Open is one of the most disturbing books I have read. It is a new age sports autobiography, the first perhaps of a genre that looks at sport itself with a new lens, considerably more critical than anything written before. As a passionate sports fan, it is a problematic read for it undermines the very reasons for which we watch and love sport. It portrays one of my all time favourite icons as a vulnerable, un-empowered individual, who leads a life he himself detests. It is an expose of the sporting underbelly, the layer below the glamour and glitz, and the reality is extremely hard to digest. It is also a treatise on human frailty, what familial pressures can do to children and how an unpleasant childhood can continue to haunt an individual, however successful he is, for life. In sum, it is dark, negative and is an uninspiring read.
From the very start it is evident that Agassi took to tennis not by his own choice. Rather, he had no choice but to hit 2,500 balls a day under the watchful eye of his draconian father. Even a five-minute nature break isn?t allowed and tennis, for him, is a curse with which he is saddled from age seven. His father?s own life as an immigrant in the US, after having spent many treacherous years in Iran, does cast some light on why he wished his son to dominate the world. A deep craving for money and fame encouraged Mike Agassi to become a hard taskmaster, even if it meant sacrificing the life of his children. That it is an obsession with him is evident when he scribbles just before going in for surgery that Andre should have attacked Sampras more in one of the many finals they played against each other.
Except a brief passage where Andre talks of his fondness for Mandela, the book is only about tennis. Detailed description of matches and tournaments, it is as if there is little to his life than tennis. In fact, his rather monotonous, uneventful life turns colourful when he starts dating Stefanie Graf. The way he pursued her and eventually married her is one of the best parts of the book, demonstrating to the reader what the true Andre is all about. It also shows that despite being icons, they are all simple human beings in the end, who pursue the love of their life in ways very similar to us ordinary mortals. When Stefanie doesn?t return his calls or ignores his flowers, he is on the verge of a breakdown. For us, Agassi fans, it is impossible to picture him sitting with phone in hand waiting for that one coveted call from his lady love, one that hardly came at the start of their courtship.
Descriptions of some of his enthralling matches are indeed cutting edge, making the reader sit up and notice what these players have to endure while trying to entertain us for hours. The pain he felt after beating Marcos Baghdatis in his last US Open or the torture his body has had to go through over the years conjures a picture that is so very alien to us that at times it is scary. It also adds to the aura of these icons and adds to the fascination we feel for them.
Sections on his rivalry with Sampras, his failed relationship with Brooke Christa Shields and his love-hate relationship with Nick Bollitieri are other sections where the book scores. His continuous emphasis on forming a very good team proves that behind the creation of a champion an entire system is at work. Without Brad Gilbert or Darren Cahill or his lifelong friend Gil, Agassi is inconceivable.
The more market oriented sections of the book deal with his tryst with his hair, which plagued him for years and was central to the creation of an entire generation of Agassi fans. The liberation he felt at getting rid of his hair was no less emphatic than the sensation he felt after winning his first Wimbledon title. That he wore a wig and was on drugs for a while doesn?t make him a cheat for me for I am more interested in reading about his efforts in regaining his lost self esteem after he had plummeted to 141 in the ATP rankings.
The other section fans in India would love to read is his description of Leander Paes. This is how he describes Paes, who he beat en route his gold in the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, ?He is a flying jumping bean, a bundle of hyperkinetic energy, with the tour?s quickest hands. Still, he?s never learned to hit a tennis ball. He hits off-speed, hacks, chips, lobs?he?s the Brad of Bombay. Then, behind all his junk, he flies to the net and covers so well that it all seems to work. After al hour you feel as if he hasn?t hit one ball cleanly?and yet he?s beating you soundly.?
In the ultimate analysis Open scores because it is truthful, honest and revealing. But if I had a choice I wouldn?t want to read an autobiography that has the potential of putting me off sport for a while.
The writer is a cricket historian