March 1996
A winner becomes a champion
By John Feinstein
Tennis began 1995 hoping that the story of the year would be The Rivalry. Pete Sampras vs. Andre Agassi would save the game from itself.
More than 12 months later, The Rivalry is still a TV commercial waiting to happen. Not that there haven't been moments: Two good, though not great, Grand Slam finals (at the Australian and U.S. Opens); both men playing brilliant tennis at times; and the No. 1 spot being bounced back and forth. But we still weren't anywhere near Borg-McEnroe or McEnroe-Connors or even Becker-Edberg. That may come in 1996 or in the more distant future.
But 1995 did give us something special. It gave us The Champion. It gave us a hero. It gave us Pete Sampras. The case can be made that if Cal Ripken had not broken Lou Gehrig's consecutive-games-played record with such remarkable style, Sampras would have been
Sports Illustrated's Sportsman of the Year. When was the last time an active male tennis player deserved serious consideration for the award?
Arthur Ashe won it the year before he died for his achievements after tennis. But none of tennis's recent No. 1 players has come close; none was very much more than a tennis-playing, money-making machine.
"What Pete has done is deal with being at the top better than anyone in the men's game since Arthur," says Mary Carillo, who saw Sampras up close as much as anyone in 1995. "Forget the tennis, the guy is just good people. He's always been that way. The difference is that now, a lot more people know it."
Adversity is always a part of heroism. That was certainly part of Ashe's story. It is also worth noting that the young Ashe was often labeled boring because he didn't show a lot of emotion on the court. He was quiet, almost shy, when he first came of age as a star. It was only later, toward the end of his playing career and then as Davis Cup captain, that he became one of the sport's more eloquent spokespersons.
It is unlikely that Sampras will go on to equal Ashe's monumental achievements. Few people reach that level in life. But it will be fascinating to watch him continue to grow. Last year, for the first time, people found out he wasn't boring; that he does have emotions; that he is far more than a kid with a huge serve and a sweet smile.
Sampras spent all of 1995 dealing with the illness of his coach and friend Tim Gullikson. The most unforgettable image of the year was the sight of Sampras, tears pouring down his face, battling through the fifth set of his quarterfinal against Jim Courier in Australia.
Everyone saw that match, or replays of it, and it changed Sampras's image forever. Of course that wasn't what he set out to do. In an era when almost every famous athlete counts on his agent or his shoe company to sculpt his image, Sampras changed his by showing his humanity.
The second most touching moment of 1995 wasn't seen by millions. In fact, it was seen by almost no one. It came during the meaningless final singles match of the U.S's semifinal victory over Sweden in Las Vegas when Tim Gullikson replaced Tom Gullikson in the captain's chair for several games while Sampras played Stefan Edberg. Carillo noticed what was going on and became so choked up she had trouble getting the attention of her producer to get a shot of Tim sitting in for Tom.
And through the year, through all this emotional upheaval, Sampras, pushed no doubt by Agassi, continued to become a better tennis player. By winning Wimbledon and the U.S. Open in '95, Sampras now has won seven Grand Slam titles. He won't be 25 until August. If he can stay healthy -- and that is always a big "if" with him -- he has a reasonable chance to match and surpass Roy Emerson's all-time record of 12 men's Grand Slam singles titles.
But to be truly special, a tennis player has to create a Davis Cup record for himself. Sampras hadn't done that before last year. In fact, some of his worst memories came from Davis Cup. When the U.S. drew the Russians in last year's final --on slow, red clay -- it looked as if Sampras would be nothing more than a bit player.
But then fate, in the form of Agassi's chest injury, intervened. Sampras went out on his least favorite surface and beat Andrei Chesnokov on the first day, collapsing with cramps at the finish. He came back less than 24 hours later to team with Todd Martin to win the doubles on a day when no one expected him to play, then blew away a shocked Yevgeny Kafelnikov to clinch the Cup on Sunday.
There is a big difference, especially nowadays, between a winner and a champion. Deion Sanders may be a winner, but he isn't a champion. Greg Norman is a winner, but not a champion. Mike Tyson is a winner, but not a champion.
A champion is someone who wins when it isn't easy; someone who gets it done when mere physical prowess isn't enough. Ripken is a champion. Steffi Graf is a champion. Hakeem Olajuwon is a champion. And now, Sampras is a champion.
Before 1995, he was a winner but hadn't taken the next step, in large part because he hadn't needed to. In 1995, he had a choice: fold, because life got hard, or rise to a new level.
Sampras rose. By doing so, he made 1995 a tennis year worthy of our cheers. And our tears.