A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

I was within one match of Emerson’s record twelve Grand Slam singles titles as I left Wimbledon, and
there was no better place to equal his mark than at the U.S. Open. But I lost at Flushing Meadows to the
swashbuckling Australian with the samurai topknot and zinc-oxide war paint, Pat Rafter. I would have
made the rest of my life that year a lot easier if I had managed to win in New York, because it would have
spared me having to undertake a late-season push to clinch the number one spot for a record sixth
consecutive year.
As I looked at my prospects for the fall of 1998, I realized that I had no appetite for the indoor
European events that take place after the Grand Slams are all done. Six or seven years earlier, I wanted to
win everything. For years, the mileage on my odometer had been building up, and while my engine hadn’t
lost any pep, my shocks were getting worn and things were beginning to break. For an athlete, that means
injuries, or moments when the mind just snaps and fails to focus in the correct, relaxed way that helps you
win tennis matches. All those years at number one took a lot out of me, and had me thinking a lot more
about peaking at the right, choice times of the year—meaning, for the Grand Slams.
Nevertheless, I was determined to make a push for that ironman record of most years at number one. It
may not be as spectacular a record as the Grand Slam singles title mark, but in many ways it’s more
significant because greatness begins and ends with going out there, day after day, and getting the job done,
learning to live and survive with that target on your back. The essence of greatness is consistency.
I’m often asked to name the GOAT (Greatest of All Time), and to me there are five guys in that
conversation if you count guys who played at least a significant portion of their careers in the Open era
that began in 1968. In all honesty, I just don’t feel qualified to judge the great players of the amateur era,
when top players turned pro and were barred from playing the Grand Slams. My five guys are Rod Laver,
Björn Borg, Ivan Lendl, Roger Federer, and—no arrogance intended—me. My reasoning is pretty simple:
to me, the GOAT was not just a guy who won X number of titles, or who finished on top X number of
years; he’s also the one who came closest to dominating his main rivals throughout his career.
Some people may ask, “Lendl?” Well, yes, because Ivan really transcended the game in his time. His
record against Connors was an amazing 22–13 and against McEnroe he was 21–15. How do you argue
with that? And Connors had a nemesis in Borg, while McEnroe was manhandled frequently by Lendl. The
only thing Lendl lacked was good PR, and the charisma people want in a great champion. He was in the
final of the U.S. Open eight consecutive years—and the Open is thought by many to be the most demanding
of the majors. So those are my top guys, with all due respect to Connors, McEnroe, and Andre Agassi,
whom I put in the second five of my all-time top ten.
It’s interesting to compare the feat of breaking Emerson’s singles title record (twelve Slams) with the
accomplishment of finishing at number one for six years in a row. A player can equal Emerson’s record by
winning two majors a year for six years. That isn’t too great an ask, given that a great grass- or clay-court
player could win just one tournament on a less desirable surface to get those two majors. Six years is a
pretty reasonable window, given that McEnroe is the only one among the great players who won all of his
majors in a span of fewer than seven years (Connors won majors almost ten years apart). Seven years is
twenty-eight Grand Slam events; to win twelve is a massive achievement, but not unthinkable.
So you’re really talking about a month of great tennis out of every year and you have your twelve
majors. The rest of the time, you can hide, relax, or plot your strategy while marshaling your resources.
But you can’t do that if you want to finish number one. You don’t get that top spot unless you play and win
a lot of tournaments and matches over the course of the year. Most players would trade majors for
consistency any day, much like most baseball players would rather be on a World Series winner once than
a team that finishes tops in its league for years but never takes the fall classic. But the best of players win
big, and they win often. They grind.
Ultimately, it was grinding that almost undid me in that period in 1988 when I was driving to capture