TENNIS: Letter never sent

I wrote Jennifer Capriati a letter last year after watching her surrender to defeat at the U.S. Open, but never sent it, you know, because my head told me that it was just too good to be true.

I sensed her re-emergence, saw the same crushing ground strokes and 110 m.p.h. serve that had dominated opponents in the early 90's, when unrealistic expectations of this teen icon would forebode, and soon thereafter come to induce a harsh personal reality to which she would eventually succumb - just at the point when she was attaining critical mass, sadly abbreviating until now, what most believed would materialize into a promising tennis future.

I shrugged it off as a fleeting fancy, a whim, refusing to yield to the heart’s longing for a return of Miss American Pie. I believed that goodbyes were forever. But with impressive victories at this year’s Australian Open over Monica Seles, Lindsay Davenport and Martina Hingis, three of the world’s top 5 players, including the world’s number one, on her way to capturing her first, painfully elusive and long awaited Grand Slam title, Jennifer Capriati has finally earned the right to be called “Champion.”

Shades of Capriati’s early brilliance which captivated the tennis world, but became only the Requiem For A Dream, dooming her to succeed, to attract attention and mega- endorsements; to raise expectations, to become an instant media darling, and then to finally walk away from the game, and the dream, falling prey to it’s cruel overture at the tender age of seventeen, were alive once again. But that dream was equally shared in this case because we wanted it as much as she did. The truth of the matter is that maybe we wanted it more than she did.

Maybe what she was really walking away from was a different kind of game, and one with which most us, having never been media-sensationalized stars, could not possibly relate; a fact which should not, however, preclude us from making an effort now to sympathize with what it must have been like for this young and unsuspecting child to have been placed on so lofty a pedestal, only to have her world come crashing down.

I do have to confess that as someone who had not been her biggest fan when she was a teen prodigy, possessing a form of raw power that too often exceeded its ability to be controlled - because my enthusiasm had been tempered by disappointing memories of the injury shortened careers of Andrea Jaeger and Tracy Austin, and by an unbridled adoration of Gabriella Sabatini - I find myself now helplessly absorbed in the rapture of an undeniably substantive and refreshingly sincere charm of Jennifer Capriati. Maybe Jennifer will be the one to fill that Sabatini void, as vacuous and immense as it may be. I suppose that I am a hopeless romantic, who can’t help but to pull for the Cleveland Browns or Chicago Cubs of the world. Jenny was clearly an underdog, and I am a succor for the dark horses.

Jennifer is not alone in her struggle though, and the problems themselves are neither unique to tennis, as a sport, or sport in general. She is not the first and certainly will not be the last. We have witnessed a number of similarly self-destructive transgressions, some on a more grand scale perhaps, by other sport icons, the most notable of which being Mike Tyson, who, while in his prime, might very well have been the most dominant heavyweight fighter ever.

Todd Marinovich is another who comes to mind. Marinovich, who I would see occasionally working out with his father in Mission Viejo, California, where I attended high school, and who would finish his own high school career at my alma mater after having been excused from his former mater at the hands of such transgressions, would suffer a similar wrath.

He burst onto the scene as a fourteen year-old phenom, and would start his first varsity football game at quarterback for perennial Southern California powerhouse Mater Dei High School before ever having attended his first class there. His fate had been sealed by the foregone conclusion drawn in the media, even then, that he would surely someday star in the NFL.

We witness the implosions of former child actors all of the time, so often that we have become not only immune to the fact of their occurrence, but indifferent to our own hypocrisy in all of it, and to any notion that it might be just such hypocrisy which plays a large part in what becomes a slow and painful requiem for psychological destruction, brought about by the unrealistic expectations placed upon those who could not possibly possess any appreciation for the magnitude of what, in our eyes, they might be achieving.

But we see it in the women’s tennis game more frequently than anywhere else in sports. The kids are not ready for it, but neither are they prepared to let us down, and so they find a different way to escape from a reality in which they had only a partial choice. I am not making excuses, but simply stating that our own desire for people to represent, to be, something that they are not, is akin to the kind of destructive obsession associated with the pursuit of any illusion, the main difference being that we seek its realization indirectly, vicariously. Inevitably, our stars and icons become the image itself, sacrificing their substance, their soul. The Faustian bargain is one that states, “ I will make you a star, but I cannot guarantee that you will still be who you are.” I believe that the weight of such expectations and the destructive impact that they render upon one’s identity are what once drove Jennifer Capriati from the game of tennis And while for years to come we will speak of the comebacks or Lemieux and Jordan, all things considered, Capriati has made a strong case of her own.

