Andre still makes string music - 網球

也是很棒的一篇文章,Andre's fans別因它是這麼長一篇而錯過它! ouch
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from: http://www.kansascity.com/mld/kansascity/12613723.htm

Posted on Sun, Sep. 11, 2005

Agassi, Federer in u.s. open MEN’S final
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Andre still makes string music
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Older, mellower tennis maestro continues to excel

By WRIGHT THOMPSON / The Kansas City Star

FLUSHING MEADOWS, N.Y. — He started this journey as a young boy in Las
Vegas, and it’s taken him around the world. It made him famous, and, near
the end, it took him to a secluded gate near parking lot “A” at the
National Tennis Center. It was a few minutes before 10 a.m. on Saturday
morning. Andre Agassi waved to a passing limo, his tennis bag hanging cool
and familiar over his shoulder, like a pair of low-slung six-guns.

He walked slow, his emotions pushed inward. The man-child who preached style
over substance, he’s gone. An assassin’s in his place. And assassins walk
slow. Assassins ain’t scared of a damn thing, certainly not a Grand Slam
semifinal.

At 35, he was the oldest man in the tournament. Some of the world’s greatest
players weren’t even born when he first started coming to the U.S. Open two
decades ago. The belly of Arthur Ashe Stadium seemed like an old friend as he
made his way toward the locker room, placing the bag safely in stall 238,
taking out a tube of sunscreen for his bald head. He needed to warm up, to
ease the past two weeks of matches from his legs, to work out the kinks from
his chronically ailing back. Maybe they could do it once more, win a ninth
Grand Slam, for old time’s sake.

“You never know when it’s your last go,” Agassi said. “I’ve been around
long enough to know how short-lived all of this is.”

Agassi and coach Darren Cahill began hitting balls on center court. The
stadium was empty, save 30 or so people, and the balls coming off their
rackets sounded like gunfire. Pop. Grunt. Pop. Workers took the covers off
the waiting television cameras; in less than two hours, Agassi would stare
down 22-year-old Robby Ginepri, aiming for the most unlikely Grand Slam final
in his long, distinguished career. They worked on serves, volleys, overheads.
Finally, Agassi felt ready.

“That’s good, Darren,” he said.

As he left center court, which would soon be electric, one of the workers
called out, “Go get ’em, Andre!”

Agassi smiled and flashed a thumbs-up. He went back to the locker room,
leaving questions floating over the empty arena behind him. Would he hold up
again? Could he beat a young man and his aging body?

The questions were drowned out an hour and a half later when the crowd came
to life. Agassi and his opponent entered the arena, this time for real.
Ginepri dropped his bag and raced to the court, bouncing on the balls of his
feet. He was a toddler when Agassi first played in a U.S. Open.

Agassi slowly set up his chair, iced down his drinks and unwrapped his
racket. He wore white shorts, white shirt and white hat. What? Agassi decked
out in white?

“His whole image has changed over the years,” said fan and doubles whiz Bob
Bryan. “You know, his crazy clothes, flamboyant on the court, always
talking, breaking rackets. Now he’s wearing all white, not saying a word,
keeping his head together. He’s like a gentleman now. It’s weird how it’s
come full circle.”

Beneath the stadium, by the entrance to the players’ lounge, Phillip Agassi
got a chuckle out of his anti-Johnny Cash brother. Before the match, he
leaned in and told a secret. He still has a pair of Andre’s denim shorts at
home. When Phillip wants to think about how much things have changed, all he
has to do is peek at those worn shorts.

“I just can’t believe so much time has gone by,” he said. “It’s an
indication of how long he’s been doing this. He played Connors. He played
McEnroe. And it’s the same guy who’s playing Nadal and Federer. It’s three
different generations of tennis he’s played against.”

Phillip had front-row seats to his brother’s rise, fall and rise. Through
the 1990s, Andre became a caricature of himself, letting handlers dictate his
image until he wasn’t sure where he stopped and the rebel began. His career
fell apart in 1997, just after marrying stunner Brooke Shields. He ended up
No. 141 in the world, listing and bored.

“I did the island/frozen drink thing in ’97,” Andre said, laughing.

Phillip was there for all of that, and he was there two years later, when
Andre returned to the top, winning a dramatic French Open to complete the
career Grand Slam. He was there to see his brother divorce Shields, fall in
love with Steffi Graf and start a family. Soon, the public saw the Agassi they
’d known in private.

“He is becoming what he has always wanted to be as a person,” longtime
trainer and confidant Gil Reyes said. “And he’s not finished.”

The tough thing is, it won’t be his decision when it’s finished. Someone
will decide for him. Someone like Ginepri. On center court Saturday, Agassi
was up one set to love but struggling. Everything Ginepri hit was just so
hard, and the kid could get to anything. Down three games to two, Agassi
needed to tie the set. He was serving and, seven times through a long stretch
of deuce, he faced break point. All seven times, he managed to hold off
Ginepri. Agassi exhaled hard, winded.

