A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

Doc was making such a big deal out of it. They finally dragged me off to the locker room and gave me a
pill that quickly helped stop the cramping, but every time I thought back to Doc Fareed’s panicked
reaction, I burst out laughing again.
Unfortunately, Jim lost the second rubber on Friday to Yevgeny Kafelnikov, leaving us tied at 1–1.
When Tom decided that I would be playing singles, he penciled in Todd and Richey Reneberg as the
doubles team. But with the score tied, Tom had second thoughts. Anytime the tie is deadlocked at 1–1 the
team that wins the doubles goes into the final day of singles with a huge advantage—and much less
pressure. That’s one of the beauties of Davis Cup—the importance of doubles, the game that plays second
fiddle to singles at regular tournaments.
Tom asked me how I felt about playing the doubles. I said, “Well, I’ve had better days . . . but yeah,
why not?” So the next day, Todd and I went out and played a very solid match to take the doubles. The
most valuable by-product of Gully’s shrewd move was that it took the Russians by surprise. Suddenly
they were down 1–2, on the brink of elimination and, despite their home-court advantage, looking at
having to beat two of the very top players in the world. That clay was the surface probably provided little
comfort after what I had done on day one. I was the dominant number one player in the world, and I had
taken personal control of the tie.
I was first up on Sunday. I felt a little heavy-legged but I knew I was one match away from a great
achievement. And I was going up against Kafelnikov, a guy I always enjoyed playing—a guy who was
good, and who lorded it over a lot of guys ranked lower down, but who always admired my game. Now
he had to beat me to keep his nation’s Davis Cup hopes alive.
For no good reason I can name, I played a great match at the most opportune of moments. Call it fate.
Call it lucking out. Call it whatever. The bottom line is that Yevgeny never had a chance. I got into the
zone a little bit. Surviving that Chesnokov match had really loosened me up, made me feel anything was
possible, and winning the doubles didn’t hurt. I mixed up my game against Kafelnikov. I served and
volleyed a bit, stayed back some, kept him off balance by alternately going for my big shots and then
hanging back, seeing what—if anything—he could bring to hurt me.
I led 6–2, 6–4, and Kafelnikov’s last glimmer of hope flashed by in the third-set tiebreaker. I went up
6–4, and then served an ace right up the middle to end it. Tom rushed onto the court, and he was very, very
emotional. First thing he whispered to me was, “I wish Tim could have been here to see that.”
It was a touching moment and seconds later the rest of the squad engulfed us, and we let it all hang out,
celebrating on the court. Andre, who had borne the load with me all year, was there to share in the joy. I
really appreciated that he had sucked it up and made the trip over. He could have blown it off, especially
after seeing his amazing year go down the tubes after that devastating loss to me in the U.S. Open final
followed by his chest injury.
It didn’t seem like it at the time, but that Davis Cup performance would become a highlight of my
career and a chapter in Davis Cup lore and legend. Yet it barely made the media radar in the United
States. I’m not sure there was a single American reporter in Moscow—other than the ubiquitous Bud
Collins. I still can’t explain how the win came about, but I have a funny feeling that the desperate straits in
which we found ourselves loosened up the team. We had nothing to lose and felt no real pressure.
Our celebration carried over to the locker room after the dead fifth rubber, and that night we had a
function with the usual assortment of USTA and ITF bigwigs, and the Davis Cup sponsors. And that’s a
weird thing about Davis Cup. You feel this incredible camaraderie when you’re in it, and this wonderful
bond with the team, the coach, even the support personnel like Doc Fareed and Bobby Russo. You win,
and the best moment is in the team room or locker room, before it’s opened up to all the officials. You pop
the champagne with your buddies, have a few sips, have a few laughs, and then get ready for the official
banquet. After that, everyone goes his separate way. You don’t even travel together, because you’re
usually headed for different places.