A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

eyes. I think he saw me as different from other kids and maybe that was something that kept any other
impulses he may have had in check. There was also my dad. He was savvy, and hands-on as a parent, if
not a tennis coach. It would have been very risky for Fischer to try anything inappropriate.
By the time Fischer was arrested, he was long gone from my life. I didn’t feel obliged to call him, and I
didn’t see him until I returned from Europe. My father, though, spoke with Pete periodically, and stood by
him. I think it was out of sheer loyalty for the role Fischer had played in our family and in my career. My
father really appreciated that. In turn, Pete turned to my family for support when the scandal broke. He
resolutely clung to his claim of innocence, and my dad treated him as if he was innocent until proven
guilty.
When I returned to the States, my family told me that Fischer wanted to get together with me, to explain
his situation. I reluctantly consented and suggested to Pete that we meet for lunch at a café in Torrance,
Mimi’s. The meeting was uncomfortable. I didn’t want to believe the accusations against him, but I also
didn’t have the guts to look him in the eye and demand that he tell me the truth. Everything he said
suggested that the charges were false, but he acted a little strange during lunch.
Once he became comfortable, he told me that while driving to Mammoth in the recent past, he had
found “Mother Mary”—I presumed he meant the New Testament Mary, the mother of Jesus. This was odd
because Pete was a Jew and a committed atheist—you wouldn’t find a more rational, black-and-white
man on the planet. Just as strikingly, he was actually divulging feelings, something he had never, ever done
before. I didn’t know what to do with all of this.
I think if Pete were still in my life, I would have needed more definite assurance of his innocence. But
while I felt I owed him a certain amount of support, it was only because of the past. I supported him as a
friend, and I even lent him some money (which he did eventually pay back). I know he went to our house
for dinner a few times before his trial, but by then I was back on the road, playing, so my family had to
bear the brunt of that situation. Thankfully, the press didn’t make a big deal out of the scandal. I was in no
way connected to it, and it had been years since I had a relationship of any kind with Fischer.
This much was certain: Pete’s life was in ruins, and he didn’t have many friends left. Neither my
parents nor my siblings talked much about the case; we all just kind of supported Pete through the dark
times as the trial loomed and his fate hung in the balance. Once the shock of being charged wore off, some
of Fischer’s signature arrogance crept back in. When the trial rolled around, my father attended for a few
days. I admired that in Dad; he could very easily have cut Fischer off and left him to swing in the breeze.
The trial ended when Pete accepted a plea bargain that reduced his jail term to six years, of which he
served four before being released. He told my dad that he took the plea bargain because he didn’t trust his
fate to “twelve people from Norwalk” (the California site of the pending trial). I guess Fischer was
saying that he didn’t think he could get a fair trial in such a conservative place. It was an odd tack to take
for a man who claimed he was innocent and who had so much to lose in the event of a conviction. In
addition to doing hard time, he would lose his license to practice medicine and leave himself open to
civil litigation. A guilty plea destroyed the life he had built just as effectively as a guilty verdict. The only
difference would be in the amount of time he served.
Right before Fischer went to jail, he spent a little time at our house. His fiancée was still in the picture,
but she would soon leave him. He talked about jail in an almost upbeat way, saying crazy things, like he
was going to learn French, use the time to expand his horizons. Meanwhile, we were thinking, Pete,
whatever the truth is, you’re going to prison. Your life is ruined. It’s going to be horrible. How could
you get yourself into this?
After Fischer went to jail, he started writing me letters. I could barely read his handwriting in those
long, rambling communications. They were often written after he watched a match I played. I read a few
of them, or parts of them. He was very complimentary. He reiterated that I was going to make people
forget Laver, just writing the same stuff he used to say.