Beyond Center Court: My Story 0688099238

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MY STORY

Tracy Austin

ithChristine Brennan WILLIAM MORROW AND COMPANY, INC. NEW YORK

Copyright© 1992by TracyAustinandChristineBrennan Allrightsreserved.No partof thisbookmaybereproduced or utilizedin anyform or byanymeans,electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by

anyinformation storage orretrieval system, without permission inwriting fromthe Publisher. Inquiries should beaddressed toPermissions Department, William Morrow and Company,Inc., 1350Avenueof the Americas,New York, N.Y. 10019.

It isthepolicyofWilliamMorrowandCompany, Inc.,anditsimprintsandaffiliates, recognizing theimportance of preserving whathasbeenwritten,to printthebooks wepublishon acid-free paper,andweexertourbesteffortsto thatend. Libraryof CongressCataloging-in-Publication Data Austin,Tracy,1962Beyondcentercourt:mystory/ by TracyAustinwithChristineBrennan. -

cm.

ISBN 0-688-09923-8

1. Austin,Tracy,1962- . 2. Tennisplayers—United States—Biography. 3. Womentennisplayers—United States—Biography. I. Brennan,Christine.II.Title.

GV994.A93A25 1992 796.342'092—dc20 [B]

Printed in the United Statesof America First Edition 123456789

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BOOKDESIGNBYM. C. DEMAIO

92-6289 CIP

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To Mom and Dad for

yourconstantlove andsupport

ACKNOWLEDGMEN I wouldliketothankthefollowing people: PamAustin—Iappreciateyour beingtherewhenI beganmy

journeyinward. JeffAustin—Thanks for the constantspecialsupport,caring,

andencouragement.

DougAustin—Thanks forbeinga greatbrotherandfriend. JohnAustin—Thanks forbeingthereforme.Youremotional supporthasbeenincredible. Andthanksforyourawesome returnof serve.

Nana—Thanks forbeinganincredible rolemodeloflivinglife to thefullest.

TracyTomson—Iappreciateandhavelearnedfrom your pas-

sionforlife.You’rea joy anda pleasureto know.

Kathy Johnson—Thanks foryourcontinual insightful wisdom andknowledge. CariUtnehmer—Thanks for sharing,learning,andgrowing togetherovertheyears. RobertLansdorp—You’ve beenmy friendanda greatcoach. I couldn’thavedoneit withoutyou. SaraFornaciari—Thanks for beingtherelikea sisterwhenI neededyoumost.Yoursharingandguidancehelpedme so much.

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ChristineBrennan—I cannotthankyouenoughforthecountlesshoursof hardwork.I treasureour newfoundfriendship andappreciate yourhearingmyvoicesowell. LisaDrew—I’m gratefulto youfor guidanceandencouragementwiththisbook.

BobShuman—Thanks foryourpatience andmaking thispro-

jectfun. AlLowman—Thanks foryourgreatidea.Withoutyourpersistencethis book couldnot havebecome a reality.

ScottHolt—The soundingboardin mylife.You’vemademy lifeandmybookbetterbecauseof yourlove. —Tracy AUSTIN

I havemanypeopleto thankfortheirassistance andencouragement duringthe planningandwritingof thisbook. LisaDrewofWilliamMorrowandCompanywasawonderful editor,alwayspatient,alwayshelpful.BobShumanof WilliamMorrowofferedfabulousassistance. JanetPawsonof Athletesand Artistswas a greatfriendfrom start to finish—andbeyond.TheAustinfamilyprovidedvaluableanecdotes,scores,andinformation.Andit goeswithoutsaying thatwereit notforthetimeandeffortoftheyoungestAustin sibling,therewouldbe no book at all. Thanks,Tracy.

Thankyouto GeorgeSolomon,assistantmanagingeditor/sportsof TheWashington Post,forgivingmetimeofffrom workand constantencouragement to find new challenges. Thanks,too, to allmy colleagues at ThePostwhowereso kindandinterestedin myprogress. I wasfortunateto havea wonderfulgroupof friendsencouragingmealongthe way,includingChrisSpolar,Marty Aronoff,TracyKerdyk,TonyReid,SandyEvansandSteve Hoffman,MeredithGeisler,Mike Downey, KristinHucks-

horn,WesHeppler,andCarolynMooney.

AndwherewouldI be withoutmy family?Thankyou to

my parents, Kate, Tom, Jim, Amy, Randy, Brad, and Jennie. MN

—CHRISTINE BRENNAN

PROLOGUE

SEPTEMBER 10,1989 New York CIty

TheStadiumCourtat theNationalTennisCenteris one

of my favoriteplaceson earth. I won two U.S. Open titles here, the first at age sixteen in 1979, the second at eighteen in

1981.Wherever I go in life,whateverI do,it willalwaysbe thespotofmygreatesttriumphs,whichI findratheramazing, becauseit allhadhappened beforeI turnedtwenty-one. I go to the Openeveryyear,andwheneverI visit,my eyesdartaroundtheplace.I seethebaselines, whereI usedto spenda fairamountoftime.(Toomuchtime,thecriticssaid.) I seetheseatsinthecornerwheremydadandmybrotherJeff satto watchmeplay.I seethenet, whereChrisEvertgave mea patontheheadafterI beatherwhenI wasthelittlekid whowasbeginningto drivehernuts. ThenicethingabouttheStadiumCourtisthateverytime I comeback,it alwayslooksthe same,whichmeansthe mem-

oriesarealwaysthere,waitingforme.Exceptfortoday.This stiflinghot Sundayafternoonis so different.I’mnot hereto

TRACY AUSTIN

playtennisor commentate fortelevision ordreamaboutthe

goodolddays. I’msittingherein a wheelchair, forheaven’s sake.I can’t move my right leg. I was in a terriblecar accidenta month

ago.I’mluckyto bealive.

I cameto theOpenas a spokesperson for Equitable, whichsponsored ayear-round nationwide familytennistour-

namentandwantedmeto giveoutthetrophiesto thewinners andmakea speechat an awardsdinner.I alsowantedto watch

someofthetennis,soI mademywayto thewheelchair sectionina cornerofthecourtwhereI couldwatchthewomen’s doubles. AfterwinningthefinalwithHanaMandlikova, Martina Navratilova tookthemicrophone. I hadnoideawhatshewas aboutto say. “TIhavea goodfriendherewho’shadsomebadluckrecently,”shestartedout. ‘‘She’s a formerchampionandactuallybeatmeherein anemotional finala fewyearsago.ButI knowif shefightsthisandis ascourageous assheusedto be on the court,she'llbejust fine.Pleasejoin me in wishing TracyAustingoodluckanda speedyrecovery.”’ Thecapacitycrowdapplauded. Tearscameto myeyes.I leanedforward,putmyweightonmyleftfoot,triedto stand, and wavedtoward Martina.How nice that was of her, but

that’sjustthewaysheis. I cameawayfrommysixyearson thecircuitwitha lotofgoodfriends,oneofthembeingMartina.PeoplearesurprisedwhenI saythat,figuringthatChris wouldhavebeena betterfriendof minethanMartinawas,but

thatwasn’tso. ChrisandI weresuchrivalsthatsometimes therewasn’ta lotofopportunity to beclosefriends.Wewere so muchalike:the “girlsnextdoor’ withthe two-handed backhand,the tennisfamilies,and the femininedresses.

I wasstruckby Martina’skindness,but,just thinking sad.Yousee,little aboutwhatshesaidmademesoincredibly morethana monthbefore,I wasplanningon playingin the Open:doubles,notsingles,butI wasplayingagain,nonethe10

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less.I was playingTeamTennisin NewJerseywith my brotherJohn,andmysightswereseton theOpen.I played therelastyear—doubles onceagain—losing withKenFlachin thesemifinals. I wantedmore.I hadcomeandgonefromthecircuitby thetimeI wastwenty-one, whichwasin 1984.I didn’t“burn out,’’as so manypeopleseemto think.Mybodyjust succumbedto a seriesofinjuriesto myback,legs,andfoot,and I couldn’tcontinue.It wasthe mostdevastating thing.Finishedat twenty-one. Tothisday,eventhoughI’vemovedon to a lifeof TV commentating, businessdealings,charities, clinics,and travel,it’s an unbelievable,wrenchingthought.

Whenever it comesup,I usuallyjustpushit outofmymind.

Afterdealing withdozens ofdoctorsandphysical thera-

pistsandtreatmentsfor my variousailments,I wasin great shapeheadinginto the latesummer,1989.I wasdatinga man

in NewYorkCity,soplayingin NewJerseywasconvenient. John,myperennial doublespartner,wasmakinga comeback, too,limitingitjustto TeamTennis.Hehadretiredattwentysix becauseof kneeproblemsand felt that his career,like mine,wasstillincomplete. Forme,TeamTennisseemedto bea goodwayto easebackintoseriousplaying.ForJohn,it wasanendin itself. Butallmyhopesendedin a splitsecondon a gorgeous Thursdaymorningin earlyAugust.I wasdrivingthroughan intersection whena vanrana redlightandplowedintome.I don’tremembermuchof whathappened,exceptthatwhen everything cameto rest,I waslyingon thestreet,my back againstthepavement, mylegsaboveme,danglingontheseat. Theseatbelthungabovemyhead,attachedto thedoorthat hadflungopen.Myneckwaskillingme.Mybackwas,too. I thoughtI wasparalyzed. I sawseveraldoctorsandunderwent hoursofX raysand examsuntiltheyfiguredoutwhatwaswrongwithme.I was not paralyzed. Myneckandbackwerenot broken,but my rightlegwas,justbelowtheknee.I endeduphavingit rebuilt 11

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withabonegraftfrommyhipandonehugescrewtoholdit

in place.I alsoendedup withonelong,sashlikebruise,made,

thankfully, by theseatbelt.ThereI was,MissAmerica! Needlessto say,I wouldnot be playingtennisfor a while—almost a year.TherewouldbenoU.S.Openforme,

exceptinthewheelchair section.

