a critical side effect: it taught extreme stroking discipline.
Robert had this big, supermarket-size shopping cart filled with balls, and
whatever we were working on--preparation, taking the short midcourt ball, the
running forehand that became my trademark shot--we would do it for an hour,
or my half of the hour that I shared with Stella. We did drill after drill after drill.
Eliot Teltscher thinks that Robert has a genius for feeding balls--a job you
wouldn't think is that difficult. But Eliot is right; Robert put the ball in exactly
the right place, time after time. And we're talking about hundreds of balls an
hour, day after day. I hit a million balls and that was important--I had to get that
---
[Cuối tài liệu]
Sports Illustrated, ref1
Springsteen, Bruce, ref1
Srichaphan, Paradorn, ref1
Stafford, Grant, ref1
Stanford University, ref1, ref2
steroid drugs, ref1, ref2
Stevens, Brett "Moose," ref1, ref2, ref3
Stevenson, Alexandra, ref1
Stich, Michael, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6
Stine, Brad, ref1
Stockholm, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
Stoltenberg, Jason, ref1
Studio ref1, ref2
Super Bowl, ref1
Svensson, Jonas, ref1
Tampa, Fla., ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
Tanner, Roscoe, ref1
Tarango, Jeff, ref1
Tebbutt, Tom, ref1
Teltscher, Eliot, ref1, ref2, ref3
PS vs., ref1, ref2
tennis:
amateur era in, ref1, ref2, ref3
Anglo-Saxon domination of, ref1
betting on, ref1
commercialization of, ref1
drug scandal in, ref1, ref2
emotional vs. cool deportment in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
equipment revolution in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
expense of training in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
growth of international competition in, ref1
handshake in, ref1, ref2
ideal characteristics in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
indoor, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11, ref12, ref13
mental and psychological game of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8,
ref9
night matches in, ref1, ref2, ref3
1968 start of Open-era in, ref1
prize money in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9
scoring system in, ref1
seeding system in, ref1, ref2, ref3
slowdown of speed in, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
televising and filming of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
Tennis, ref1, ref2
tennis balls, ref1
softening of, ref1, ref2, ref3
spinning of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6
tennis boom, ref1, ref2
tennis bums, ref1
tennis camps, ref1
tennis courts:
clay surface of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11,
ref12, ref13, ref14, ref15, ref16, ref17, ref18, ref19, ref20
grass surface of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11,
ref12
hard surface of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11,
ref12, ref13
HAR-TRU green clay surface of, ref1
indoor carpet surface of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
Plexicushion surface of, ref1
public, ref1
Rebound Ace surface of, ref1
tennis rackets:
abuse of, ref1, ref2, ref3
customization of, ref1
graphite, ref1
grips on, ref1, ref2, ref3
head size on, ref1, ref2, ref3
placement of, ref1, ref2
stringing of, ref1, ref2, ref3
technological changes in, ref1, ref2, ref3
weighting of, ref1, ref2
Wilson Pro Staff ref1, ref2, ref3
wooden, ref1, ref2
tennis shoes, ref1, ref2, ref3
Tennis Week, ref1, ref2
thalassemia, ref1, ref2
tiebreakers, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11, ref12,
ref13, ref14, ref15, ref16, ref17
Times (London), ref1, ref2
Today show, ref1
Trinity University, ref1
Ulihrach, Bohdan, ref1
United States Tennis Association (USTA), ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7,
ref8, ref9, ref10
geographic divisions of, ref1, ref2
junior division of, ref1, ref2, ref3
U.S. Open, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6
of 1989, ref1, ref2
of 1990, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9
of 1991, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
of 1992, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8
of 1993, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 1994, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 1995, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7
of 1996, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
of 1997, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 1998, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 1999, ref1
PS's wins at, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11, ref12,
ref13, ref14
Super Saturday at, ref1
of 2000, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 2001, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7
of 2002, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
2003 retirement ceremony for PS at, ref1
U.S. Pro Indoor tournament, ref1, ref2
van Rensburg, Christo, ref1, ref2, ref3
Vines, Ellsworth, ref1
Vista Grande Elementary School, ref1
Volkov, Alexander, ref1
Voltchkov, Vladimir, ref1, ref2
Warhol, Andy, ref1
Washington, D. C., ref1, ref2, ref3
Washington, Mal, ref1, ref2, ref3
Wedding Planner, The, ref1
Westchester Journal News, ref1
West End tennis club, ref1
Wheaton, David, ref1, ref2
Wilander, Mats, ref1, ref2
PS vs., ref1, ref2, ref3
wild card slots, ref1, ref2, ref3
Williams, Ted, ref1
Wilson, ref1, ref2, ref3
Wilson, Luke, ref1
Wimbledon, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11
affection of PS for, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7
grass courts of, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9, ref10, ref11
of 1977, ref1
of 1990, ref1
of 1991, ref1, ref2
of 1992, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
of 1993, ref1, ref2
of 1994, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8
of 1995, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
of 1996, ref1, ref2
of 1997, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 1998, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4
of 1999, ref1, ref2, ref3
PS's seven men's singles titles at, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5, ref6, ref7, ref8, ref9,
ref10, ref11, ref12, ref13
slowdown of game at, ref1, ref2, ref3, ref4, ref5
of 2000, ref1, ref2, ref3
of 2001, ref1, ref2
of 2002, ref1, ref2, ref3
Wimbledon Champions Ball, ref1, ref2, ref3
Wimbledon Village, ref1, ref2, ref3
Woodbridge, Todd, ref1
Woods, Tiger, ref1, ref2
World Series, ref1
World Team Cup, ref1
Yzaga, Jaime, ref1, ref2
First published in Great Britain in 2009
by Aurum Press Ltd, 7 Greenland Street, London NW1 0ND
This ebook edition first published in 2011
First published in 2008 in the United States
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