A conversation with the retired tennis star Andre Agassi -- he opens up about sports, his autobiography, Open and being a father.
By CHRISTOPHER KEIL
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You can stop right now. You have everything you need: money, a wife, and freedom. It doesn’t get any better
WT: The world knows you as a tennis player. A few months ago, you released your autobiography, Open, and indeed it is . . .
Andre Agassi: As a tennis pro I always led a very public life, and much of what was publicised about me was simply wrong, both the good and the bad. I knew my way around the tennis court, but not the world outside. My life consisted of contradictions that I could never explain.
Do you understand Andre Agassi now?
I understand him differently every day and, like anybody else, I have to work for my inner peace every day.
Your father was known as a taskmaster. Why did you not deal more harshly with him in your book?
My father is unbelievably loyal. I wished he had loved me less. He was always big-hearted. He was just looking for the shortest way to the American dream . . .
. . . and that lay in your success.
My father had a plan, and he was so disciplined you wouldn’t believe it. I don’t know how he did it – two jobs, four children, standing on the tennis court with us hour after hour, all this crazy discipline. He had many positive sides.
But the negatives dominated you for two decades.
You have to understand him. Dad grew up as an Armenian Christian in Muslim Iran. He had to fight a daily fight against the world. He had a mother who treated him badly, and even forced him to wear girl’s clothes to school. He learned very young not to trust anybody. Then when he came to the US he didn’t speak a word of English, but he somehow slogged his way through school. This man never had a choice in his life; he wanted his children to have all the chances he didn’t have. The irony was that he himself did not let us have a choice. He was so poor that success meant nothing to him if he couldn’t earn any money with it. So having a chance meant just one thing: money.
You have two kids. How is your father as a grandfather?
He is OK. Anyway, he always speaks his mind.
What does he say?
My son was playing tennis with him once and hit a ball straight to his body. My father looked at him and said: “If you do that once again I’ll step on your rear end so hard you won’t be able to go to the toilet for two weeks.”
And your son came crying into the house?
Not a single tear, he just wanted to know if a person could really survive if he did not go to the toilet for two weeks. Believe me, we all have a good relationship with my father. To me he is as he always was. He is constantly giving me advice. Once it was about tennis, now it is about child-raising, about what, in his opinion, I should do better as a father.
You have won everything in your 20 years as a pro, all the important tournaments, the Olympic gold medal. You became the top-ranked player in the world. And now you claim in your book that you hated playing tennis.
To understand me, you have to be able to imagine the pressure under which I lived even as a little boy. In our house the atmosphere always depended upon whether I trained well or badly, whether I won or lost. Losing meant that things were bad for all the others, because my father did not accept defeat under any circumstances. At the age of four I already learned that there were quarrels between Dad and my older siblings when they lost. When I watched them play games I was constantly afraid of them losing. They did not win often enough, and I was the last hope. I had talent, I won, but I hated everything connected with it.
At 13 you went to Florida, to Nick Bollettieri’s tennis school. Did the separation make things easier?
I didn’t want to go to camp. I was scared out of my skin. It was more like a punishment camp, sheer horror. And the worst of it was: 4800 kilometres separated school and home. The other kids could see their parents on the weekend, I couldn’t. I began to rebel, and suddenly I was rebelling on a global stage.
But a teenager who hates tennis would soon let everything slip.
You have to look at it this way: I am like an artist who refuses to go on performing when it hurts. I did not at that time accept tennis as a lifestyle. But all of a sudden tennis did provide a chance to make life somewhat more bearable. Trips with my brother, money, supper in good restaurants. But basically it wasn’t much different from jumping from the fire into the frying pan. The pain was just a little more bearable.
In Open, you tell us that at some point you decided to play only for yourself. When was that?
In 1997, when I was 27. I was so bad at the time – number 141 in the world; I had to accept a wild card in order to participate in a tournament in Stuttgart, Germany. Brad Gilbert, my coach then, couldn’t put up with my declining status. He asked me and the team to his hotel room and said: “We’re not leaving here until you make a decision. Either you stop, or we start all over again.” I thought, Hold on, you’ve never liked tennis and never less than at this moment. I didn’t like myself, and I didn’t like what I had achieved.