Tennis? TheU.S.Open?Theyweren’tevenpriorities anymore.Forthreemonths,I couldn’t gotothebathroomortake a bathby myself.I hadhadtennistakenawayfrommebefore,

butnothingwaseverthisbad.AndI’mnotjusttalkingabout

theinjuries. Now,I wasanadult.I hadfoughthardforthis thingcalleda tenniscareer.I wantedit backandI wantedit

badly.Before,whenI waslittleTracyAustin,fourfeeteleven

inchesandeighty-nine pounds,ithadcomeandfoundme. Don’tgetmewrong.I hadworkedhardforit, withthe helpofmyparentsandsiblings.Butthistime,I hadmadethe choiceto goback.TherewasnothingI wantedmorethana secondchanceat tennis.

So, as I sit here, momentsafter Martinahas acknowl-

edgedme,replaying herwordsthewayI usedtoreplaypoints in mymind,I amstruckby twothoughts:

DoI everlovethisgame. And,boy,doI missit.

12

CHAPTER ONE M

M, mother,Jeanne,and my firstcoach,VicBraden,liketo tell peopleI wonmy first tennistournamentbeforeI wasborn.Whenmy momwas pregnantwithme,sheandVicwon a local doublestournament in southernCalifornia.The way I look at it, they wonin spiteof me.Mymothercertainlycouldn’thavebeen verymobile. |

Thereis no doubt,however,that I wasborn to playten-

nis.I wasthelastof fivechildrenin a familytotallydevoted to thegame.Forthelongesttime,I couldbeatallthegirlsmy age,butI couldn’tbeatanyoneinmyfamily.ThatmeDe things in perspective forme. Mymomandmy dad,George,metat UCLAwhenhe wasa captainin theAirForceandshewasin herjunioryear. They got married,movedaroundthe countrywith my dad’s

jobinthemilitary(hefinallyretiredaslieutenant colonel),and hadchildren.PamandJeffwerebornin Boston;Dougin Albuquerque; JohnandI inCalifornia. Theymovedbackto Californiain 1956whenmydadbecamea nuclearphysicistwith TRWInc.,anaerospace engineering firm,andboughta home 13

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in RollingHillsEstates,oneofthenicersuburbssouthofLos Angeles.It wasto havebeena temporaryhouse,my mom told me. They stilllivethere. My motherneverplayedtennisuntil they went backto

California. Herbrother,BillReedy,wasa nationallyranked

player, butshenevergotintothegame.ShegrewupinBeverlyHillsandhermotherneverthought itproperforawoman to play.Then,as a motherof four, with onlyme leftto come along, she becamea tennisnut. To get some exercise,she

draggedPam,Jeff,Doug,John,anda playpento El Retiro Park,whichconsistedof twopubliccourts.Shethenmoved on to RedondoHighSchoolandleaguesthere.In 1961,she was rankedtwenty-fifthin the southernCaliforniawomen’s

division.Themoretournaments sheplayed,themorepeople

she met. One day, she was introducedto Vic Braden,a Los

Angelespsychologist. Vicwasa friendofJackKramer’s, tennischampofthe1940s,andhadanideato starta tennisclub. Soon,theJackKramerClubin RollingHillswasbeingbuilt, Vicbecamethepro,andmymombeganworkingin thepro shop.I wasborntwoweeksbeforetheconcreteforthecourts waspoured,and my mom startedbringingall of us kids along.Notlongafterward, mymotherwasdesigning herown lineof tennisdressesso shecouldpayforourlessons. Mydad,meanwhile, wasa rocketscientist.Literally. He wentto MITandbelievedthateducationwasthe mostimportantthing.Heplayedtennisnowandthen,but hiswork intheaerospace industryandprovidingforuswashislife.He hadbeenpoorasa childandalwayshashadsuchuncomplicated,laudablegoals.He rarelycameto my matches,unless theywerebigones,andnevergotinvolvedin mytennis,unlikeMessieursEvert,Capriati,Seles,Graf,et al. He washap-

pierif I camehomewithstraightA’sthanif I wonanother trophy.As I lookbackon it now,thatwasjust the wayit shouldhavebeen.I’mgladit wasthatway. OnthenightofDecember11,1962,mymotherhitballs to Pam,Jeff,Doug, andJohn. At sixthe nextmorning,I was 14

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born.Thatwashowmuchtenniswasa partof ourlives. Likemostprofessional athletes,I beganplayingmysport early.Vicrolledtennisballsto meinmycrib.I remember my firstballwasgivento meby Dougandwasmadeofyarn.It wasthe onlyoneallowedin the house.I useda sawed-off racquetandhittheballallovertheplace.WhenI beganto hit thelampshades, theymovedmeoutof thelivingroom.The ballstillis in ourhouse,in theframeabovetheslidingglass doors,wherewealwayskeptit. Mymothertookmeto theKramerClubeverydaywhen shewenttoworkand,whenI wastwo,gotmeintoaprogram forkidsagesthreeto eight.Victookhomemoviesofmerunningaroundbarefoot,swattingtheballwithatwo-handed forehand.Thecourtswerewaytoobigforme,soI spentmostof my timeon the paddletenniscourts,whereeverything was moremysize.I’veseenVic’shomemovies,andIwasoneofthe fewchildrenwhoseemedtoknowwhatwasgoingon.Evenat three,I hadthecoordinationto hit theball.Vicmadetennisfun

forme.Hekeptmyfriends andmerunning allthetime.Wehad

contestsbalancingballson our racquetsandcountinghow manyballswecouldpickup andput intothebasket.Good strokeswerenotimportant then.Hekeptusrunningandcountingandlaughing.Hewasgreatatthat. I wasgivenmy firsttrophyat agefourfor hittingfive ballsin a rowagainsta wall.Whata feat! ‘Everyoneelsein myfamilyis winningtrophies,”I said to Del Little,the clubmanager.“I want one, too.”

Delthoughtfora minute,thentoldmeif I wentto the backboard andhit fivetimesin a row,I’dgeta trophy,too. Thatwassoimportantto me,I wentoutandhit andhitand hituntilI gotfiveconsecutively. Delscratched FIVE TIMES onto a trophyandhandedit to me.Thatlittlesilvertrophystillsits amonghundredsof othersat myparents’house. Eventhen,I remember peoplefocusingonme,makinga bigdealoverme.Byagethree,a Londontabloidhadcome overto takemypictureandwritea storyaboutVicandJack’s 15

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kids’program. Theydidn’tidentify me,buttheyprintedtwo

picturesof mewithJackKramer’s quote:‘““Some ofthemare alreadypotentialworld-beaters.”’ At theripeoldageof four,I wason thecoverof World Tennis. Andoneof ourlocalpapers,theDailyBreeze,rana

fewphotosofmethatsamesummer. TheWorld Tennis cover

happenedby chance.A photographer cameout andsnapped some picturesof Jack Kramerand his kids, and took one of me wearingnavy-bluetennis shoes and a sweaterover my

dress.MymotherjokesthathadsheknownI wasgoingto be featuredon the cover,shewouldhavedressedmebetter—orat

leastcombedmyhair. Ina way,focusonallthisattentionismisleading. It gives theimpression thatI wasforcedintothegame,thewaymany youngchildrenare now by parentswho are motivatedby money.Nothingcouldbefurtherfromthetruth.Ilovedhitting theballthen.I lovedtryingto keeptheballgoingagainstthe backboard, andI lovedrunningandchasingit whenI missed, whichwasoften.ButI wasn’tbeingpushedintothesport.My motherandfatherwereinterestedonlyin myhappiness asa youngster. Tenniswasadiversion, justfunandgames. _It soundscornyto saythis,butmyfamilywasthereason I hadsucha goodperspective. Everyday,mymotherpicked usupfromschoolandtookusto theKramerClub.Shekept aneyeon meassheworkedin theproshopandthendrove us home.WhenI grewolder,I rememberI wouldchange clothesonthewayandif wecamesidebysidewitha busor truckhavinga viewintoourcar,my momwouldwarnme to coverupuntilit wassafeto continuedressing.Atagesixteen,weeachgotour owncar,so we’ddriveseparately. At onepoint,therewerefiveVolkswagens in thefamily. Thereasonwedashedto the clubafterschoolwasthat therewerethirteencourtsat theKramerClubanddozensof kidswhowantedto playon them.Thereweretwelveto fifteenchildrenat mylevelof playalone.So,if youdidn’tget thereearly,yousatandwaited. 16

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At nightswhenwewenthome,we alwayssetour racquetsonthefloorto therightof thefrontdoor.Atitspeak,

the pile numberedthirty-fiveracquets.My mom would fix dinneras we did schoolwork,my dadwouldcomehome,and

thenwe'dall sit andeat together.If I everhada problem,

therewouldbea half-dozen peopleto listenandhelpmeat thetableon anyevening.

My father playedtenniswith me everynow and then.

WhenI wasfouror fiveyearsold,wewouldgo to thelocal high-school tenniscourtswhereI washardlytallerthanthe

net.Mydadremembers thatpeoplewouldmutter,“Yeah, sure,you’regoingto playtennis,ha-ha,’’whenwe walked out there. My dad lovedit when those same peoplewould

stopplayingandwatchusasI kepttheballin play.It washis own versionof CandidCamera,a showhe loves.

“Herlittlefeetwouldrundowneverything andshewould

hit two-handed shotsbackat meandgigglewitheveryexertion,”’my dad said.

