September, 1996
the Player
By David Higdon
Photographed by George Holz
His job is to travel the world. So when tennis's top-ranked Pete Sampras needs to rack up downtime, he heads straight to his Florida home
"Honey, just go to bed." The woman's voice comes from the kitchen, where Pete Sampras's long-time girlfriend, De Laina Mulcahy, dips once again into the refrigerator for some Gatorade. Sampras, sprawled across the sofa in the living room, produces a smile that truly falls into the ear-to-ear category. "Didn't I just tell you that? " he counters. Indeed, Mulcahy is fighting fatigue herself, having spent the day with her law school textbooks, preparing for the final exams she'll eventually pass with flying colors.
Sampras grimaces, then releases a deep, tired breath. "I've got to hang in here just a little while longer," he mutters. Sampras, who hopes to win his fourth U.S. Open title in New York City this month and finish his fourth consecutive year ranked No. 1 in the world, is engaged in a struggle against a formidable yet familiar opponent: jet lag.
"Flying home from Asia just knocks me down for days," says Sampras, his eyes fading under his bushy eyebrows. Four nights ago -- or was it five? -- Sampras won the 1996 Japan Open to complete what he calls the Asian Double, having already captured the men's pro tour event in Hong Kong the week before. His route back to Tampa included a stopover in the Los Angeles area to spend time with his family and a brief, albeit emotional, visit to Chicago to see his cancer-stricken coach and best friend, Tim Gullikson. (A week following our visit, Gullikson succumbed to the disease, passing away at the age of 44. At the funeral, a weeping Sampras presented his first Wimbledon trophy to his coach's family.)
Throughout the heartbreaking ordeal with Gullikson, Sampras has spent more days at home and fewer days hoisting new trophies above his head. Winner of seven Grand Slam titles (the Grand Slams are the most prestigious tournaments of the year), Sampras realizes that he has entered a new phase in his still blossoming career -- and life. Certainly, Gullikson's death taught him that he wasn't immune from tragedy, a fact that has brought him even closer to Mulcahy.
Closer, at least, emotionally. When Sampras and Mulcahy are home together, the couple often operate on separate schedules -- and can be found in different rooms. While Mulcahy's headquarters are the library-office Green Room, Sampras tends to gravitate to the heart of the 5,500-Square-foot house. The Red Room is expansive and teems with family photos, mementos and an eclectic mix of tchotchkes acquired on countless trips abroad. It's here that he sprawls across the furniture in front of a huge entertainment unit that holds one large and two small televisions, a stereo, and his most prized possessions: an Australian Open trophy, three U.S. Open trophies, and three Wimbledon trophies.
These seven Grand Slam titles put Sampras in exclusive company. His contemporaries on the men's pro tennis tour -- fellow Americans Michael Chang, Andre Agassi and Jim Courier -- have won, respectively, one, three and four Grand Slam tournaments. John McEnroe captured seven Grand Slam titles during his career, while Jimmy Connors won eight Grand Slams over 22 years. Sampras, who just turned 25 in August, grew up admiring the feats of these two superstars, but he modeled his game and demeanor after Australian great Rod Laver, winner of 11 Grand Slam titles and considered by many to be the best ever to have played the game. "The goal has always been Wimbledon,'' Pete Fischer, Sampras's childhood coach, told a reporter back in 1987 when Sampras was just a 16-year-old string bean from Rancho Palos Verdes, California. "The competition has always been Laver."
From the time Sampras was 8, Fischer, a neonatologist by profession, knew he had a prodigy on his hands. "I always told him he was going to be the greatest player ever," says Fischer, who stopped coaching the athlete soon after he turned pro in 1988. When Sampras won the U.S. Open two years later, at 19, the youngest men's champion in the tournament's history, it seemed he was heading in that direction. He finished 1990 ranked No. 5 in the world, up 76 notches from the previous year.
Then Sampras promptly went into a tailspin. He dumped his coach. He admitted after losing at the 1991 U.S. Open that he was more relieved than disappointed, a statement that drew criticism from the media and Connors, who felt the youngster demonstrated a lack of guts. "The limelight got to me," Sampras says now. "I wasn't prepared for it, and I wasn't comfortable being the center of attention. I still wanted to hide in my little corner and not be bothered. That, combined with the fact that my game itself still had a lot of holes in it, made it an extremely tough period for me."