Both the longing for stardom and the its pursuit can be equally destructive; even its attainment can be, perhaps more so, because there, the illusion is protected, sheltered and nurtured. So when athletes turn around and commit crimes and we are left asking ourselves why someone with everything would commit a crime, would transgress, what we may be overlooking is the fact that we define “everything” in terms of our own reality, as our dream, and that the one thing they might be without, is the mundane reality that we take for granted. I was surprised, for instance, to hear Barry Bonds recently, an athlete who rarely, if ever, does an interview, being interviewed by Dan Patrick, speak of the perils of stardom, and how there had been times during his career when he could not even leave his own house, and how he’d secretly wished he could be someone else for a day.

I do not necessarily see anything wrong with placing such expectations on someone of the stature of Charles Barkley, however, because professional athletes occupy a privileged setting, and one from which they derive vast wealth, but a setting in which the implicit cost of doing business is honorable representation apart from that setting. Because why would people pay the outrageous price of seeing a game today, when what they might be witnessing is a star that an impressionable youth will quite probably and naturally wish to emulate, but one whose off-court behavior, perhaps even on-court, leaves much to be desired. I do not find it unreasonable to expect such from, say, a twenty-four year old woman. I do, however, find it somewhat vulgar that we should expect our children, who might also be stars, to be anything other than what they essentially are, first, which is children.

This is precisely what should be taken from Jennifer Capriati’s achievement. She has placed her own self- definition ahead of how others wish to idealize her tennis stardom, and she has made clear that by doing so she has become a better tennis player than she ever was, and the person that she wants to be.

Often times the reality that athletes must endure off of the playing field is not reality at all. Think back for a moment to that movie starring Anthony Michael Hall, “ Johnny Be Good, ”about a heavily recruited high school quarterback who struggles to maintain a grasp of his own identity, and you will gain greater insight into the struggle that our young athletes are often expected to withstand. I would venture to say that the character Hall depicted - Johnny Walker - was not so different than the real-life Todd Marinovich. Our expectations are set so unrealistically high, to suit our own needs, that when we are let down by the self-destructive attempt to escape our suffocation, let down by those we’ve christened and gilded before they are even old enough to operate a motor vehicle; let down by the idealized object, we accuse them of having done it to themselves, and this before they are even old enough to vote. That is the hypocrisy.

She did it her way - the hard way. She did it when the time was right for her, not us. And she may always be typecast by the stigma of what many will continue to stubbornly and self-righteously view as a strictly self-inflicted past. But such a narrow view is indicative of a failure to comprehend that the complexities of adolescent life in general, which are inconceivably greater when amplified by the media, greater when you are an adolescent tennis star, the pressure of sponsors and even family, are not so simply reducible to the ability of a child to exercise informed judgment.

Typecast as a jaded champion. And the culprits might not even be members of the media. They could well, in this age of pampered, whiny stardom, rear in the form of certain top-ranked adversaries whose names we won’t bother to mention here, but who’ve themselves rightfully earned reputations for excuses, personal attacks, and the kind of small mindedness that has increasingly driven fans from the women’s tennis game in recent years. If we are to remain fair and objective, we should welcome Jennifer’s return, realizing that it is she and those like her that the game so desperately needs, now more than ever.

Jennifer was not merely the product of herself, she may have been a telling reflection of our own destructive obsession and the environment that it helped to create. We’ve witnessed that obsession firsthand, in various forms. We’ve seen parents obsessed with their children as in the cases of Mary Pierce and Steffi Graf, and we‘ve witnessed fans obsessed with players, as in the case of Monica Seles.

Jennifer will be remembered not for winning her first Grand Slam at a time when expectations were paramount, but at a time in her development when she could feel comfortable with the responsibilities that invariably accompany success. Her victory will be remembered as of symbolizing someone who placed her identity as a person ahead of her identity as tennis player. This is why it means more than it might have otherwise. There are lessons here that we can all learn. Ultimately, Jennifer will be remembered not for who she was, but who she became.

Being an American champion is incomparable to being it’s equal anywhere else in the world. She was once a little girl in a woman’s body, hardly prepared to become the next Chrissy, to fill the void that was left when, after two decades, our most beloved American sweetheart would depart from the tennis scene for good. And more than anything else we might take from Jennifer’s triumph, a victory over herself ultimately, but also over us, are three age- old adages: “good things come to those who wait,” “never stop believing in yourself,” and, ”dreams do come true.”

