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Andre Agassi often says in “Open” that tennis is a lonely game. But the writing of this autobiography was a team sport. Mr. Agassi’s memoir was put together by J. R. Moehringer, who wrote “The Tender Bar,” a shapely and expert memoir of his own. The same gift of gab that colored Mr. Moehringer’s tales of being a boy in a barroom now magically finds its way onto the tennis court and into Mr. Agassi’s much-analyzed, follicularly challenged head.
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John C. Russell
Andre Agassi
OPEN
An Autobiography
By Andre Agassi
Illustrated. 386 pages. Alfred A. Knopf. $28.95.
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Times Topics: Andre Agassi
Inevitably one wonders which of them actually wrote “it’s the main reason for my pigeon-toed walk” about Mr. Agassi’s troublesome bottom vertebra. The ease with which Mr. Moehringer slips into telling someone else’s story is both consummate and spooky. As for Mr. Agassi, he uses his writing partner in the same way he uses his tennis support staff: as talented individuals in a universe where he, Mr. Agassi, is the one and only sun. (He said that he offered to put Mr. Moehringer’s name on the book, and that Mr. Moehringer declined.)
Welcome to Mr. Agassi’s world. As described in “Open” it is lively but narrow, since Mr. Agassi’s curiosity does not extend far beyond tennis, more tennis, the misery of tennis, the way sportswriters misunderstand tennis and the irritating celebrity that tennis stardom confers. The biggest extracurricular events in Mr. Agassi’s life have been prompted by episodes of “60 Minutes” (one of which inspired him to open a charter school for at-risk children) and by friends’ predictions about which women he would meet, court and marry.
The bullet-point highlights of “Open” have been given the tabloid treatment in advance of the book’s arrival. Its biggest headline maker is a very brief account of Mr. Agassi’s use of crystal meth in 1997, the worst year of his career. Second biggest: that Mr. Agassi has spent years lying through his teeth to interviewers about his love of the game. Third biggest: those frosted mullets might have been part toupee. Shaving his head and liberating himself from fake hair seems actually to have been one of the few joyous things that the otherwise glum and weepy Mr. Agassi has done.
Given the anticlimactic nature of these revelations, what exactly keeps “Open” going? Somebody on the memoir team has great gifts for heart-tugging drama. And through some combination of Mr. Agassi’s keen memory and Mr. Moehringer’s narrative skills, “Open” is cleverly bookended by two all-important tennis matches. It begins with the 2006 United States Open, Mr. Agassi’s last tournament, and with a you-are-there tour of the weary champ’s psyche. “This will no longer be tennis, but a raw test of wills,” the book says with gladiatorial bravado.
Then, mid-showdown at Arthur Ashe Stadium, Mr. Agassi’s mind is “forcibly spinning” into the past, as if it were a whirling tennis ball. And as the book moves into full flashback mode: “I see everything with bright, startling clarity, every setback, victory, rivalry, tantrum, paycheck, girlfriend, betrayal, reporter, wife, child, outfit, fan letter, grudge match and crying jag.”
Cut to childhood. Mr. Agassi is 7 and forced into tennis servitude by a father so tough that he pulls out his own nose hair. For that and many other reasons little Andre is afraid to resist his father’s indomitable will. And his father, himself an ex-athlete, is so determined to make his son succeed that when Andre wins a trophy for sportsmanship (i.e., for something short of winning), his father smashes it to pieces.
Years later, as a tennis star married to Brooke Shields, he’s irritated as he watches her film an appearance on some television show he’s barely heard of (“Friends”). He stomps out of the studio, goes home and smashes his trophies himself. This is what passes for adult behavior during much of his grueling yet cosseted tennis career.
Among the more genuinely startling elements of “Open” is its scornful depiction of Ms. Shields as shallow, materialistic, dense and not sufficiently interested in Mr. Agassi’s career. (Though she does, damningly, show some interest in her own.) Mr. Agassi does not easily forgive, and his book is larded with extremely backhanded compliments for those who have crossed him. “I envy Pete’s dullness,” the book says of Mr. Agassi’s frequent rival Pete Sampras. “I wish I could emulate his spectacular lack of inspiration, and his peculiar lack of need for inspiration.” And yet Mr. Sampras is one of the more highly regarded opponents in Mr. Agassi’s story.
“Open” devotes a lot of space to thumbnail descriptions of matches and opponents, a litany that would drone on without dynamic, writerly flourishes. “The second set turns into a street fight and a wrestling match and pistols at 50 paces,” the books says of a first-round match at the French Open against the Argentine Franco Squillari.
This 1999 match, as tennis historians will record, is the occasion on which Mr. Agassi forgot his underwear, triumphed and vowed never to wear underwear again, which is one more indication that heated tennis combat is this book’s closest facsimile of sex. “The finish line is close enough to kiss,” he writes about the dramatic French Open final against Andrei Medvedev, “I feel it pulling me.” He is “terrified by how good this feels,” he writes about winning.
It is at about this time that Mr. Agassi seriously crosses paths with Steffi Graf, the fellow champion who will become the most important woman in his life. She has won the women’s side of the 1999 French Open. (Here’s his way of congratulating her: “You paved the way. You warmed up the court for me.”) When it comes to Ms. Graf, the combined effects of Mr. Agassi’s bedazzlement and Mr. Moehringer’s real romantic flair lead this book toward a fairy-tale finale.
The last scene is a love match between the married tennis stars, who have both retired and now have two children. They’re playing for fun on a public court. And “Open” has to end midmatch, because this game has two winners.
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