The Great Ganesha

With most people reeling over Germany’s loss yesterday, Agassi’s exit from Wimbledon and his impending exit from the Grand Slam circuit after the US Open, was old news for many and perhaps even non-news for some. But for me, it was the end of an era. An era which the BBC has gone so far as to call, “a golden age in tennis.” [link]

I am by no means a sports fanatic, and I can’t provide in-depth analysis of a player’s game, nor can I give you detailed statistics. I’m just a regular guy who likes to watch a game of Grand Slam tennis once in a while, with a particular fondness for Wimbledon. So when I first saw Agassi on the Wimbledon courts with his long hair, earring, designer stubble and patches of color on his T-shirt, he was -to me- the quintessential rebel. So many of my friends hated him for his American looks and his “lack of respect” for the institution. I, on the other hand, identified with him immediately. Perhaps it was because everyone else hated him. Perhaps it was because I was usually the odd one out myself. Most likely, it was both. Whatever the reason, the fact that this strange guy who dared to wear rock star hair could play some pretty mean tennis gave me hope.

He wasn’t McEnroe (whom he did manage to win against) with the tantrums and the overt sulking. His was a quieter, gentler rebellion. Losing with dignity, he fought back with his hard work; and his rage at losing came out only through his game. I recently learned that after losing to Leconte in the first round in his first game ever on the grass courts, he refused to play Wimbledon for three years. He returned after playing Courier in the French Open final, to reach the quarter-finals, and win the Wimbledon in the following year. As one fan put it, “He was a real showman and now he is a real ambassador for the game of tennis.” [link]

Of Armenian heritage, he is the offspring of sports royalty - his father represented Iran for boxing in the Olympics twice. There is little doubt that Agassi himself is a product of his father’s stellar coaching, which began with tennis balls hung over his crib to develop eye coordination. His childhood was spent hitting 3,000-5,000 tennis balls a day, and he was practicing with Jimmy Connors and Roscoe Tanner by the time he was just five. He won the grass court title only once, but he dazzled with his lycra tees, his perseverance and his baseline shots. And after a tumultuous, but brief, marriage to a beautiful movie star (Brooke Shields), several Grand Slam titles, being the world’s top-ranked tennis player and being the only tennis player to be in the top ten in three different decades, he’s still winning Grand Slam matches.

Over a decade and a half after I first saw him, he played what was to be his last match on the grass courts against Rafael Nadal. His life has certainly come full circle, I thought to myself. There he was, completely (voluntarily) bald now, playing against a long-haired youth who just won the French Open. And now, like me, he’s older, settled down, and he even has two kids with his wife and fellow “golden age” tennis player, Steffi Graf. Yet, he’s still fighting, still playing and still winning. And he still continues to inspire me with his game, his demeanour and his chutzpah for taking on an opponent who was all of one year old when he himself set foot on the Wimbledon courts for the first time. His exit will certainly be the end of a golden age. He will be sorely missed…

Photo credit: AP/Anja Niedringhaus