Open

by Andre Agassi

In the fifth set, however, he’s spent, whereas I’m just beginning to draw on funds long deposited in the Bank of Gil. It isn’t close.

Now he’s serving at 6–7. I have match point again. He misses the first serve. I have a nanosecond to decide where he’s coming with his second serve. Aggressive? Safe? I decide he’s going to err on the side of safety. He’s going to roll it to my backhand. So how aggressive do I want to be? Where do I want to station myself? Should I make an irrevocable decision, stand where I can kill the ball if I’m correct, but where I won’t be able to reach it if I’m wrong? Or should I split the difference, stand in the middle ground, where I’ll be able to hit a moderately good shot on most serves, and a perfect shot on none?

It’s real simple. Most people have weaknesses. Federer has none.

I reach out and touch his shoulder. I’m sorry, Pops. I can’t quit. This can’t end with me quitting.

On the front window is etched one large word, our unofficial school motto: BELIEVE.