US TENNIS
1996? 1997?
How I beat Pete....almost
By Aaron Gross

For more than a decade, my biggest win was the one I never got; my secret formula for success against Pete Sampras was the stuff of legend. Unfortunately, truth has a way of upsetting legend.

In 1980, when I was one of the top-ranked 12-year-olds in the Pacific Northwest, I received a phone call from a local teaching pro in my hometown of Portland, Ore. He wanted me to play some 9-year-old kid, visiting from Los Angeles. Never one to turn down a match, I shrugged and said O.K., even though I had to play my first-round match in an important tournament that evening.

"You agreed to play some 9-year-old?" my dad said, incredulously. "Why'd you do that?"

Again, I shrugged.

"You're wasting your time," he grumbled in disgust.

When I got to the courts I was introduced to a couple of Petes: the 9-year-old named Sampras and his coach, Pete Fischer.

After a short warmup, Sampras and I started playing. I soon realized that I had my work cut out for me. This kid was drilling forehand and two-handed backhand shots into the corners. He was hitting on the rise. And he was pumped, clenching his fist after hitting winners. This one-set showdown was serious stuff to him.

When I returned home after the match, my father asked how things had gone. I temporarily dodged the question. "O.K.," I muttered.

"You won, didn't you?" he asked.
My heart stopped. My palms got sweaty. So I did what any father-fearing junior tennis star would do. I lied.

"Yes, Dad, I won."
Gulp. I tried retreating from the room, but my father was too quick for me.

"What was the score?"
"Uh, 7-6."

I had reversed the victor and loser, but stayed faithful to the final score. It made me feel better. I had fibbed because I didn't want to have to face a barrage of questions and accusations from my father. I figured he would go back to his work, but I quickly discovered that my truthfulness in relating the closeness of the match provoked the exact response I was hoping to avoid.

"A tie-break? You had to go to a tie-break? Are you kidding me? Who was the kid? Is he ranked? Does he have a tough serve? What do you know about his coach?"

My head was ringing. I slinked away, humiliated.

Ironically, I proceeded to play the best tournament of my still-young tennis life that weekend. I reached the final of my first 14-and-under event. The only time I showed nerves was before that first match. I was waiting with my father for my match to be called when, out of the blue, Sampras and Fischer strolled up to say hello. They shook hands with my father, then Fischer started telling him about our match. I stood waiting for the bomb to drop, but Fischer -- and I'll always worship him for this -- didn't mention who had won. I was saved.

I played competitively through high school and college, running into Sampras on occasion on the national junior circuit. I always went out of my way to say hello and talk to him a bit, since, at the time, he was a bit of an outcast. Players, coaches and parents were jealous of him. He clearly was blessed with talent.

In 1990 he showed this talent to the world by winning the U.S. Open. I was happy for him. But it caused a problem for me. Suddenly, my dad remembered my "victory." I occasionally would overhear him bragging about how his son had whipped Sampras. This happened about a dozen times before I finally got up the nerve a couple of years ago to own up to the truth.

"Dad," I said, "I've got something to tell you."

I proceeded to tell him my dark little secret. My father looked straight into my eyes -- and then burst into laughter! Again, I had misjudged his response. I figured my confession would put an end to his story-telling days, In fact, the opposite happened. Now he's always regaling friends with the tale about how his son lost to Sampras and then, embarrassed by the defeat, lied to him about it.

Last year, a friend of mine told Sampras the story. He wanted Sampras to autograph a cover of TENNIS as a wedding gift for me. Sampras obliged, scribbling: "Aaron: I'm glad you finally fessed up that I kicked your ass."

He's not the only one.


Aaron Gross is director of The Academy at Eastmoreland Racquet Club in Portland, Ore.