A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

played many matches like this before on grass. The trick was to stay alert, focused, and confident, because
my chance would come. I was getting to him, I felt pretty sure about that. It was just a matter of time.
But before we could finish the set, the rains came. We had a break of a few hours, and that gave both of
us a little time to think and regroup. When we returned to the court, he was a different player. He was
suddenly going for his shots, especially his second serve. Whether he knew it or not, he was taking me
into the territory I least liked to visit. My m.o. called for me to approach even the most lethal serve-andvolleyers
with the expectation that I’ll get a good look at some second serves. If that happened, I could
beat them. The strategy worked against Goran Ivanisevic, it worked against Boris Becker, and it worked
against Stefan Edberg. But when it became harder for me to get a sniff at a second serve, it created a chain
reaction. If I couldn’t get to his serve, that put more pressure on mine. I think Richard sensed that, and his
own excellent serving freed up the rest of his game, especially his return game. And that’s how it almost
always works.
Krajicek won the first set 7–5, breaking me once. It emboldened him, and suddenly he was getting hold
of my serves with his backhand return. Plus, his passing shots were impeccable. I lost the second set 6–4,
and was relieved when it started to sprinkle again, because the light was fading. I knew we would never
finish the match that day, and I really needed to regroup.
Yet instead of thinking, Tomorrow’s a new day, I’ll get back on track—no way he can stay hot like
that . . . I had a strange sense of foreboding. I didn’t feel good about the way the match was going, and
knew I was in a big, big hole. Paul worked double time that night to get me back up, to restore my
confidence, but he couldn’t pull me out of it. Although I was still in the match, I was feeling negative.
When we returned to play the next day, we just continued where we left off. Richard came out bombing
away, and I immediately got discouraged, thinking, Hey, this is what I do to people on grass. Long story
short, he closed me out. All the credit to Richard for getting the job done. He played a great match,
technically and mentally. And it was some balm for me to see him go on to win the tournament—if you’re
going to lose, you may as well lose to the guy who’s going to run the table. I’ve never watched that match
on tape, but I’d be curious—just to see if Richard’s game really did change as much as I believe it did
after the rain delay.
At the end of that day, three of the majors were gone, and I had yet to win one. Although I wasn’t
exactly thinking I had to win a Slam for Tim, others frequently brought up the subject. To me, though, that
wasn’t the point. It was simple: win or lose, the French Open had been “our” major—the Tim major. I fell
short of honoring Tim with a win, so the movie didn’t end the way everyone expected. But that didn’t
change the magical moments or emotions I experienced at Roland Garros, and it didn’t change the way I
felt about Tim or the right way to honor his memory. When I won my next major, I could make a pretty
speech about “winning one for Tim.” It was what everyone wanted to hear. But I wasn’t going to do that; it
would have been phony. And I kept that promise to myself.
The summer hard-court season leading up to the U.S. Open was always low-key. As hectic as the Open
is, the tournaments leading up to it are laid-back affairs of the heartland. Indianapolis and Cincinnati are
two of the biggest events, yet you can drive from one venue to the other in an afternoon, and each one has
a little bit of that air of a county fair. Some of us players had a running joke when we got to Indy or Cincy.
We’d just look at each other, shrug, and say, “Same shit, different year.”
Although I lost in the quarterfinals at Cincinnati to Thomas Enqvist, I won Indianapolis, improving my
career record against Goran to 8–6. Going into New York, I felt good about extending my streak of
winning at least one major per year to four. And the draw opened up nicely for me. The only name player
I would meet before the quarterfinals was Mark Philippoussis, whom I handled in straight sets. That put
me into the quarterfinals against Alex Corretja, who was known primarily as a clay-court grinder, but