Wekeptup our traditionof playingtogetherevenas I grewolder.I don’trememberseeingmydadthatmuchduringtheday;hewasthetypicalfather,leavingthehousebefore I got up and cominghomeat six or sevenin the evening.So, whenI wasten, eleven,or twelve,I cravedspendingtimewith

him.I lovedhittingon thehigh-school courtswithhimand againstthe backboard.We weren’tcompetitivewith each other,wejust likedto playfor fun;my dadis the firstto admithe is the worstin the family.He wasthe firstfamily memberI beat,whichhappenedwhenI wasnineor ten.But thatdidn’tmatter.I lovedbeingouttherewithmydad. Healsodida goodjob of gettingmeawayfromtennis. On Sundayafternoons, he wouldtakemeandmyfriendsto SpacePiratePark,an amusementcenterwherewe would spendall day on the rides,or to the RedBarn,wherewe wouldgohorseback riding. Contraryto popularbelief,wewerenot rich.Not even close.Our househadthreebedrooms—one for my parents, ag

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oneforthethreeboys,oneforPamandme.Ifwehadhouse guests—and wealwaysdid,becausemymomcontinually volunteeredto hostvisitingtennisplayers—I’d sleepon the cot in thelivingroom.Mymotheralwayshassaidshegotus all intotennisto keepusbusyandgetusoutofoursmallhouse. Wehad to be frugalin allkindsof ways.EvenwhenI got older,I neverhad more than two half-hourlessonsa week.I didn’twantto becomeovertrained,of course,but moneywas

thedetermining factor.I remember weneverwentouttodinner asa family,exceptwhenI wasolderandJohnandI werethe onlyonesleftinthehouse.Eventhen,it wasonlySundaynights with the Fernandezfamily,who had tennis-playingdaughters

myage.Otherwise, goingtoJack-in-the-Box wasthebigtreat

oftheweekwhenmyfatherstayed lateatwork.

At home,wecutexpensesby drinkingpowderedmilk.

WheneverI went to friends’housesand hada glassof real milk,it tastedto me likeicecream.Lateron, KnudsenDairy

ofLosAngelessignedmeasa spokeswoman. Partofthedeal

wasdelivery offreemilk,yogurt,andicecreamforourfamily

everyweek.Thecompanyevenboughtus a freezerto store everything.No one everknewwhat a treat that was. I also lovedbacon.Del Little’smotherinvitedme over

nearlyeveryMondayto playaroundthegeraniums inhergar-

denandeaticecreamandbacon.I knowthissoundslikea

bizarrecombination ofthingsto eat,butwedidn’thavebacon excepton Christmas,becauseit was so expensive,and my mom reallytried to stickto a budget. My Mondayswere a

delight—because of baconandice cream.My momwould

dropmeoffasshetookJohntopractice atUCLA,thenpick meup whentheywerefinished.

Theroutinevarieda bit morewhenI turnedeleven.We’d go to LaCostaoncea month,on a Wednesday,soJohn could

takeanhourlessonandI couldhavea half-hourlessonfrom tennislegendPanchoSegura.Panchowasknownasa master strategist,so that’swhatweworkedon. Thatwasa special treatbecausewedidhaveto watchwhatwespent.Weweren’t 18

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unusualamongtennisfamiliesin thatregard.Mrs.Evertwas

quotedassayingshefounda lotofwaysto prepare chicken fortheirfamilydinners. Wehadtowatchwhatwespentonclothes,too.Theboys eachgotonepairof corduroysandonepairofjeansforthe year,whilePamandI boughta coupleofoutfits.Whatmade meso excitedaboutturningprowasbeingableto go shoppingwithmy schoolfriendCariHornthe dayI got home froma tournament. I wouldplayMartinaona Sundayandon a Monday,I wouldhop in Cari’slittlestick-shiftcar—shegot

herlicenseearlierthanI did—and offwe’dgoto thestores.I neverboughtexpensive clothes,but I just lovedfillingmy

closetforthefirsttimeinmylife.

Cariwasa greatinfluence for me.I metherin seventh gradeandwewerewonderful friendsfromthenon. Herlife wassonormal;shewentto allthehighschooldancesI always missed.I wouldcallherfroma tournament andtellherhow I playedandshewouldtellmeabouttheFridaynightdance. I didn’tlongforthatlifebecauseI lovedmine,butCariwas mylinkto whatrealkidsweredoing. I wasfivewhenI begansemiprivate lessonswithVic,just oncea week.Mymomcalledit, “Hit,giggle,andrun.”’But _VicsaidhenoticedI had‘‘excellent footwork.I liketheway shebounceson herfeet,’’hetoldreporters. Istartedtoplaymoreinthenextfewyears,althoughatage sixorseven,I stillwasn’tplayingregularly afterschool.Ididn’t learnhowto keepscoreuntilonedaywhenI wasaboutsix.I wasplayingattheclubagainstKevinDavidson, aboywhowas myage.Bothourmomsweresittingbesidethecourt,tellingus whichside—deuce or ad—tostandon. Imaginetryingto explainthecrazyscoringsystemtosixyearolds.Westoodinthe

wrongspotsforawhile,butthenwecaught on.

I playedmyfirsttournament at ageseveninLongBeach. AllmyothersiblingswereplayingeveryweekendandI kept beggingmymothertoletmeplayagainstotherkids,too.They

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didn’thaveten-and-understhen, so I triedthe twelve-and-un-

ders—I wasseven—and gotkilledbyagirlnamed JulieKramer, buthada lotoffun.Theideaofplayingmademesohappy.I worelittleshortsandmy hairin braids,andsinceI hada two-

handedbackhand andnoplacetoputthesecondballwhenIwas

serving, I settheballallthewaybackatthebaseofthefence.

WhenImissedmyfirstserve,I hadtorunback,pickupthesecondball,andcomebackandserveit.Juliewasa foottallerthan

I was,thefirstofmanygiantstofaceme. I movedonto thecity’sage-group championships at age nineandwonthe10-and-under titleandthetwelve-and-under titleon thesameday.At thistimein mylife,I wasalways playingthe Fernandeztwins, who are two yearsolderthan I

am,in thesemisandfinal.I alwaysbeatAnnaMariain the semisandalwayslostto AnnaLuciain thefinal.Shehada hugeforehandandwallopedmeeverytime,like1 and0. I mettheFernandez sisters—all fourofthem—in thesand boxat theKramerClub.In additionto theoldergirls,there wasanothersetoftwins,CeceliaandElisa,whoweremyage. I gotintoa regularroutineofpracticing withAnnaMariaand AnnaLucia.I playedAnnaMariaeveryThursday. OnFridays, I wouldplayAnnaLucia,butwemostlygoofedoff.Wemade up gamesand danceroutinesand fooledaround.Wedid this

untilI wasfifteenor sixteenyearsold.Wealwaysplayedon anoutsidecourtsono onewouldspotus andgetangrythat weweren'tpracticing. In additionto theFernandezes, I hadregularmatchesset upwithtwoothergirlstakinglessonsattheclub—Trey Lewis on Tuesdaysand Liz Stalderon Wednesdays. The regular schedule savedusfrommakingphonecallsandgotusallinto a greatroutine. Despitethe shenanigans on the backcourtswithAnna Lucia,I wasseriousaboutthisgame.Andit showed.It turns out that my brotherJeff was predictingmy successbeforeI

turnedten. He wason the men’stour andwastellinghis friendshe hada sisterwhowas“goingto be a superstar.” 20)

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Theydidn’tbelieveit, butJeffsaidheknewit. I’veaskedhim

howheknewandhesaysI hadan“uncanny knackforbeing ableto connectandwhacktheheckoutof theball.”Hesaid it wasan“‘instinctive feelforhowto playtennis,whereto hit the ball, how to run.” Not very scientific,is it? But, in the

end,he wasright. Still,tennishardlywasmysolepreoccupation. AsI look backonit now,I reallywasmoreinterested inrunningaround withmyfriendsthanplayingmatches.Mybestlittlepalatthe

Kramer Club was Cecelia,who endedup playingcollegiate

tennisat USC.Beginning at ageeightor nine,afterI played a pro set (to eightgames)on the weekendwithoneof the womenfromtheclubinthemorning,Ceceliawouldcomeby andwewouldrun around,playinglittleentrepreneurs. We’d draw picturesand sell them for one cent to some of the

womenaroundtheclubor we’dgoto thefieldbesidetheclub andpickwildflowers andput themin tennis-ball cans.Then wewouldtakepapertowelsfromthebathroom,drawpictures on them,andwrapthemaroundthe cansandsellthe little vases for five cents. If we made seventeencents the whole day,

we werehappy.Wehadmorefunjust tryingto figureout ideasuntiloneo’clock,whenit wastimefor meto go play tennisagain. CeceliaandI lookedas differentas dayandnight:She wasofLatindescent,withdarkhairanddarkeyes;I wasa Californiablondewithblueeyes.But, everyHalloween for fiveor sixyearsin a row,we wouldgo trick-or-treating as twins,wearingthesameclothes,makeup,everything. Wewerethesamesize—tiny. Oneof ourfavoritepranks showedhowsmallwebothwere.CeceliaandI wouldplay hide-and-seek withtheotherboysandgirlsintheboys’locker room in the dark. Weboth couldfit into one narrow,three-

foot-talllockerandwe’dwaitthereuntilsomeonecamealong andtaggedus.Butthetaggercaughtonlythepersonin front. Therealwayswastheotheroneinbackwhowasneverfound. 21

