A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

The new shoe episode in 1994 set me back a good deal at a time when I was really starting to roll. In
addition to having my momentum broken, I lost out on prize money as well as a $1.6 million bonus I
would have earned from the ATP Tour for finishing as the top player and meeting all my tournament
commitments (meaning if I showed up at all the important events I had signed up to play; the tour was
always trying to induce players to play as often as they could). But I was clearly unable to make my
commitments because of the foot injury.
Endorsement deals are not especially complicated or risky (rackets can be an exception), but
sometimes you have conflicts. Nike was confident that it made a great shoe, and believed that the problem
had more to do with my foot than their product. It was tricky, as I was just entering into what I hoped
might be a long-term relationship with Nike (I always preferred long, stable relationships, in every aspect
of my life), and coming into the golden age of my career. The last thing I needed was to get into a tiff with
Nike, which had already launched a major ad campaign (you may remember it as that “King of Swing”
series of commercials). I accepted the shoe problem as an unfortunate start-up glitch, and before six
months were out we came up with a good shoe that I wore for the rest of my career, the Air Oscillate.
I started my 1994 fall European tour in Stockholm. One night while I was at the practice courts, Tim
fainted, landed on a glass coffee table, and cut his face all up. At the time, Tim was on a crazy diet and he
was running a lot. He was a bit of a health nut, and he never met a fad diet that he didn’t try out. When
they found me at the courts and told me my coach was at the hospital, I was stunned. But they said he had
just fainted and cut himself up, so I played and won my match, and then went to see Tim. It looked like
he’d gotten his ass kicked in a bar fight. The doctors suspected that the fainting spell or blackout had
something to do with his heart.
I went on to have a solid fall, winning Antwerp and the year-end ATP Finals, where my last two
matches were wins over, respectively, Andre and Boris Becker. In my last event of the year, I was upset
in the final of the Grand Slam Cup by Magnus Larsson, who walked off with the biggest—by far—payday
of his career: $2 million. But the memorable thing about that tournament was Tim Gullikson having
another fainting episode—the second in the span of just a few weeks. It occurred one morning while I was
busy doing some promotional things with local Nike guys; Tim passed out back at the hotel and ended up
in the hospital again. This time, his wife, Rosemary, flew over to Germany. Again, the doctors looked at
his heart—they thought they found some congenital deficiency, but nobody was convinced of anything.
Everyone just carried on, with growing concern.
The fainting incidents did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm at the end of the year. I had won two
majors, plus the ATP Finals. The foot injury may have cost me a U.S. Open title, but despite missing all
those summer events I still finished the year at number one for the second year in a row. I felt confident
enough to take a brief rest for the holidays and go into the 1995 Australian Open without playing any
official tournaments to tune up my game. Tim was all fired up, too. He loved the game of tennis and
enjoyed the laid-back atmosphere in Melbourne. Many of his pals from his days on the tour would be
there, coaching or working in various tennis-related businesses. And his twin brother, Tom, would be
there, too.
I won my first two matches down under with a total loss of just eight games, and was due to play Lars
Jonsson in the third round. Tim warmed me up and returned to the locker room, where he suddenly and