Sampras rebounded, thanks in large part to the on- and off-court support and guidance of Gullikson, a former player himself, whom Sampras hired as his coach in 1992. The gregarious Gully immediately endeared himself to the young pro, and soon took on a larger more informal role as Sampras's primary confidant on the globe-trotting tennis circuit. When Gullikson's brain cancer was diagnosed during the 1995 Australian Open tournament, Sampras broke down in tears during one of his matches.
During the 16 months of Gullikson's illness, Sampras and Mulcahy, the one and only love of his life, strengthened their bond. Though his travel schedule and her studies restrict their time together, the couple have been inseparable in spirit practically from the moment they met at a 1990 Dallas tennis exhibition. They embarked on a first date that Sampras claims "lasted five days."
Six years later, the two finish each other's sentences and tease each other relentlessly. Sampras, whose discomfort around bright lights always has hidden his natural charm and wit, laughs when he recalls their first stroll through the house. "When we walked into this place, she looked around and said: 'It's perfect! Let's change everything" The bedroom "had four-inch slabs of smoked glass all around the walls," Mulcahy says upon entering the room, now accented by an antique armoire stuffed with books at one end and a Stairmaster turned clothes rack at the other. "It looked like Vegas in here.''
In the long hallway leading to the master bath are Sampras and Mulcahy's walk-in closets. His contains shelves stacked with dozens of T-shirts and shorts, and lined with the same few styles of spanking new Nike tennis shoes. Hers demonstrates a more diverse taste in foot-wear. "And here we have the Imelda Marcos closet," Sampras announces as he walks past. "Not true," Mulcahy, age 31, shoots back. "I like to think of it as the Neiman Marcus closet."
"When we first moved in here, I told De Laina that all I need is a TV, a hot shower and a bedroom," Sampras says as he steps out onto the covered back deck. "Now that we've done all this, though, I enjoy it. I really miss it when I'm gone. I can't wait to get home."
The following morning, with Mulcahy out the door at dawn for the first of five consecutive days of exams, the Red Room is transformed into an indoor gym. Sampras has brought in personal trainer Todd Snyder for a week of intensive training to prepare for the physically draining French Open. The Lifecycle emerges from the corner, and Snyder sets up his massage table (upon which Sampras will do both flexibility and strength training). "When I have time off, I take a few days to relax, maybe play some golf," Sampras says. "Then I start chomping at the bit. I want to train; I want to go out and play tennis again."
That evening, the intensity of the day's workout is clear. During the car ride to a hockey game, here sits Sampras -- whom many regard as a throwback to the days when gentlemen played the sport of tennis -- with his pants pulled down below his knees, cruising the highway in his underwear. The reason is revealed when Snyder leans over the front seat and attaches an electric stimulating device to Sampras's sore left knee. By the time the car reaches the arena, Sampras pulls his pants back up, snaps an R.E.M. cap on his head, and assumes the aura of a man who is comfortable with both himself and his world. Waiting patiently in line to go inside, Sampras hears someone shout: "Welcome home, Pete! " He grins at the fan, then answers: "Thanks. Happy to be here."
(Photo captions)
At their bi-level contemporary home in Tampa, Pete Sampras and girlfriend De Laina Mulcahy shoot it out on the covered deck that wraps around a pool, billiards table and a grill. Above, Sampras holds on to a Wilson Pro Staff tennis racket.
Between tournaments, Sampras works out with trainer Todd Snyder (top) and hangs out with Mulcahy (above, with Weimaraner Pistol). Despite the mental and physical demands of spending 32 weeks a year on the road chasing tennis balls, Sampras finds time to shoot hoops on a nearby court or put together a rousing game of water football (opposite).
A Sweeping staircase (top) leads to the two guest rooms and a sitting area where the wall is papered with framed magazine covers (opposite). ''After the first couple of years, there was no more wall space, so I gave up hanging them," explains Mulcahy. The Red Room (above), Pete's favorite, showcases some of his Grand Slam trophies atop the wan unit.