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Theyneverfiguredoutbothofuswereinthere.I’msurprised wedidn’tpassoutfromlackof oxygen. This wasn’tmy only experiencesharinga small space

witha friend.ThefirsttimeI flewona planewaswhenI was nine,goingto visitVicin SanDiego,wherehehadmoveda coupleof yearsearlier.I wastravelingwithTreyLewis,who wasthreeyearsolderandhadflownbefore.I wasso scared on thelittlepropellerplanethatI toldTreywehadto share the sameseat.The flightattendantcamealong,shookher head, askedsomeoneelseto move, and then tuckedus into

ourseparateseats,nextto eachother.

aa

I thinkit’saccurateto saythat my childhoodwasas nor-

malasthesportof tenniswouldallow.That’snotto saymy

lifewasnormallikethatofa childgrowing upin,say,the

Midwest—and sometimesI wonderwhat that wouldhave beenlike.But,forCalifornia, andforwhatwasgoingto becomea big-timetenniscareer,it wasn’tbad. I mean,therewerethingslikebeingthrowninto the KramerClubpoolby myfriendsasa birthdayritualandhittingmy headat the bottom;goingup the stairsofa slide, missinga step,hittingmy chinand almostbitingoff my tongue,whichrequiredstitches(thedoctorstoldmeI would havea speechimpediment,but they werewrong);flying throughour stationwagonat age three when my mom

stopped shortfora yellowlightandlandingonmynosein

the backof a seat,withthe otherfourkidsscreaming; and beingclosedunderneath thelifeguardstandwithallthedirty laundryandonlytwolittleholesto breatheaspunishment for runningon thepooldeck. Tosumit up, I neverwasfarfromtrouble.WhenI was two,my motherwasplayingtenniswithJohnon the court nextto thepoolandhearda sound.Plop!It wasme.Ottothe lifeguardpulledme out and,in the nextfewdays,I started swimminglessonsbecausethe poolwasin the centerof the clubandI ranaroundso much,I wasboundto fallin again. 22

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Mydietwasjustascarefree. I atethreecandybarsa day anddranktonsofCokes.Iruinedmydinneronadailybasis.

I wasthequeenofjunkfood.Whena healthmagazine came

by and askedme about my favoritesnacksand vegetables,|

toldthemthetruth:“FritosandSnickers, andI don’teatvegetables.” It’sstrangethatI admittedthat,becauseoneruleathome was—we hadto eatourvegetables. Everyonethinkseveryyoungtennisplayeris veryonedimensional, whichjust wasn’ttruein my case.UntilI was

fourteen, I neverplayed tennisonMonday, always takingthe

dayoffto goto DelLittle’smother’shouseor ridehorsesor

playon a trampolineor do somethingelsethat was fun. My

mothermadesureI neverput in sevenstraightdayson the court.Shedidn’tworkat theclubon Mondays,sowenever

wentthere.

|

Buttheflipsidewasthatweekends formewerenotlike

weekendsfor everyoneelse.WhenI wentto slumberparties,

I oftenhadto leaveat ten-thirtyto bereadyfora tournament thenextmorning.I couldparty,butI couldn’tslumber. EvenwhenI wasat theKramerClub,I didmybestnot to standoutin thecrowd.I desperately wantedto beoneof the gang.In fact,my peersmademea betterplayer.There werea lot of littlekidsthereandwe allplayedon adjacent courts.I’dkeepan eyeon my friendsandneverwantedany

ofthemtoshowmeup.Ifanother kidpracticed twohours,I wouldpracticetwoanda halfhours.

I was veryluckyto be in southernCalfornia,wherewe playedyear-roundten minutesfromour house.I nevermoved

awayto a tenniscamp.Butevenif I hadnotbeensolucky,I doubtmyparentseverwouldhaveallowedmeto leaveas a

child,and I neverwouldhavewantedto. Weneverevendiscussed it, but, in our household, it never would have hap-

pened.Otherkidshavenotbeenasluckytohaveagreattennis atmosphere to growup in andfelttheneedto moveaway. 23

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AndreaJaegermovedaway;JenniferCapriatimovedat least twotimes;MonicaSelesmovedallthewayfromYugoslavia to theUnitedStates,withherentirefamilyin tow.It putsa lot of pressureon thechildwheneverything revolvesaround

herperformance onthetenniscourt.

However,as I wasgrowingup, I don’tremembernot beingpointedout. At the KramerClub,by the timeI was five,I couldhearpeoplesay,“Lookat Tracy,howwellshe hitstheball.’’VicBradentoldpeopleat the club,“Lookat howmanytimesshecanhittheballoverthenet.”I wasspecial and I was different, but I still went home for dinner at

night, andmy dadstillcamehomefromwork, andmy mom cookedin the kitchen.

I know,I know.Whenyou'reonthecoverofSportsIllus-

tratedat age thirteen,as I was, with the headline,a sTARIs

BORN, you’reanythingbutordinary.But,evenat thattime,I

wasfifth-bestin a familythathadearnedmorethanfourhundred tournament victories at local, state, national, and interna-

tionalcompetition, includingnineU.S. TennisAssociation

national championships. Theyallkeptmeinline.Onething I neverfeltwasspecial.

Aboutmy sisterand brothers:Pam alwayshas beenmy

glamorous bigsister—thirteen yearsolderthanIam.Sheplayed

onthewomen’s circuit fornineyearsandalways camehometo

theroomwesharedto tellmestoriesofFrance,Japan,wherever.Shewallpaperedour roomwithpostersfromallhertrav-

els.I remember she’dtakeoverthekitchenby cookingweird recipesshepickeduparoundtheworld.Forexample, sheonce

cooked hotdogsinCoke.(Idon’tknowwhattheoriginofthat

was.)Shewasanightowl,stayingupwellpastmidnightwith theTVgoingandthelightson.Meanwhile, I hadtogotobed atnineforschool.I quicklylearnedhowtoblockoutthenoise andthelightandgotosleep. Pamwasmyidol.Hertennisdresses,herclothes,herlife oftravel,herboyfriends, herways:Everything aboutherwas 24

BEYOND CENTER COURT

sofeminine. I thoughtshewasgreat.I always wantedtolead thelifeshehad.It seemedsoglamorous. Howironicit isthat

I wastheonewhobecamerankedNumberOnewomanplayer in the world, and she was the one who became a tennis direc-

tor at a clubin IndustryHills,California. I thinkshehadthe

toughest timeofanyone inmyfamilyaccepting mysuccess. If shehadhadanotherkindof career—if shehadbeenanartist—shewouldnot havefeltso competitive withme.In fact,

if we had becomeartistsshe wouldhavebeen the star—be-

causetherestof us candrawonlystickfigures.Butherlife

wastennis,as wasmine.WhenI wonthe U.S. Openin 1979,

shenevercalledtocongratulate me.

My sisterandI areoppositesin manyways.Shegrewup tallandskinnyandis sixfeettallnow,whileI’mfivefeetfour. She started tennis when she was around eleven;I started

aroundtwo.Ourownmotherbeatherin thesemisofthe women’sclubchampionship. CurryKirkpatrick reportedin

SportsIllustratedthat Pam said it was “‘soserious,it was

awful.”’ Andhewrotethatmymotherneverplayeda tournamentsinglesmatchagain.“I didn’tlikethefeeling,’””» mymom toldCurry. Pamprobablywouldhavequitthegamewereit not for thewonderfulopportunities it providedto travelandseethe world.Shewentto SouthAfricaandbeganplayingthetour there,andneverstoppedplaying.Currysaidinhisarticlethat whenPamwrotelettershome,shetoldofWestminster Abbey or thingssuchas funnyrickshas.Butwhenmy bigbrother Jeffwrote,hesaidthingslike,““At5-2,40-30,I servedto the guy’sbackhandandnailedhim.”’ I willalwayshavethelargestplacein myheartforJeff, whois twelveyearsolderthanI am.Whenhe wouldcome homeon weekendsfromUCLA,wherehe wentto schooland

playedontheteam,I wouldrunandjumpintohisarms.He alwaystooktimeto practicewithme—he’d playleft-handed andalwaystoldmeI couldbegreatifI keptpracticing. Healso wouldbringmegifts,likea silverbraceletwithmynamein25

TRACY AUSTIN

scribedonit fromatourstopinHongKong.(Ibrokeitplaying volleyball, butwefixeditupandI woreituntilit brokeagain.) Evenwhenhewenttolawschool,Jeffcamedownatnightsand practiced withme.Hewasmorelikeafatherthanmyfatherwas sometimes, becausemydadwassobusyworking.Everynow andthen,inbigmatcheswhenI wasapro,onethoughtofJeff motivatedme to playbetter. The thoughtof callinghim and

tellinghimI wonspurredmeto morethanonevictory.Atthe 1979ItalianOpen,down4-2 to ChrisEvertin the thirdset, I

picturedcalling JeffandtellinghimI won.Anhourlater,I did exactlythat. I wasgladto showhim allour longpracticeshad paidoff. |

Jeffalsoplayedprofessionally, althoughheneverthought

hewould.Infact,hisonlygoalwasto playatUCLA.But hisgamecameonthere,andhewasrankedinthetopsixty on the men’spro tour at the peakof his career,whichended

in 1977. He won one tournament, in Aptos, California, in

1973.Hereceived fifteenthousanddollarsforthevictory,and

promptly spentit onanAlfaRomeo. Jeffisnowmyagentat Advantage International inWashington, D.C.Hetellsmethat

hedidwithhisearningswhathenowadviseshisclientsnever to do—spendall their moneyat once. He spentall his prize

moneyin a week.

