A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

My journey to tennis stardom was a pretty straight path that I traveled quickly, thanks to my great
developmental environment. But there were uphills and downhills, and my toughest challenge was
changing my mind-set from grinder to attacker. I had to learn to start thinking differently, and more.
A grinder can lay back, waiting for a mistake, or tempt you to end points too quickly. An attacker has to
think a little more: Flat serve or kicker? Charge the net, or set up a groundstroke winner? Is my opponent
reading my serving pattern or shot selection? As a serve-and-volleyer, you attack; as a grinder you
counterattack. The basic difference between attacking and defending is that the former requires a plan of
attack and the latter calls for reaction and good defense. In both cases, execution is paramount.
Early on, I had to play attacking tennis with a so-so serve; the shot would not jell for me until around
the latter half of 1989. Have you ever seen a bowler in cricket throw the ball with that stiff, roundhouse
motion? It’s an exaggeration, but my serve was a little like that. I got the ball to the right place, with
decent power and spin, but the loose, whiplash swing, the explosive snap—those were yet to develop.
But the upside as I grew into my attacking game was that my emerging talents and personality were
well suited to the style. As I became an attacker, my athleticism began to emerge; as a result, my entire
game and attitude changed. But I made one big mistake. As I began to rely more and more on my natural
athleticism, I worked less diligently. Some of that had to do with the normal rite of passage to manhood.
As I approached sixteen, seventeen years of age, I became more introverted. I started to experience
feelings of insecurity. I had a lot going on internally, and in some ways my tennis suffered. My maturation
was a drawn-out process, and I more or less marked time, tenniswise. But I did reasonably well—well
enough to begin testing the waters at pro events. I had a breakout in 1988 at sixteen, at the U.S. Pro Indoor
tournament in Philadelphia.
It was a fitting place to pop onto the scene. The Pro Indoor was an established event with a great
tradition, run by a couple of old-school tennis types who were part of the game’s establishment, Ed and
Marilyn Fernberger. The Fernbergers ran a classy event; the U.S. Pro Indoor was a fixture on
Philadelphia’s winter athletic calendar, and it had always been at the forefront of the tennis boom. The
event was played in February in the cavernous Spectrum arena (capacity seventeen thousand), then the
home of the NHL Flyers and NBA 76ers.
The Fernbergers had been dedicated tennis aficionados since forever; they wooed and consistently got
the support of the best players, including Aussie icons Rod Laver and Ken Rosewall. The Fernbergers
flew in former champions as their guests. On any given night, the hospitality suite at the official
tournament was open until three or four A.M., and players, officials, and even press mingled freely and sat
around talking tennis with tournament guests like Don Budge, Vic Seixas, and John Newcombe. The
Ferbergers routinely flew in a planeload of British reporters to give the event added prestige.
I went to Philly to play in the qualifying draw in February of 1988. The main draw at an event has a
few places reserved for the survivors of the qualifying tournament, which can be a pretty grim experience.
It’s often played at a local club or in a big gym, and it generally attracts few or no spectators. The players
are journeymen, declining veterans, and still-developing talents fighting it out, hoping to make the big
show.
I battled my way through the qualifying, and was most impressed when I went to the Spectrum to
practice as a main-draw player. The painted cinder-block hallways under the stadium were lined with