A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

myself, I fought like mad. The New York crowd was firmly behind me, and they really appreciated the
lengths to which I went to try and stay in the match. But woozy and clearly on my last legs, I lost, 7–5 in
the fifth. The struggle was of such high quality that it captivated many, and by the time it was over, chaos
more or less reigned. Jaime and I had turned in the most riveting match of the tournament, providing many
with an unforgettable moment.
As soon as the match ended, tournament officials hustled me into the referee’s office, which was
alongside the short tunnel through which players entered Louis Armstrong Stadium. Attendants there
stripped me and hooked up the IV bags. If you’ve never had an IV, it’s a really weird experience. The IV
bag contains water loaded with various minerals that alleviate dehydration. Since they hook you up
intravenously, the effect is instantaneous. Seconds after the fluids enter your bloodstream, you go from
being a near zombie to bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. When the IV kicked in for me, the first thing I saw
was the familiar face of Vitas Gerulaitis.
Seeing the kind of shape I was in, Vitas had rushed down from the commentary booth as soon as the last
ball was hit. He volunteered to go over to the locker rooms to get my clothes and incidentals (back then,
the locker rooms were a long walk from Louis Armstrong Stadium). When he returned, Vitas waited until
I was sufficiently recovered to dress, and then he helped me out of the place, carrying my racket bag. The
minute we stepped out of the office, the flashbulbs went off and I realized that a long line of reporters had
formed along the wall in the bowels of the stadium, waiting for me.
I declined to do any interviews, claiming I just needed to rest. But Vitas exchanged a few words with
some of the writers whom we both knew. Later, the New York Daily News’s ace sports columnist Mike
Lupica had a great piece that really nailed the spirit of the moment. It was mostly a tribute to the bond
between Vitas and me. Other writers described the match in riveting detail, and everyone seemed to agree
that it was an epic.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the last I would see of my friend Vitas. He died in a tragic
accident just weeks later, succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning while sleeping in the pool house on
a friend’s estate in the glitzy Hamptons on New York’s Long Island. When I got the news, I immediately
called Vitas’s mom. Like everyone else, I just called her “Mrs. G.” She was much loved by Vitas’s
friends (and they were legion), and she was always happy to cook for Vitas and whichever of his friends
happened to be around on any given day or weekend. When I got her on the line, she was still so
distraught she could barely speak. It was terribly sad. I joined countless people in and out of tennis in
mourning the loss of a great friend.
I couldn’t know it then, but there was more devastating news to come.