Dougis mysecond-oldest brother,nineyearsaheadof me.Heistheonlyonenotdrivenbytennis.Hewasa solid

playerand playedat BrighamYoungUniversityand Long BeachState,but he’dratherspendtimeawayfromtheKramer

Club with his buddies.BYU and Doug werenot a great

match;hegotintroubleforkissing a girlona date.Dougis

so casualandrelaxed—different fromtherestof us. He was

the one who wore a beardand ownedone suit and two ties. And eventoday,he owns one suit and two ties.

The interestingthingaboutDougis that losingnever

botheredhim. He alwayssaid, “I playedfine, but the other

guywasbetter.”” Wewereworriedthathe mightnotbe successful, but now he works harder than any of us and has a

26

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greatconstruction business. Hespentmoretimewithmethan anyoneelseinthefamilywhenI wasalittle girl,coloringand painting.Nowhehasthreekidsandplayswiththemjustthe wayhe playedwith me. I lovespendingtimewith them. Doughasn’tchanged,andthat’sgreat. Johnis fiveanda halfyearsolderthanI am,butweran aroundtogethereverynightathomeandseemedmuchcloser in age.Once,I chippeda toothon hisheadplayingbucking broncos.Mymomalwayssaidthatsomebodywasgoingto gethurt,andit wasn’tgoingto beJohn.Almosteverynight, wewouldstartto argueandhewouldwarnmenotto touch him. So I touchedhimlightly.Andhe hit me. On a more friendlynote:Wewouldmassageeachother’sbacksforsixty seconds.Exactlysixtyseconds.Tomakesureit wasequal,we timedit on a stopwatch. | Johnis anexcellent player.HebeatJohnMcEnroetwice andwontheNCAAdoublestitleat UCLA.Thisbringsup a

point:People always wonder aboutwhether theNumber One

Hundred-rankedman can beat the NumberOne—ranked woman.Theansweris yes,definitely.John wasa betterplayer

thanI was.Theman’sstrength,hisserve,hispower,andhis foot speedwilldominateeventhe top womanplayer.The

publicthinksit’smuchmoreequalthanit is.Forexample, whenI wasin myprimeandpracticing withJohn,hewould

hit into halfthe courton my sideandI wouldhavethe whole

courtto hitbackinto. He wasmy doublespartnermostof the timeandwith

him,I sharedoneof my greatesttriumphs—winning the Wimbledon mixeddoublestitlein 1980.Thingsalwayshave happenedto us at the same time: His first marriageended

whenI brokeup withmy firstseriousboyfriend,and,not longafterI hadmycaraccidentandhurtmyleg,hebrokehis wrist.Wehadajoke:IfI satonhisshoulders, hecouldbemy legsandI couldbe hisarms,andwe'dbe readyto takeon anyonein singles. John now is the tennisdirectorat PGAWestin Palm. 2]

TRACY AUSTIN

Springs.Wetalkallthetimeonthephone.IfI haveanykind of boyfriendproblemsor familytroubles,he’stheoneI call. He’sveryemotionalandsensitive. Allof us arestillverycloseto oneanother,andit’seasy

tobe,because welivenearby. Pamlivestenminutes frommy

parents,Douglivestenminutesaway,I livetenminutesaway, Johnlivestwoanda halfhoursaway,andJefflivesacrossthe countryin Alexandria, Virginia,in suburbanWashington, but comeshomewhenhe can.Allin all,notbadfora familyof the 1990s. I oftenwonderwhy I wasthe mostsuccessfulof allof us.

Jeffsaysit wasa resultof severalfactors.““Very fewpeople attainNumberOnein anything,”hesaid.““You haveto have thephysicalability,thementalability,therightenvironment, properinstruction,drive,focus,andconcentration.Tracywas

bornwithsomanytalentsandshehappenedto bein a family environment thatallowedherto thrive.If shehadbeenborn withallthesameskillsbut hadbeenin a familythatplayed basketball,at fivefeetfour inches,she wouldnot havefit in.

ButalltherightthingscameintoplayforTracy.It allworked. It didn’tforeveryone elseinthefamily,butbyaverage householdstandards,wewereprettydarngood.”’ ThereareotherreasonswhyI becameNumberOne.I workedsoincredibly hardonmygame,fromhittingtheball againstthebackboard to playingwithmyfriendsforhoursa day.I nevertiredofthegame.I nevergotbored.Onequestion I askmyself:Whatis it that drivespeopleto workso hardto

besuccessful? Thereis thatlittlebitextrathatsomeof us are willingto giveandsomeofusaren’t.Whyisthat?I thinkit’s thechallenge to bethebest. I alwaystriedto be thebestat everythingI did,sometimesto my detriment.WhenI hit the ballbadlyin practice, I wouldwant to hit for threehours until I got it right. This

carriedoverto myschoolwork, too.MyU.S.historyteacher

inhighschoolwasn’t toopleased thatI missed schooltoplay 28

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intournaments. WhenI wasoutoftown,hegavetheother kidsa testwithtwentymultiple-choice questions. WhenI got back,I gottenhardessayquestions. Thenightbeforetheexam,I studiedextrahardbecauseI knewI wasgettinga moredifficulttest.Lateat night,my momcameintomyroomandtoldmeto goto bedandsettle fora B. ButI wouldn’tstop.I didgetanA—and I alsogot sick.That’swherelettinggo andnot pushingmyselfwould havebeenthethingto do.Whilemostchildrenwerewriting chainletters,I hada clearplanof whatI wantedoutof life. Sometimes the mentalitythat got me to NumberOnealso

became myworstenemy.

Evennow,I thinkaboutmyboyfriend,ScottHolt.He’s soeasygoing. I nevercouldbethatway.I couldn’tacceptB’s or C’s.Tohim,thosegradeswereacceptable, just partof a well-rounded life.AndtherewereotherreasonsI becamesuccessful.Myfathertellsa storyabouta timewehostedJaime Fillolof Chileandanotherplayerat ourhouse.I wassix. “Theywouldplaythe cardgameConcentration with Tracy,’my dad said. ‘“That’sthe gamewhereyou get glimpsesof whichcardsarewhereandlatercancapturethe cardsifyouremember wheretheyare.It wasincredible to me andto themthatTracywasinvincible. I couldnot beather andtheycouldnotbeather.”’ MydadsaidI was“undisputed champ”’ at anothercard gameas well.“It was‘War,’whichrequiredgoodhand-eye coordination. Thecardsareturnedupfromthedeckandcontestantsgrabthemwhenonecardturnedupmatchesanother. Youare penalizedfor falsemoves.No one couldmatch Tracy’sreflexes.This gamewas hazardousto the handsand

weeventually hadto banit. Butshewonallthetime.” Backonthetenniscourt,VicBradenprovideda wonderfulstartformybuddingcareer,because hedemanded balance. He broughtfamiliesto the KramerClub,not protégés.He told SportsIllustratedthat he was “concerned”about my

‘breadthearlyon.”Hesaidtheytriedto getmeto playwith 29

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dolls,butI’dalwayssaynoandjustgoonhittingtennisballs. I lovedBarbiedolls,but it is trueI lovedtennismorethanany

otherhobbyI had.

In1976,Vicsaidthatthingshadchanged. ‘“That singlemindedness seemsto havepassed,” VicsaidwhenI wason

thecoverof SportsIllustrated at agethirteen.“I’vealwaysbelieveda youngplayerdoesn’tburn herselfout; the people aroundher burn out the youngster.Jeannehas stressedto Tracythatvictoriesarefine,but if shestaysa younglady, politeandkind,she’llalwaysbea champion.”’ Curry Kirkpatrickpointedout that in 1974at the twelveand-undergirls’nationals,I wasvoted“‘mostpopular”by my

competitors. Jeffwasquotedassayingthatwasincredible after

I “absolutely kickedeverybody’s behinds, loveandlove.”

Onthissubject, Vicwasfabulous. Hetaughtmaelot. Ilove hisquoteabouttennis:“‘Iwantedpeopletolearnthejoyofworkinghardwhilelaughing theirgutsoutthewholeway.” ViclefttheclubwhenI wassevenandwasreplacedby RobertLansdorp, whobecamemycoachthroughmostofmy career.Robert,a hugeDutchman withlong,floppyhairinthe styleof the day,wasa toughguywhomI knewlovedme underneath. HeshouldgetanAcademy Awardforthewayhe acted.I wantedtokillhimeverydayatpractice—and thatwas exactlyhowhewantedmeto feel. I rememberseeinghimforthefirsttime,whenhe came by theclubto checkit out,andthinking,“I wantto impress thisguy.”’ I stillhad a two-handedforehand.Whenhe saw me, he

said,“It’stimeto change.”SoI switched. I foundoutlaterthatRobertdidn’texactlythink“U.S. Openchampion”’ whenhe firstlaideyeson me.Hetoldthe LosAngeles Timesin 1976: sim

oo.

_~

When I firstsawTracy,I wasn’tthatgungho.Shewasso little.I couldseepotential,but I wouldn’thavesaid,“Oh,

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processto becomea champion,but graduallyI sawher greatness.Shelearnedquicklyandacceptedcriticism.She cantellyouwhatshedidwrongwithoutasking.I workher

veryhard,sometimes to thepointshewonderswhy.But

thedayafterahardsession shecomes backandworkseven harderandwillbedisappointed ifI don’tpushhereven

harder.I’mnotsurewhetherit isbecauseshewantsto be thebestor she wantsto pleaseme. or

That’s Robert, a real character.And that was the

wayhecoached me.“Youcan’tbeatme... Youcan’t do this, or that...”

“Yes I can,’’ I said, and I showed him I could.