Hers is, and will remain to be, the classic struggle of a young American heroine. I have followed women's tennis since the late 70's and early 80's, when Gabriella Sabatini burst onto the scene in Paris in 1984 as a fiery fourteen year-old Argentinian clay-courter with a topspin forehand that forced opponents to play from several feet beyond their own baseline. Of course I liked the men's game and there were players you could like on the men's side back then - Wilander, anybody who played Lendl - but Mac of course, Yannick Noah, and the list goes on. But I have to admit that there was always something about watching Martina and Chris that drew me to the women's game. It was a cultivated rivalry, perhaps one of the most classic in the history of sports. Martina went from chubby and slow to muscular, sleek, and powerful, within a span of four or five years. Chris went from two handed baseliner with pigtails, to crafty, wily, master shotmaker and one the greatest tacticians, returners of serve, and most fierce competitors I've ever witnessed in all of sports.

In short, they both grew as people and players, and adapted, to one another, the game and themselves. Their rivalry evolved with them. Martina and Chris are perhaps two of the classiest individuals we will ever have the privilege of watching and remembering. I learned more about sports and life watching the 1986 Women's French Final than I will probably ever learn watching the Super Bowl, the World Series, NBA Finals or Final Four. What we have so sorely missed is not Martina or Chris the player, but who they were as people.

Jennifer is certainly a special person and a special athlete in her own right. I always felt that way about Gabby too - quiet, unique, and an artist with the tennis racquet, like Noah. Chris Evert used to say that Gabriella reminded her of Maria Bueno. And then Gabby adapted her game. When she started coming to net, she found out that her skill with the racquet was not limited to the baseline, that she was also a great volleyer, but had never quite learned how to play the aggressive serve and volley style, having grown up on clay courts It was a thing of beauty to watch Gabriella win the U.S. Open. She played a flawless tournament both from the baseline and at the net, and she placed her drop-volleys masterfully. Gabby was no longer just a topspin clay-courter, she had developed a slice-backhand, an amazing baseline drop-shot and a world class net game. They refused to believe that she would ever win on the hard courts and she proved them wrong. So too did she excel on grass. That is why I liked Wilander though. He played all surfaces well. And why I love Andre Aggasi's game. Gabby will live on in tennis lore, as too few like her ever come along, while even fewer survive.

Jennifer has struggled through what many her age do, but in a way that few will ever understand. And they are written off, forgotten about, never heard from again. When I watched her play that U.S. Open last year, it was obvious that all of the tools were still there. She might have the best backhand in the game and her serve is more powerful now than it's ever been. I could see that she was not in the physical shape that she would have wanted to be in, and that she was not completely back psychologically either. There were moments of discouragement and frustration, woven into flashes of brilliance. It was hard to know which would win the battle inside of her. And then suddenly she would hit a down-the-line winner, and it seemed like Jenny was peering through that window of opportunity again, one that it must have felt like someone had painted shut.

Players are younger than she is now and some of them hit the ball almost as hard, but not quite; she still has a power advantage over anybody ranked in the top 10. But in years past, when she was new to the scene, nobody had that kind of power.

There were signs that Jennifer was back, but they were not unambiguous. It appeared that what frustrated her more than anything else was not her lack of power, or even inaccuracy, but her inability to track down shots. Her return of serve is probably the best in the game, and has been since she joined the tour. When her serve is on, opponents might as well just pack it in, because it might only be a half hour affair anyhow. I believe that if I ever had to face her return of serve I would be certain to wear a protective cup. I remember opponents like Graf using the drop-volley excessively when they played Capriati, hoping to turn the match into a war of stamina. Such was the unsuccessful tactic employed by Martina Hingis at this year’s Australian. Nobody is going to beat Jennifer trying to outhit her - ever. She seemed to get a bit down after bad shots, disappointed in herself, but she was going for everything, playing aggressively, and that is always a great sign. She was the old Jennifer with noticeably greater poise and self control. She became a better player in 2000, and one with some unfinished business to take care of in 2001.

What won her this year’s Australian was the work she put into attaining a higher level of fitness, and stamina for the marathon matches ( which will be unavoidable at the U.S. Open ), and just those added two steps of speed that would enable her to track more balls on close rallies. “ Her newfound fitness was often evident. She repeatedly ran down Hingis' drop shots, including on the final point of the first set, when she raced forward and bunted a backhand winner into the corner," writes ESPN.com.