Finally, he won the game. He trudged over to his chair and began digging
through his bag. He needed a new body. Was there one of those in there? He
settled for a new racket, carefully taking off the plastic wrapper. A swig of
energy drink, and it was time to go back to work. Agassi was fighting, but
youth was on the march.

It had been a tough year. In Paris, he looked like Willie Mays in the
outfield. He withdrew from Wimbledon for the second time in a row. Every
tournament became another last chance, and he somehow played well through the
summer. Doctors gave him cortisone injections, each one taking an
excruciating nine minutes. The anti-inflammatory drugs tried to convince his
body it was young again.

“If I didn’t thrash around on the tennis court with 22-year-olds,” he
said, “I wouldn’t need it, period. … I feel like I’ve been on borrowed
time for a while.”

The window was closing, and Agassi knew it. Tennis is a kid’s game and,
sooner rather than later, he’d have to head back home. That’s why his
friends were so emotional last Wednesday night, when Agassi took the best
fireballer James Blake had to offer and didn’t fall. They called it the most
remarkable match of his life.

“Go back in your mind to 2-1, in the fifth set,” Reyes said. “Andre
sprinted to his chair from the baseline. At that point, the gloves were off,
and at that point he dug down deep. At that point, it was no longer just
about the tennis.”

It wasn’t games and sets and matches anymore. It was a man showing himself
and anyone else who cared that it wasn’t over. Agassi came into this U.S.
Open, wanting to prove that he still had some of the talent he’d once spent
like beer money.

Fourteen years ago, just a punk, he watched 39-year-old Jimmy Connors make a
run to the 1991 Open semifinals, capturing the attention of the country. It’
s taken age, and that fall to 141st, to make Agassi realize how sweet one
more shot of glory tastes to yesterday’s champion.

“I don’t know if I was old enough to really understand what it meant for
him,” Agassi said. “I’ve heard him talk about it as if it was the most
meaningful thing to him. … I have always wanted to do that, you know.”

This tournament has given him the chance, a final reward for the man who’s
won everything. He wanted to know whether he had the guts to be great after
his skills began to desert him. He wanted to win with heart as he once did
with dominant strokes. He wanted to cap off the transformation of his life
from egomaniacal pretty boy to grounded husband and father. To complete the
circle.

Sometimes, if he’s driving alone or with Reyes, there’s a song he likes to
sing. It’s by Barry Manilow, another sign he’s no longer the denim-wearing
rock star. It’s Agassi’s theme as his career winds down. When he needs to
remind himself how far he’s come, he’ll crank up the stereo and wail.

I made it through the rain

I kept my world protected

I made it through the rain

I kept my point of view

I made it through the rain

And found myself respected

By the others who

Got rained on too

And made it through.

He made it to the fifth set, after winning the third and losing the fourth.
It was his third fifth-setter in a row, but the fifth set is where champions
eat.

When Agassi broke Ginepri to go up 4-2 on the way to a 6-4, 5-7, 6-3, 4-6,
6-3 win, the thing was academic. On match point, Agassi ripped an ace past
his opponent, 120 miles per hour, about the same speed as his first serve of
the afternoon. He’d done what Connors had failed to do all those years ago:
advance it to the finals, where he’d face a dominant Roger Federer.

The crowd went nuts as Agassi left the court. His wife opened the door to the
players’ lounge, peeking her head out. The Agassi kids raced past her toward
daddy. First, the little boy Jaden. Then his baby girl, tottering on the gray
carpet toward the tunnel. Agassi spotted Jaz and switched to baby talk.

“Come here,” he said in a falsetto as onlookers cooed.

For people who wonder how Agassi put his career back together, how he’s
still alive against the young guns, look no farther than these children. He’
s loved having them in the city during this tournament. No longer concerned
with A-list parties, he’s taken his family to Broadway shows. The kids have
shaken him awake in the morning, ready to make a fort out of the sheets. They
’ve given an erratic life balance.

“I’ll never have more pressure on me than when I clip my little girl’s
fingernails,” he said. “So for me, it’s about perspective.”

There’s one more dragon to slay, the machine-like Federer. Agassi’s lost
the last seven matches to the 24-year-old and knows time isn’t granting any
favors. Maybe he turns back into a pumpkin today. But maybe he doesn’t.

“I don’t know what my chances are,” he said. “We’ll find out.”

It’s been a week for the ages. For the past three matches, fans didn’t see
Agassi simply play tennis. He was doing something much more compelling. He
was playing against his own body, against the end of a storied career.

“How do you find words for what this means?” he said. “This has been some
of the greatest memories I’ve ever had on a tennis court. I’ll have these
memories with me the rest of my life. I mean, to be in the finals at age 35
just means you’re going to have to put up with me a lot longer.”

Andre Agassi smiled. The journey might be nearing its end, but it isn’t over
yet.



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