Youoftenseethiskindofrelationship betweenvery youngathletesandtheircoaches.Robertbecame,argua-

bly,themostimportant forceinmylifeformyyoung tenniscareer.He waspartfather,partbrother,partty-

rant. The perfectcoach.He workedus hard, but we also

hadfun.AtFridaypractices, allthekidswouldrotatein

on one sideof the court and, as a team, we triedto beat

Robert.Weplayedto twenty-onepointsandwe somehowalwayswon.(OK,heletuswin.)Thebetwouldbe

if we won, we got togo out for icecreamor go iceskat-

ingwithhim.Heletusseethefunsideof him. Thingsstartedhappening prettyfastforme.WhenI waseight,I wasaskedto playat an exhibitionat the NewportBeachTennisClub. I rememberthat John Waynewasthere,playingcards.Everyone juststoodand watchedhimplay.Meincluded.Theyinvitedcelebrities, whethertheyplayedtennisor not. I guessJohnWayne justlikedtheatmosphere. ThenI beatJimmyPugh,whom I alsohada huge crushon, in a mini battleof the sexesat the Forum.By

thetimeI wasnine,I frequently wasaskedto playexhibitionsat grandopenings,fund-raisers forcharities,and otherspecialevents.Theyweregreatformebecause they 31

TRACY AUSTIN

gotmeusedto playingin frontofpeople.In oneevent, I beatRickBarryandNealWalk,bothverytallNBA players.My dadsaysit wasfunnyto seemelob over them.I don’trememberanyscores,but I thinkI beat them easily.

Someoftheexhibitions werecleverlystaged.Atthe BalboaBayClub,whenI wasten,TVcamerasshowed

RoyEmerson warming up withballscomingat him. Then the camerapannedover to his opponentand showed. . . noone.Thecameramoveddownward until it found me. I won the exhibition, but I have to admit

Royletmebeathim.

Afterward, Chick Hearn, the voice of the Los

Angeles Lakers, awarded thetrophy.Overthepublicaddresssystem,he asked,“Tracy,howmanytrophiesdo you have?”

‘“Thirty-six,’’ I said.

‘Well,thismakesthirty-seven,”’ hesaid.

“No, no,” I said, “I alreadycountedthis one.”

At the openingceremonyfor a newtennisclubin

Claremont,California,in 1973,Bobby Riggsplayedan exhibitionwhere he took on all challengers.No one

couldtouchhimandhe quicklyranoutof competitors.

Hehadit riggedsothatoneoftheballgirls—me, then

unknown—would acceptthenextchallenge. Hebeatme, but I playedprettywell.I wasonlyten andmy littlelegs couldn’tcoverallthe trickshotsandangleshe wasusing.

pattedmeontheback,though,andI shrugged. Everyone

Hey,maybeI reallyamgood,I thought.

Threeyearslater,I wasto meetRiggsagain.This

time,I wasnot theballgirl.Thenewspaperadsheadlined

it SUGAR DADDY VS.TRACY AUSTIN. ‘“‘Can a 13-year-old, 75-poundfreckle-faced pigtailedphenommatchground-

strokeswiththeworld’s self-acknowledged No.1 male chauvinist andhustler?”theadasked.

Our matchwas playedbeforea WorldTeamTennis

32

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BillieJeanis the mostintensepersonI know,so driven,so focused.Andshealsois incrediblycharming andaccommodating. I kepttheoriginaloftheautograph. Shewrote: ““ToTracy,Practice,Practice,Practice.Billie

JeanKing.”

When I was sixteen,that autographcame back to

haunther.I playedon the Federation Cupteamin MadridandBillieJeanwasourcaptain.Herjobwasto make surewe got enoughpracticeandwarm-uptime.Every morning,I hadheron thecourtat eight,practicing beforeweplayedourmatches.SheandI laughedthenthat sheregrettedtellingmeto practiceso much.Shewould ratherhavebeensleeping. WorkingwithBillieJeanwasgreat.Shewasa fabuloustactician asaplayerandacoach.Shelovedtostudythe gameandits history,to workon her gameas wellas on

others’. When I was practicing serves, she would say,

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TRACY AUSTIN

downatthetopofthemotion.Itwasawonderful analogy. Anyway,in my matchwithRiggs,I brokehisservicetwiceandwentup 4—0, thenhe camebackto 4-2 before I won, 6—2.There were more than five thousand

peoplewatchingat theForum.I wasa littlenervousbut settleddownandgainedconfidence andhadaneasytime winning. ‘Shegetsto everyball,’’Riggstoldthereportersafterward. A lot wasmadeof how I looked:pigtails,braces, anda tennisdresswithicecreamconesappliqued on it. I thinkRiggswasgoingto let mewin,or at leastmake it looklikethat, thencomebackandwin.But I kept hittingmy groundstrokes andRiggsstartedhuffingand puffing,andI knewI hadhim.Still,I wasratherembarrassedby thewholething,to thepointwhereI covered my mouthwith my handandgiggledon everypointI won.Mystrategybackthenwasto playa steady.game, andI figuredthatbecausehe wasold,maybehe’djust gettired. Attheendofthematch,theygavemerosesandgave himweeds. On to therealthing.Aftermy goodresultsat age ninein theLosAngelescityjuniorevents,I beganwinning nationaltitlesat ten when I took the indoor girls’

twelve-and-under singlesanddoubles.I wontheoutdoor girls’twelve-and-under—the nationals—at ageelevenand won the fourteen-and-under (indoorsand out) at age twelve.I remember nothavingto worktoohardinearlyround matches.Many times they were love and love.

Sometimes, I’ddaydreamthroughthem. BeforeI gotstartedplayingthenationals,I raninto a problem.Mycareerwasputonholdatagetenin 1973 bythestrangestinjury.ThedayI won a localjuniortournamentin March,Roberttook a group of us from the

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sagged,soRobert,whois fromHollandandskatedasa kid,heldmyhand.I startedlosingmybalanceandhefell on top of me. I laughed—untilI saw this huge bump stickingout of my leg. My right leg was brokenin two

places.I woundupwitha hugecastfrommyhipto my

toesandI wasoncrutches forthreemonths.Thatwas

terrible.I probablycouldhavegone to the outdoor twelve-and-undernationalsthat year in LittleRock, Ar-

kansas, but I missed them. I also missed out on three

monthsof practice.I reallyhatedgettingleftbehind. The next year, when I was eleven,I won my first

nationals inSavannah, defeating KellyHenryinthefinals. Kellyand I alwaysplayedeachother in thejuniors. We

werebigrivals.I gotto thetournament threedaysearly to playon clayandgetusedto it. Wedon’thaveclayin California,but it wasn’ta difficulttransition.That’sthe

tournament whereI wasvotedmostpopularat theend

of the week.I was totallyinto it. There were probably

sixgirlswhobecamesuchgoodfriendsof minethatwe wrotethroughouttheyear.It waslikegoingto camp, onlywithreporterswatchingyou. Alsothat year, 1974,I was draftedfor WorldTeam Tennis.The LosAngelesStringschoseme in the twelfth

round.I remember it wasthefirsttimeI wasmentioned in TheNewYorkTimes—and thepaperspelledmyname wrong:Tracey.If the ideaof an eleven-year-old being draftedto playteamtennisis strange,considerthatthe StringsalsopickedDeanMartin,Jr., andJohnnyCarson. Thatyearaftermy brokenleg, I hadsometough matcheswhen I started to goback,butI reallyneverlost. I won all the localtournaments,won the nationals,won

thenationalindoors.I wouldgoyearsundefeated. I lost onlythreegamesatthetwelve-and-under NationalPublic ParksTennischampionships in Arcadia,California, after my injury.Forthatfeat,I waspicturedin SportsIIlustrated’s““Facesin the Crowd”’on October 15, 1973.I

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movedfromthelastpageof the magazine to thecover in lessthanthreeyears. On mostofthesetrips,mymotherdidnotgowith me,exceptforthenationals, whichwerea bigdeal.The juniortournaments do a greatjob of matchingplayers withfamilies, soI stayedatlocalhomesandgotto know newpeoplewithchildrenmy age.I calledmy parents everyday—sometimes twiceor threetimes—but never washomesick.Eventhen, I lovedto travel.I evenloved

goingplacesby myself.

I alsobecameresourcefulfor my youngage. At the junior claycourtsin VeroBeach,the zipperon my dress

broke,soI puta sweateron andplayedlikethatduring

anearly-round match.Theproblem was,itwassummertimein Florida.Howhotisit in VeroBeachinthesummer?I nearlydied. I'll neverforgetthat tournamentbecausethe people

I stayedwithhada seven-year-old daughternamedTara

whowasdyingofa terminal illness.I fellinlovewith thatlittlegirl.I can’tevenrememberthefamily’sname now, but I believemy laterinterestin charitywork came from gettingto know Tara.

Seeingsomeof the bestplayersmy agemademe

realizehownon-intense my tennisbackground really was. WhenI was at the Seventeen magazinetournament in Washingtonin 1976,I watchedsomelittlegirlsget up at six-thirtyin the morningtojump ropeandrun several

miles.Fora coupledays,I triedto keepup,butI didn’t

thinkit helpedmytennis,soI toldmyself nottoworry aboutthem,thatI wasdoingtherightthing.ThenI won the tournament.

Evenwith all this earlysuccess,I stillconsidered schoolmoreimportantthantennis.I madeallA’s,read

lotsof books,andreallydidn’teverhaveto be told to do

myhomework.I wasa GoodyTwoShoes,I admitit. I alsowasdifferent.I did misssomeschooltimein the

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mid-seventies, althoughnotverymuch.Justadayortwo here and thereforjunior tournaments,and I alwaysdid

myhomework onplanesor atthehomeswhere I stayed. Myparentswouldn’tallowbigtripsthatkeptmeout a weekor more. LikeChrisEvert,I wastreatedunusually everynow andthenat school.OneteacherputtheSportsIllustrated coverphotoofmeonthebulletinboardinthefrontofthe roomandkeptitthereallyear.I didn’tmind.Infact,Iwas

proudofmyachievement andwasgladtheteacher was, too.Mostofmyteachersabsorbedmyfamequitewell.I wasagoodstudent,soIhadspecial assignments, whichincludedrunningerrandsforsomeoftheteachers andhelpingaroundtheclassroom. Oneteacherevensentmetothe

bank,a blockaway.Ididthesethingsbecause ofmywork intheclassroom, notbecause I wasatennisplayer.

