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Tennis is a vast, multilayered community,
rich with varied veins. Lively and endearing, I like to think
of it as a rollicking, more-than-dysfunctional family. And
this September, our family's unofficial, unelected and increasingly
understanding hero stepped aside.
Summer's breeze inevitably
gives way to autumn's chill. The giddy joys of youth fade
before the solemn cares of adulthood. And even Andre Agassi
— the most delightful, compelling, perplexing, generous,
accessible and transformative player any of us has had the
pleasure to know — must fade.
With that in mind, Martin and Ignacio Casaccia flew 6,300 miles from Buenos Aires
to the Big Apple just to see the legend take his final bow. There, the Argentinean
brothers joined a record crowd of 37,380 that packed the USTA Billie Jean King
Tennis Center for the most anticipated (and dreaded) retirement in tennis lore
at what was dubbed the Andre Agassi Open.
Here there was but a singular passion. All hoped for a last bolt of Agassian
magic.
"Andre, don't go! We love you!"
"One more dance."
"Oh God, please don't let him lose," the adoring throngs implored.
And the modest, bowlegged Las Vegan, with his curious quick-step gait and "I
will survive" ethos, did not disappoint when, in two captivating after-midnight
classics, he once again blasted sublime on-the-rise groundies and proved he was
unafraid to push his wracked-with-pain body to domains where others dared not
tread. Just ask the veteran Andrei Pavel, who fell short in five sets on opening
night. Or better yet, ask 21-year-old Marcos Baghdatis, who cramped painfully
before falling in a scintillating night marathon that will be remembered for
eons.
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But past
glories, dreamy visions of a last hurrah and seven-inch needles
filled with pain-numbing cortisone can defy reality for just
so long. And so, despite the Herculean collective will of
the tennis masses, the curtain came down. On Sunday, September
3, at 2:29 p.m. after three hours and three minutes of battle,
a hard-to-hate German villain (B. "no, not that one" Becker)
blasted an ace down the T past the hobbling hero. Andre would
never again field another shot. It was over. Time to let
go.
Our hopes for a last glorious run had finally given way to a
haunting sense of sorrow. Yes, our sport has faced losses before.
Out of nowhere, a mad man stabbed Monica Seles. The conscience
of our game, Arthur Ashe, announced he had AIDS. Of course, Agassi's
retirement was hardly life threatening. Still, the departure
of tennis's most loveable figure was somehow inexplicable, confusing,
hard to take. After Andre's loss, the stunned stadium throng
rose to shower the icon with a melancholy round of applause that
thundered loud and long, unlike any other in tennis memory. "I
was sitting there," Andre said, "realizing that I was saying
goodbye to everybody out there, and they were saying goodbye
to me...It's a necessary evil."
Then, incredibly, play stopped on the outer courts as hardened
pros such as Lindsay Davenport and Marat Safin strained to listen
to the tennis master. Weeping and distraught, his face sobbing
with emotion, Andre stepped forward to offer, with moist eyes
and quivering lips, the most moving farewell address in sports
since July 4, 1939, when Lou Gehrig's ("Today, I consider myself
the luckiest man in the world") words echoed through Yankee Stadium.
"The scoreboard," Andre announced, "said I lost today, but what
the scoreboard doesn't say is what it is I have found. And over
the last 21 years, I have found loyalty. You have pulled for
me on the court and also in life. I've found inspiration. You
have willed me to succeed, sometimes even in my lowest moments.
And I've found generosity. You have given me your shoulders to
stand on to reach for my dreams, dreams I could have never reached
without you. Over the last 21 years, I have found you, and I
will take you and the memory of you with me for the rest of my
life."
Andre's telling words and the realization of his departure brought
a palpable numbness. Elevator operators were beside themselves.
A weepy Serena Williams had to remind herself that it was Andre,
not her, who was retiring. Lindsay Davenport said Andre was "the
most important person we've had in our sport in the last 20 years.
Billie Jean King made huge inroads for women, but Andre made
our sport cool, popular with the younger crowd, exciting. He's
beloved...He was everything we wanted him to be."
Not surprisingly, shell-shocked tennis lovers on the outer plazas
and in the inner hallways of Ashe Stadium were overcome by a
collective gloom as tennis began to deal with the loss of the
man who touched so many. Then, wouldn't you know it, Andre himself
continued to put it all in perspective. In the locker room, the
players offered their own ovation, and Andre gave another speech.
Never mind that he all but collapsed in pain in front of his
locker, No. 238, he rose to tell the players of their role in
this game.
"I'm not going to lie," Andy Murray told the New York Times.
"Fifty percent, 60 percent of the people in the locker room were
probably in tears and were holding it back. I know I was."
Then Andre limped his way down the hall to the standing-room-only
interview room, where he recalled the relief of winning his first
tournament, confiding that he understands his rebel-without-a-cause
adolescence, but would hardly want to relive it. He delighted
in the sweet prospect of waking up in the morning and not caring
how he felt and once again expressed his "in the moment" philosophy,
explaining that his pride "doesn't come from accomplishment,
but from the striving, [dealing with] what's in front of you,
how you're going to get through it, how you're going to connect
to it, care about it. I take pride in that people [and] my peers
tell me they're going to miss me...Applause from the fans, from
my peers...those will be the greatest memories, memories I will
keep forever."
Then, 45 minutes later, as his farewell press conference wound
down, he was asked whether he had one last question for us. "Are
you guys going to really miss me?" he responded. "Or are you
just acting like that?" En masse, we all put down our pads and
mikes to give Andre his third standing ovation of the afternoon.
I then approached the guy I'd known for 21 years. The fascinating
man who, more than any other athlete, was open, vulnerable and
shared his ride no matter how bumpy the road; the man who insisted
overzealous security guards let me into a Munich locker room
so we could talk in peace; the man who always fielded my questions
— no matter how zany — with an exquisite care; the man who provided
me with an unbroken string of sublime moments.
So we shook hands and shared a clasp. "Thank you for all the
heart," I muttered in a broken voice. Our eyes met. There was
an expression of sorrow, deep affection. Tears welled, the sorrow
of parting, a poignant silence that spoke loudly. For at last
there was nothing left to say on this day, the day the music
died.
© 2006 INSIDE TENNIS All rights
reserved.
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Tennis web site are protected by copyright.
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