Jennifer Capriati is not a quitter. That is why I wrote the letter. Maybe she just needed to know that people cared, and that there were those of us out there who really wanted to see her win again. It was about a week before the Australian, while rummaging through an old notebook, that I ran across my letter, read part of it and thought nothing more. But her victory has shown me that it was not for nothing. All of those people who care about Jennifer mean something to her, and that is what makes her special - it’s not a one way street.

Upon celebrating her victory into the wee hours of the morning with some fellow fans at ESPN’s message board, listening to people brood over ESPN’s decision to preempt the awards ceremony coverage for Sportscenter, I was told by a fan of the Williams sisters that he too had written Jennifer a letter, a couple of years back, one that he did send, incidentally, and that she replied with a two page letter of her own and an autographed picture that now hangs in a very special frame on his bedroom wall. It would be fair to say that Jennifer not only made his day and his year, but that she made his life.

She wants to be liked by everyone. When a reporter in Italy many years ago asked about her weight, she broke down in tears. That is why I am able feel sympathy for her. Nobody should have to go through that at her age, but she hasn’t allowed the viciousness to destroy her. She is human, like me, like all of us. We have all been there at one time or another. We all make mistakes in our pursuit of the proverbial American Dream, and Jennifer has shown the world that the pursuit is not, in itself, a requiem; rather, it’s everything else peripheral to that pursuit which is the illusion; moreover, it’s people like Jennifer, people who want to make everyone happy, who want to please the media, people like Jennifer who end up being destroyed. That is the greatest tragedy, because it is people like Jennifer who we most need. At a time when we, as a society, find ourselves in a desperate search for role models, when some of the younger women on tour could themselves use a role model, Jennifer finally comes through.

Jennifer had role models in the form of Evert, Navratilova, Graf and Sabatini. In that sense, and many others, she has been very fortunate. So, the resentment that some may feel towards her, although misguided, is not wholly unfounded. She let people down. They don’t want to get burned again. Sometimes it's not before recognizing that your mistakes have hurt others, that you can really be both the winner and the person you want to be.

This was the right time for Jennifer Capriati to win her first Grand Slam - not at 14, 16, 18 or 20 - but now. A time now when expectations are justifiable and reasonable. Her victory symbolizes a significant triumph. It was time to grow up and she did that Anna Kournikova said it best when asked recently by a reporter about having yet to win her first tournament: ” People forget that I'm 19 years old, and you know that Capriati won her first Grand Slam title at the age of 24." I could not help but to laugh at that one. Anna obviously has something of a sense of humor, or, in the very least, a sense of irony.

Jennifer Capriati is an American sweetheart - gracious, classy and tenacious. I get the sense that losing to her would not be so painful an experience. People adore Jennifer, and rightfully so. It would be hard not to. Perhaps there will even come a day when it will have been an honor to have lost to Jenny. And maybe there will even come a day, as Anna’s game evolves a bit, that we will see a U.S. Open Final of Kournikova and Capriati. I am just elated at the idea that we can even speak realistically of such a possibility now.

Jennifer Capriati’s is perhaps the most painful kind of struggle a person might ever have to endure, and perhaps the most heroic we have ever witnessed by any modern athlete. This should be one of our proudest days as Americans. But we can't let those Aussie's outdo us. They cheered her on like she was one of their own. We have to welcome Jennifer back home in grand style. Her victory is ours. But Jennifer’s crowning glory will come standing in the winner's circle at Flushing Meadow, tears streaming down, smiling, as thousands of people, who feel just as I, cheer her ultimate redemption. It will have come by way of hard work, patience, and, in her own words, an undying belief in oneself: "If you believe in yourself anything can happen …… it shows that dreams can come true."

Not only did Jennifer Capriati win the Australian Open, but with her victory, against all odds, she singlehandedly transformed Requiem For A Dream into America The Beautiful. She rose from the depths of oblivion to triumph in a most significant way. It should not be difficult for Jennifer to once again win our hearts. Her disarming modesty is about as easy to deny as her cross court backhand. Hello again, Miss American Pie. Jennifer Capriati is a modern American heroine whose example is one for all to marvel at and to live by. This is one of my greatest days as a tennis fan - as a sports fan; perhaps the greatest. But I will wait for that one more, when we can all be there together, to celebrate with Jenny. Then will she know what I meant when I wrote that letter, never sent.

Love and Best Wishes,

Charlie