There were some jealous kids, of course, who ran

aroundthehallwayssayingI wasstuck-up.I simplywas veryshy.That’swhenmyfriendswouldstepin andsay,

‘Youdon’tevenknowher.Whydon’tyoutalktoher?”

Butthathappensin everyschool,whethera well-known tennisplayeris thereor not. On rareoccasions,I wasmadeto feelratheruncom-

fortable.OnHalloween whenI wasin eighthgrade,my

physical education teacher—Mrs. Sensenbrenner—came to schooldressedas me:pigtails,pinaforedress,tennis shoes,racquet.Whatdo yousaywhenyouseethat?| smiled,but I wasembarrassed. Myfriendsteasedme.I livedthroughit, butI didn’tlikeit. Tennistookmelikea magiccarpetto allkindsof placesandallkindsofpeople.Thebest:WhenI wasten, a manfromtheKramerClubnamedBudSmithaskedif I woulddo hima favorandplayagainsta friendof his onSunday.I wasalwayslookingfornewpeopleto play. Mr. Smithwasa veryniceman,so if he wantedmeto a7

TRACY AUSTIN

doit, I'd doit. Hetoldmehewasgoingto pickmeup Sundayat eleveno’clock.I askedwhoI’dbeplaying.He told me, “Some man.”’ I had a date book—even then, I

wasprettyorganized—and I wrotein it, “11a.m.Sunday,SomeMan.” Thatday,wedroveup to a gorgeoushousein the hillswherefiftypeopleweregatheredarounda private court.I didn’texpecta crowd.I wasin awe.Andthe house!I saidto myself:ThisisthekindofmansionIhope to livein someday. Mr. Smithintroducedme to “SomeMan’’:Laurie Belger.Hewashuge—six feetfourinches.Wewentout andplayed,andI beathim, 6—1,6-2. But thiswasn’tjust

anothermatch.I foundoutlatertherewerethousands of dollarsridingonhowI played.Laurielostseventhousand dollarsto onemanandfourthousandto another.Healso lostfourpoundsduringthe match.He hadbeensandbagged.Thisbigmanneverthoughthe couldloseto a littleten-year-old girl. That was the beginningof a wonderfulfriendship

thatlaststo thisdaywith“SomeMan.”Laurie,whois marriedto a beautiful womanandhaskidsjusta littlebit youngerthanI am,startedcallingme“LittlePoison,”’ or ‘“Annie.”’ I calledhim‘“‘Daddy Warbucks.’’ WhenI went off to Wimbledonfor the first time, he bought me a

necklace witha Thangingonit. TheThadfourteendia-

mondsin it. I rarelytookit off.Healsoboughtmea

diamondbraceletwhichI alwaysworeduringmatches. Likemanyathletes,I hadsuperstitions. I nevertookoff mynecklace or mybraceletwhenI played. EveryValentine’s Day,Lauriewouldsendmecandy. We'retalkinglots of candy—what seemedliketwenty poundsof See’schocolate. I’dreceivea tub of pralinesand-cream icecreamoncea weekwhenhe foundoutit was my favoriteflavor.He boughtme four-footchoco-

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late bunniesand peachand strawberrypies. It was awesome. WhenI wasat theU.S. Openin 1977,he wentto F A O Schwarzandboughta three-footstuffedanimal in honorofeachplayerI defeated.Ibeatfourpeopleand havefourhugestuffedanimalsto thisday,jammedinto myguestbedroom. One time,he got ticketsfor me and two school friends—Suzanne DeLangisandCariHorn—totheplay Annie.Beforewe went, he and I were in Palm Springs

fora tournamentandhe tookmeto a storeandbought me a wonderfulsilk blouseand stretchred disco pants—theywere in back then—andhigh heels.He wantedmeto havefunclothesfortheshow.Thenonthe day of the show,Lauriehad a limopickup Suzanne, Cari,andmeat myhouse.Afterward,wedecidedto go toJack-in-the-Box, notbecausewewerehungry,butbecausewewantedto goto a fast-foodplacein a limo.We giggledallthe way;my friendslovedcomingalongon myadventures, andI lovedhavingthem. Laurieset up othermatchesfor me againstunsuspectingfoesin lateryearsandhe wona lot of money fromhisfriends.It wasallin goodfun.In a way,I was likehis racehorse,and, with me, he took hisbuddiesto

thecleaners.Laurietoldmenotlongagothathe thinks that wasthe happiesttimeof his life.He wasa very wealthycriminallawyer,and I didn’thaveverymuch money.Withallhisgiftsforme,hemademefeelspecial. It wasreallyneatto havea friendlikethat. Once,a boyfriendofmineaskedmewhenI hadthe mostfunplayingtennis. “WhenI was ten,” I said.

Whentherewerenopressures, noworries.AllI had werefriendslikeLaurieBelgeranddozensof matchesto play.

39

CHAPTER Iwo

Tre weatherwasveryunusual insouthernCalifornia inJanuary1977.It wasraininga lot,so my mothersuggestedI go withmybrotherJeffto Portland, Oregon,wherehe hada men’sprofessional tournament.She thoughtit wouldbegoodformeto playsomematchesin the women’stournamentthatwasgoingon at the sametime.| was aboutto participatein my first professionalevent,and I

didn’tevenknowit. Overtheholidays, Ihadwonanimportanttournament, the FiestaBowlgirls-eighteen-and-under championship inTempe, Arizona.Havingjustturnedfourteen,I upsettop-seeded Trey Lewis,myalmost-seatmate on myfirstairplaneflight,in the semifinals,3-6, 6-3, 6-1. Shewasseventeenandmuchstronger

thanI was.But,drivenbyanger,I beather.RobertLansdorp, my coach,washer coach,too. Shewashis favorite,I always

thought.He wouldplayhourswithheraboutthreetimesa week,whichwasveryunusual.Healsohelpedhermorethanhe helpedmethatday.Hetalkedtoherbeforethematch.Afterwe splitsets,wegotaten-minute break.RobertwentovertoTrey andsatwithherfortheentiretenminutes,completely ignoring 40

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me.Itsounds pettynow,butatthetime,thatreallybothered me.SoIbeather—and good. A few weekslater, with no indoor courtsto practiceon becausetherearepracticallyno indoorcourtsin southernCali-

fornia,I wentup to PortlandwithJeffandstayedwith the Collinsfamily,whomhewasstayingwithandourfamilyhad knownfor years,andbeganplayingin thePacificCoastIndoorTennisChampionships. In thequalifying roundsfor the event, I beat hometown girl Michelle Carey, then Belinda

ThompsonofEngland.Thatearnedmea spotin thetourna-

ment.I vividlyremember Thompson, whowasseeded first. I thoughtshewassogoodandsomucholderthanI was. HowcouldI possiblycompetewithher?Thatwasthelittle girl insideof me talking. The tennis playerinsideme said,

“Killher.”’AndI did. NowI hadqualifiedfor the tournament.At thattime, I realizedthatthiswasmorethana localevent—this wasa professional tourstop.Mymomhadsaidto goup thereand

play a matchor two. Sheneverexpectedme to get into the tournament.The eventwascalledthe AvonFutures,a satellite

touroftheVirginiaSlims,themaintourforthewomenpros. But,to me,it wasjust anothertournament.Otherthanthe papersinPortlandandinLosAngeles, noonenoticedorcared thatI wasthere.Eventhosepapersjust wrotelittlestories. ComparethattothewayJenniferCapriatiappeared onthepro circuitwithsuchexpectations anddeserved acclaim. Whathappenedin the tournamentwasveryinteresting. Fromonematchto thenext,I kepton winning.I beattwo strongcollegeplayers—Mary HammandPaulaSmith—in my firsttwomatches.I movedto the quarterfinals anddefeated nineteen-year-old futureTVcommentator MaryCarillo,6—2, 6-3. The peoplerunningthe tournamentlet me playthat matcha dayearlierthanit wasscheduled fora veryunusual reason:I neededto gohometo goto school. Jeffhadto leaveto goto thenexttourstop,butmyfamilydidn’twantmeto be alone.SoI playeda dayearly,then 4]

TRACY AUSTIN

flewhomefortwodaysto goto school—I wasin theeighth gradeat Dapplegray Intermediate School.I wasmissingso manyclasses,it wasgettingridiculous, so I pickedup more homework and a few fans: Robert, his wife, Susie, my

mother,andmysisterPam.Pam,mymom,andI showed up

on the Collinses’ doorstepandtheytookus in. Theothers stayedat a nearbyhotel. I reachedthe semifinals by beatingMary,which,as I foundout,wasa bigdeal.Thefoursemifinalists qualified to playin the VirginiaSlimstournaments thenexttwoweeks. So I was going to Houston and Minneapolis—if my parents and my teacherssaidOK.

Inthesemis,I playedLindaMottramofEnglandanddefeatedherin threesets,0-6, 6-2, 6-2. In thefinals,I played

StacyMargolin ofBeverly Hills,whowasJohnMcEnroe’s

girlfriend,andwonwhensheretiredfromthematchdueto

blisters on her feet in the third set, 6-7, 6—4,4-1. It was the

firsttimeI hadbeatenherinthreetriesoverourjuniorcareers.

