The child Agassi

Hello, Today we present chapter of the biography of Andre Agassi in which she describes her first steps in tennis

Excerpt from the book Memoirs of Andre Agassi Open (Duomo Ediciones, 2014) published by permission of Editorial Ocean.

I have ten years and participated in the national competition. Second round. Dramatically lose a child older than me, and that is supposed to be the best in the country. Although these data do more bearable defeat. Why does it hurt so much to lose? How is it that something can hurt so much? Leaving the track wishing to be dead. Avanzo staggered toward the parking lot. While my father puts things in the car and says goodbye to other parents, I sit and cry.

A man then sticks his head out the window. A black man. Smiling.

Hello, tell me. My name is Rudy.

It is named after the man who helped my father build a tennis court in the backyard. Curious.

What is your name?

Andre.

He shakes my hand.

Nice to meet you, Andre.

He says working with the great champion Pancho Segura, who trains kids my age. You go to these big tournaments like scout, and is dedicated to finding talented children to Pancho. Support arms under the tanilla sold, secured tightly at the door, sighs. He says that those days are hard, you know, they are very hard, but ultimately these days make me stronger. Talk to warm voice, thick, and cocoa liquor. Is that child who has won you have two years older than you! You still have two years to reach their level. Two years is an eternity, especially if you work hard. Do you work hard?

Yes, sir.

Have a great future ahead, son.

But I want no longer play. I hate tennis.

Ha ha! Yes, of course. At this time, surely hate it. But deep down, do not hate tennis.

Yes I hate it.

You think you hate.

No, I hate it.

You say that because right now you're sore, it hurts a lot to have lost, but that's just because you care about tennis. That means we want to win. And that you can use to your advantage. Remember this day. Try using it as motivation. If you ever want to not feel this pain, well, do everything you can to avoid it. Are you willing to do all you can?

I nod.

Very well, very well. You cry. It hurts a little more. But then you must tell yourself already, it's time to get to work.

OK.

I dry the tears on his sleeve, and I thank Rudy, and when you go I already feel prepared to continue practicing. I bring the dragon. I am willing to return balls for hours. If Rudy study saw standing behind me, whispering words of encouragement in his ear, I think I could win that dragon. At that time my father get in the car, and we drove slowly, as if a funeral van condujéramos during courtship. The tension inside the vehicle is so dense that snuggled me in the back seat and close my eyes. It passes through my head ca- car jump up, run, go meet Rudy and ask him to train me. Or take me.

However, it will not lose hair without a fight. Baldness is a rival against Philly will fight giving everything. Believes that the reason that balding is not enough blood reaches him the scalp so that, every night, at some point in our late night chats, rests his head on the mattress, lift your legs and relies on wall. I pray that works. I beg God to my brother, a born loser, do not miss at least one thing: the hair. I lie and tell him and noticed his remedy gives results. I want both my brother would say anything if he thought so feel better. To help, if necessary I myself would spend the night upside down. After Philly tell me their problems, sometimes I tell mine. I am moved by how quickly calibrates situations. Serves the last act of wickedness of my father I tell him, assesses my level of concern, and I answered with head movement more appropriate in each case. For basic fears, half nod. To the great fears, a whole nod with his characters Rhystic frown. Even upside down, my brother express more with a single nod that most people with a five-page letter.

One night Philly asking me to promise one thing.

Yeah, I promise. What ever.

Do not let dad give you pills.

¿Tablet?

Andre, you have to listen carefully to what I say. It is very important.

Okay, Philly. I hear you. I hear you.

The next time you participate in the national championship, if Dad gives you pills, do not take.

Now give me Excedrin, Philly. It makes me take Excedrin before games, because it contains a lot of caffeine.

Yes, I know. But the tablets of which I speak are different. They are very small, round and white. Do not the take. Whatever happens. ¿

And if dad forces me? I can not disobey.

Yes, of course. Okay, let me think.

Philly closes his eyes. I see the blood goes to her forehead and puts abode.

Okay, he says. Now what I have. If you have to take those pills, if you are forced to take them, play badly. Lost miserably. And then when you leave the track, you say that temblabas while you could not concentrate.

Okay, but what are these pills?

Speed.

So what is it?

A drug. It gives a lot of energy. I know he's going to try you infuse speed.

How do you know?

Because it did me.

And indeed, when the national championship arrives, held in Chicago, my father manages me a pill. Open your hand, tells me. This will help. Take it.

I put the pill in the palm. It is tiny. Blanca. Redonda.

I swallow it and I feel fine. Not very different. Slightly more alert. But I pretend to feel very different. My opponent, more than I kid, I did not raise any difficulty, yet let me win, I lose points, gift him several games. I make the game seem more difficult than it actually is. When I leave the track I tell my father that I did not feel well, I think I'm going to faint, and he feels guilty.

Okay, he says, running his hands over his face. This is not right. We will not try.

Philly phone call after the game and tell him about the pill.

Damn !, says. Already knew.

I did what you told me, and it worked.

My brother says I guess things a parent should say.

He is proud of me and, in turn, is afraid for me. When I return home the national championship, hugged him hard and spent the first night locked in our room, whispering things through the white line, enjoying our exceptional victory over dad.

Shortly after the game against a senior and earned him opponent. It is a practice game, no big deal, and I'm much better than him, but still give advantage, failure points explicitly, I make the game seem much harder than it is, as I have done in Chicago. On leaving Cambridge track 7 -the same one where I defeated Mr. Brown, I feel bad, because my opponent seems broken. I should have been won at all. I hate losing, yes, but this time hatred win because the opponent is defeated Philly. Maybe that feeling of devastation means that I do not possess the instinct murderer? Confused, sad, I think I would look back to that old man, Rudy, Rudy or the other, the first, to ask what it all means.