A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

ound-robin was Andre, and he beat me like a drum (6–2, 6–2). Nicolas Lapentti took me to two
tiebreakers in my next match, but I toughed out both of them to stay alive in the round-robin. I notched a
win over Gustavo Kuerten in my final round-robin match, and that qualified me for the knockout
semifinals. After beating Nicolas Kiefer in my first match, I faced Andre—less than a week after he had
tagged me two and two. I surprised him, winning in straight sets.
Despite my win in Hanover, Andre finished 1999 at number one, ending my record run. It was a wellearned
coup. Andre had come back from the dead that year, careerwise, to win the French Open. He also
bagged the U.S. Open while I lay on my sofa in L.A. nursing my sore back. We didn’t really know it, but
we were entering the last and greatest stage of our rivalry.
Andre certified that early in 2000, when he knocked me out in the semifinals of the Australian Open.
Although I cared about each and every major, the loss didn’t hurt that much. The truth is, I was starting to
save myself and choose my spots like never before. A host of talented young players, including Pat Rafter,
Lleyton Hewitt, Roger Federer, Carlos Moya, and Marat Safin were starting to develop dangerous games,
and those new guys would be giving fits to old dogs like me, Andre, Boris, Goran, Jim, and Michael
Chang. I still had majors in me, of that I had no doubt. Emerson’s record was still unfinished business. But
I was on the downhill side of my career, and I knew it.
I won Miami again in 2000, but it was my only title before the spring clay-court circuit. In Paris, Mark
Philippoussis took me out in the first round, 8–6 in the fifth; I had not survived the second round at Roland
Garros since 1997. Those good years, when I would battle guys like Sergi Bruguera and Jim Courier
straight up, in tough, hard-fought matches, were a thing of the past.
My Wimbledon campaign in 2000 got off on the wrong foot. Somehow, while preparing for the
tournament, I pulled something in my shin and developed a little inflammation and fluid under my skin.
Also, Paul had picked up some new running shoes for me, and working out in them may have aggravated
the condition. It was annoying, but seemingly nothing major—until I played and won my second round
against Karol Kucera. In that match, I felt pain every time I put weight on my right foot. That night I had an
MRI and the bad news was that I was having a fluid buildup in the irritated area.
I made a reference to the injury in the presser after the Kucera match, and the media were all over it. I
felt enough pain and discomfort to consider pulling out of the tournament; it would have been crazy to
jeopardize my longevity in a desperate attempt to break Emerson’s record. On the other hand, memories
of my enforced fall hiatus and the frustrations I experienced in Australia and France had me keyed up and
unwilling to withdraw. I talked to former Wimbledon champ Pat Cash, and he recommended an
acupuncturist he used. I also decided that if necessary, I would get shot up with cortisone, too. The drug
knocks out inflammation and soreness, but it’s also dangerous to use with any frequency or in large doses.
After my second-round match, I no longer practiced on the alternate off days for the rest of the
tournament. I paid frequent visits to the acupuncturist, even though I didn’t notice much of a change after
the sessions, and I had myself shot up before matches. At times I still considered pulling out, but when I
looked at the draw, I liked what I saw. It just kept opening up for me.
Ultimately, my path to the final went through Justin Gimelstob (third round), Jonas Bjorkman, Jan-
Michael Gambill, and Vladimir Voltchkov (one of the all-time Wimbledon surprise semifinalists). It
appeared easy, but the journey was full of pain and stress. I went out for every match without having hit a
ball in practice (other than in the match warm-up). That made me uneasy. The constant pain was wearing
on me; pain has a way of breaking down your focus and confidence. It can put you out of sorts and pretty
soon your game is all over the place.
Pat Rafter emerged as my opponent for the final. A late starter as a Grand Slam contender, Rafter was
at the peak of his career, and his relentless attacking style was especially dangerous at Wimbledon. Pat