A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

Andre was bouncing the ball, getting ready to serve. His hair was a little stringy from perspiration and
he was almost glowing in that loud, lime green outfit. I got into my receiving crouch. Being up at least one
service break and having a match point with the other guy serving is the ideal way to finish a match.
There’s not a lot of pressure. You’re in position to hold one or two more times and end the match. On a
medium to fast court, you love your chances as long as you have a solid serve—and don’t choke. You’re
playing with house money; you can take a big cut on the return, risking nothing. Meanwhile, the guy
serving to stay alive in the match is feeling the noose tighten.
Throughout his career, Andre generally played fast. He was all business. But at big moments,
everything slows down a little—and if it doesn’t, you have to make it slow down. That’s one of the first
and most important things you need to know if you want to close out matches. You need to be deliberate,
because it takes great self-control to close matches.
Andre bounced the ball, looking at his shoes, no doubt wondering whether he should go for an
aggressive serve to win the point or play it safe and make me win it with a good shot. It’s easy in that
situation to get overcautious, or overeager. That is one of the oldest dilemmas in the book, but it’s still a
dilemma I’ll take at any time. I want to be the one to control the last point, for better or worse.
Andre bounced the ball one last time and went into that quick service motion of his. I was ready. Some
six thousand miles away, at a mall near my family’s home in Palos Verdes, a slight man of Greek descent
was walking around in a shopping mall with his wife. That was my mom and dad; they were too nervous
to watch the match, so they decided to go shopping instead.
Andre hit a good serve, and I returned with the backhand. It was a defensive, fend-off return that fell
kind of short. He moved in to take a relatively easy forehand and he flubbed it, driving the ball into the
net.
I put my arms in the air, and looked over at the player guest box. It was full of cheering people, but the
only guy I knew in there was Joe Brandi. Across the continent, in that mall, my dad and mom were still
wandering around, not knowing what had happened. It was some time before they strolled by an
electronics store and saw that the televisions were all tuned to the U.S. Open trophy presentation
ceremony.
The kid on camera accepting the U.S. Open men’s singles trophy was me. I had arrived, at blinding
speed. But now I found myself in territory that was unfamiliar, and for which I was unprepared. There
would be payback, because nobody gets a free ride.