You had achieved so much by this time. You no longer had to work.
Precisely. I said to myself: “You can stop right now. You have everything you need: money, a wife, and finally you have your freedom. It doesn’t get any better.”
Exactly.
But then I asked myself: “How would it be if I were the only one to decide who I want to be as a player?” The key question was: Is there any reason why I should keep on playing? I had no answer at first, but then I founded my school . . .
. . . the Andre Agassi Foundation, which trains and supports children from difficult social environments.
In this school I could observe how a life changed, and indeed changed for the better. From then on I played for my school. I said to myself: “Tennis goes on being hard, tough for the head, but you are playing for something that lasts, that’s more important than your own needs.”
How do you educate your kids?
I am not a teacher, but I try to teach my own and the other children in my school to be sympathetic. We want to show them what it means to love those closest to you. Education, including character-building, means a huge expansion of possibilities.
Are you more lenient than your own father was?
I have clear ideas about how our children have to behave and how they should approach life. I hope they take on responsibility, for themselves, for others.
When do you become strict?
If my son does not listen, if he hurts somebody or does not behave properly, that makes me angry, very angry sometimes. If he then comes to me later, if he has learned his lesson or accepted punishment, we get along again in a normal way. He has to understand why I had to have a word with him. But he must not be afraid of any lasting emotional punishment. I demand a lot, but I also forgive a lot.
Your children are already financially secure for life. How would you teach them that people have to work hard for their goals?
They do not see us as parents provided with everything and living luxuriously. They can see every day how much energy and devotion I put into my school.
I feel like a 60-year-old.
Physically?
Even my heart and head feel older than 40. I’ve had some life.
Andre Agassi: As a tennis pro I always led a very public life, and much of what was publicised about me was simply wrong, both the good and the bad. I knew my way around the tennis court, but not the world outside. My life consisted of contradictions that I could never explain.
Do you understand Andre Agassi now?
I understand him differently every day and, like anybody else, I have to work for my inner peace every day.
Your father was known as a taskmaster. Why did you not deal more harshly with him in your book?
My father is unbelievably loyal. I wished he had loved me less. He was always big-hearted. He was just looking for the shortest way to the American dream . . .
. . . and that lay in your success.
My father had a plan, and he was so disciplined you wouldn’t believe it. I don’t know how he did it – two jobs, four children, standing on the tennis court with us hour after hour, all this crazy discipline. He had many positive sides.
But the negatives dominated you for two decades.
I asked him once: “Daddy, how did you deal with the things people said about you, about how you handle things, with yourself, with us?” He said: “I don’t give a damn what others say about me. If I had to start over, I would do everything exactly the same. With one exception: I wouldn’t let you play tennis again, but would get you into golf or baseball. Both sports you could have played longer and so made more money.”
Nice.You have to understand him. Dad grew up as an Armenian Christian in Muslim Iran. He had to fight a daily fight against the world. He had a mother who treated him badly, and even forced him to wear girl’s clothes to school. He learned very young not to trust anybody. Then when he came to the US he didn’t speak a word of English, but he somehow slogged his way through school. This man never had a choice in his life; he wanted his children to have all the chances he didn’t have. The irony was that he himself did not let us have a choice. He was so poor that success meant nothing to him if he couldn’t earn any money with it. So having a chance meant just one thing: money.
You have two kids. How is your father as a grandfather?
He is OK. Anyway, he always speaks his mind.
What does he say?
My son was playing tennis with him once and hit a ball straight to his body. My father looked at him and said: “If you do that once again I’ll step on your rear end so hard you won’t be able to go to the toilet for two weeks.”
And your son came crying into the house?
Not a single tear, he just wanted to know if a person could really survive if he did not go to the toilet for two weeks. Believe me, we all have a good relationship with my father. To me he is as he always was. He is constantly giving me advice. Once it was about tennis, now it is about child-raising, about what, in his opinion, I should do better as a father.
You have won everything in your 20 years as a pro, all the important tournaments, the Olympic gold medal. You became the top-ranked player in the world. And now you claim in your book that you hated playing tennis.
To understand me, you have to be able to imagine the pressure under which I lived even as a little boy. In our house the atmosphere always depended upon whether I trained well or badly, whether I won or lost. Losing meant that things were bad for all the others, because my father did not accept defeat under any circumstances. At the age of four I already learned that there were quarrels between Dad and my older siblings when they lost. When I watched them play games I was constantly afraid of them losing. They did not win often enough, and I was the last hope. I had talent, I won, but I hated everything connected with it.
At 13 you went to Florida, to Nick Bollettieri’s tennis school. Did the separation make things easier?
I didn’t want to go to camp. I was scared out of my skin. It was more like a punishment camp, sheer horror. And the worst of it was: 4800 kilometres separated school and home. The other kids could see their parents on the weekend, I couldn’t. I began to rebel, and suddenly I was rebelling on a global stage.
But a teenager who hates tennis would soon let everything slip.
You have to look at it this way: I am like an artist who refuses to go on performing when it hurts. I did not at that time accept tennis as a lifestyle. But all of a sudden tennis did provide a chance to make life somewhat more bearable. Trips with my brother, money, supper in good restaurants. But basically it wasn’t much different from jumping from the fire into the frying pan. The pain was just a little more bearable.
In Open, you tell us that at some point you decided to play only for yourself. When was that?
In 1997, when I was 27. I was so bad at the time – number 141 in the world; I had to accept a wild card in order to participate in a tournament in Stuttgart, Germany. Brad Gilbert, my coach then, couldn’t put up with my declining status. He asked me and the team to his hotel room and said: “We’re not leaving here until you make a decision. Either you stop, or we start all over again.” I thought, Hold on, you’ve never liked tennis and never less than at this moment. I didn’t like myself, and I didn’t like what I had achieved.
You had achieved so much by this time. You no longer had to work.
Precisely. I said to myself: “You can stop right now. You have everything you need: money, a wife, and finally you have your freedom. It doesn’t get any better.”
Exactly.
But then I asked myself: “How would it be if I were the only one to decide who I want to be as a player?” The key question was: Is there any reason why I should keep on playing? I had no answer at first, but then I founded my school . . .
. . . the Andre Agassi Foundation, which trains and supports children from difficult social environments.
In this school I could observe how a life changed, and indeed changed for the better. From then on I played for my school. I said to myself: “Tennis goes on being hard, tough for the head, but you are playing for something that lasts, that’s more important than your own needs.”
How do you educate your kids?
I am not a teacher, but I try to teach my own and the other children in my school to be sympathetic. We want to show them what it means to love those closest to you. Education, including character-building, means a huge expansion of possibilities.
Are you more lenient than your own father was?
I have clear ideas about how our children have to behave and how they should approach life. I hope they take on responsibility, for themselves, for others.
When do you become strict?
If my son does not listen, if he hurts somebody or does not behave properly, that makes me angry, very angry sometimes. If he then comes to me later, if he has learned his lesson or accepted punishment, we get along again in a normal way. He has to understand why I had to have a word with him. But he must not be afraid of any lasting emotional punishment. I demand a lot, but I also forgive a lot.
Your children are already financially secure for life. How would you teach them that people have to work hard for their goals?
They do not see us as parents provided with everything and living luxuriously. They can see every day how much energy and devotion I put into my school.
Your wife, Steffi, was feared as a tennis player for her perfectionism. You too were always looking for the perfect strokes. Can perfection be an everyday ambition?
A big one, a very big one, which we both have. In me this won’t change, either. When I decide on something, it has to be perfect, it doesn’t matter whether it’s in the kitchen, for the family, or in my business.
Would you say, I am living as a 40-year-old should live?I feel like a 60-year-old.
Physically?
Even my heart and head feel older than 40. I’ve had some life.
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