ItwasatoughmatchandI simplyoutlasted her.I wasbegin-

ningto geta reputationfordoingthat.Whenyouplayfrom thebaseline, perseverance is everything. Theprizemoneyfor firstplacewastwenty-eighthundred dollars,but I didn’ttakeit becauseI wasan amateur,and was

planningto remainoneforawhile.Stacy,whowasseventeen,

a highschoolseniorandalsostillanamateur, couldn’t take the runner-upcheckof fourteenhundreddollars,either.We

both weregivenmoneyto coverour expenseswhilethe prize

moneywentbackto theWomen’s TennisAssociation. Onthecourt,I unwittingly hadjoinedthebiggirls.Off

the court, I was remindedthat I was still a little kid. There

wereicestormsin Portlandandonenightbeforeheleft,Jeff, Mrs.Collins,andI got stuckat thebottomofa hillleading

up to the Collinses’house.It wasa clownacttryingto get up

thehill—Ilaughedsohard.Wewouldtaketenstepsforward,

thenslidefifteenstepsbackward. Weeventriedto walk

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ina four-wheel drivecamealongandgaveusa ridehomehalf a mileaway.I hadto takecabsthe restof the timeto the tournamentbecauseMrs. Collins’scar didn’thavechainson the tires.

On thesubjectofHoustonandMinneapolis, myparents saidOK, my teachersloadedme down with homework,and off I went to Texasfor the hundred-thousand-dollar Virginia Slimstournament.I remembersayinggood-byeto my mom

at theairportandcryingterriblybecauseI didn’twantto go by myself.Shecouldn’tgetaway,whichI understood, butit washardon me. Shearrangedfor me to flyaloneandbe pickedup andtakencareof by tourofficials. Wedecidedwe wouldtalk everynight and seehow it was going.

I wasfullof conflicting emotions.I wasintimidated by thethoughtof beingamongtheprofessional players,participatingin theirtournament, butnotreallybeingoneofthem. Yet,it allwasveryexcitingto me. I wasflyingacrossthe countryto playwiththepros—and I couldn’tevendriveyet. WhenI gotto Houston,JeanieBrinkman, publicrelations directoroftheSlimscircuit,wasto keepaneyeonme.Since therewasn’ta familyI couldstaywith,I stayedin herhotel room.Thenightbeforemy firstmatch,at aboutten-thirty, RosieCasalsknockedon the door and poppedin. I was proppedup on pillowsin bedin mynightgown.It wasway pastmybedtime,butthethoughtofRosieCasals,oneofthe well-known veteransofourtour,hangingoutwithJeanieand me,wastoomuchto passup. I hadgottenherautographat a tournamentonce.Now shewasvisitingmy hotelroom. Thiswasgreat. All of a sudden,Rosiesaid, “‘Let’sorder room service!”’

Sheaskedme whatI wanted.I hadeatendinnerhours earlierandwasreadyforbed,butI blurtedouttheonlything I couldthinkof:“I wantprime’rib.” I had neverhad room servicein my life. Primerib soundedlikethethingto order.Primeribanda bakedpotato. I toldRosieto getmeoneof those,too. 43

TRACY AUSTIN

‘Andwhataboutsomeicecream?”I added. I wasa twiggylittlethingbackthen.I couldeateverythingI wanted.AndI wasaboutto. Weateandtalkeduntilaftermidnight,whenRosieleft.I hadtroublesleepingthatnight.I feltsickfromeverything | hadeaten. Thatwasthebeginning ofa trend;I hadprimeribmany

nightswhenI traveled. Whata strangethoughtthatisnow. Allthe playersnow bringpastainto the lockerroom;I’ve watchedMartina Navratilovado it, and Monica Seleswas eatingpastabeforethe finalof the 1991U.S. Open. Carbohy-

dratesaresopopularnow,butthen,mymother’sadvicewas to haveprotein.Tothatend,I alwaysatea hamburgerpatty

beforeI played,evenif it wasin themorning. A girlfriend who had spentthe nightat our houselaughedat me one morningwhen I ate meat and she had cereal.And I also ate

hamburgerbetweenmatchesif I playedtwo in one day.I shouldhavebeenhavingcarbos,butwedidn’tknowthatthen.

Mymother’s wordsstillringinmyears:‘Forthethird

set,youneedthisprotein.”’

At the time, my mom alsothoughtit was smartfor me

to takesalttabletswhenI wasplayingon hotsummerdays.

Nowweknowhowwrongthatwas.Thesalttabletsonly servedto takewaterfrommymusclesto mystomach.That wasexactlywhatI didn’twantto havehappen. One morningI didn’thavea hamburgerwasthe dayafter

mymidnightbingeat theSlims.Beforemymatchthatday,I didanhour-and-a-half interviewwithSusanAdamsof World Tennis. Shejustgrilledmewithquestions. I feltmyselfgetting tiredandmymindwandering. Allthisthinking,talking,and eatingwas gettingto me.

At thattime,I wasonlyninetypounds.Or soit saidin mybiography. ValZiegenfuss, anotherplayer,readmybioin the pressroomandstartedlaughing.“Ninetypounds!’’ she exclaimed. “Nooneweighsninetypounds.”’ Myfirst-roundmatchagainstLindaMottramwasat six

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o'clock.It hadbeenscheduled forlater,butwasmovedupso I wouldn’tmissmybedtime.Iftheyonlyknewwhathadhappenedthenightbefore.Anyway,bythetimeI steppedonthe court,I wasfried.I wascompletely unprepared to playtennis and went out and lost to Linda, 6—4,6—1.I was on the next

flighthome. Thenextweek,beforeI wentto Minneapolis, anexecutivedecisionwasmadein the kitchenof a homein Rolling HillsEstatesin California. Enoughprimerib.Enoughslumberparties.JeanneAustinwasgoingto Minneapolis, too. ThedaytheMinneapolis tournament began,I receiveda WesternUniontelegram:SOHAPPY TOSEEYOU’VE JOINED US ONTHETOUR. BEST OFLUCK ONYOUR MATCH TONIGHT. It wassigned,CHRIS EVERT. Anotherlegend,MargaretCourt,wasat thetournament. It was one of the last ones she played.She was so tall and

prettyquiet,butI rememberthatshesmiledat me.I'llnever forgetthatwesawhereatingin a restaurantby herself.That wasoneof myfewencounters withMargaret,oneofthesuperstarsof our game.As I wascomingin, shewasgoingout.

I wishI hadseenherplaymore. I alsorememberthatalltheplayersloadedontoa busto ridefromthehotelto practiceeverydayin subzerotemperatures. One time, there were no seatsleft, so I had to sit on

OlgaMorozova’s lap.Olgamadeit to thefinalsat Wimbledon,andthereI was,sittingonherlaplikea child.I definitely wasout of placeon thecircuit—at leastoffthecourt.There wereno otheryoungkidson tour.At night,if I didn’thave a match,I woulddo myhomeworkandotherplayerswould go outtogetheror on dates. I wonmy first-roundmatchagainstGreerStevens,the Number-Oneplayerfrom SouthAfrica,7-5, 6-3. Greerwas

halfa foottallerthanI wasanda verygoodplayer.Formy first Slimsvictory,I couldhavereceived$1,375,but I turned

it downto remainanamateur.Atthattime,I wasthinkingI wouldn’tturn pro until I was eighteen.Thingshappened 45

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muchfasterthanI everanticipated. I gaveupmyamateurstatusjust a yearanda halflater,when I stillwasfifteen. In the second round, I lost to Rosie, 6-3, 6-3; at twenty-

eight,shewastwicemyage.Shedrop-shot,lobbed,andvolleyedmeto death. I wasaskedto goonto thenexttourstopin Seattle,but my motherandI headedhomeinstead.My momexplained why,whenshespokewith a reporterfor the Minneapolis Star:

‘““We don’tthinkTracyshouldextendherselfat thislevelright now.I thinkit’stimeforherto gobackhome,to gobackto school,to puta littlenormalcybackintoherlife.” Mymomsaidthatif I hadenoughVirginiaSlimspoints to qualifyfor theLosAngelestournamentin February,I could

play.““Otherwise,”’ shesaid,‘I thinkthisexperience hasbeen enoughfora while.” Imagineoneof thetennismothersof theninetiessaying that. I foundout two thingsthosefirsttwo weekson the Slims

circuit:I wastoo youngto takecareof myself;andI wasn’t yetgoodenoughto playgreattennisagainstthebignames. SoI haveto laughwhenI lookbackatsomeofthenewspaper clippingsfrombackthen. TheNewYorkTimeswrotethatI displayed “‘tremendous maturity”? andprojected“‘aconfident quality’”’ whenI spoke.““While watchingoneof themoreexperiencedplayerspracticelast week,she was advisedby a companion to noticethestrengthof theplayer’sforehand.‘I don’tthinkherforehandlooksso great,’shesaid.. . .””That wasfromTheTimes. I wasjust beinghonest.I didn’tlookat it asconfidence then.On thecourt,I felttwenty-five. Put meat 4-allin the thirdsetandI couldhandleit. Butput mein a conversation withtheotherplayersin thelockerroomandI woulddo a lot of listening. Evenso,at fourteen,I wasphysically muchweakerthan the othergirlsandwomenI wasplaying.Comparethat to JenniferCapriatinow.Sheistheirsize—or bigger.EvenRosie 46

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Casalswassmall,butshewasa serve-and-volley playerandI couldn’tstayin therewithher.I wasoverpowered by her.

I camehomeandplayedanotherjuniortournament—and

wonit. ThenI wentto the LosAngelesSlimseventat the SportsArenaandagainlostto Rosiein the secondround,6-4,

6—4.(I wasgainingon her, though.)By now,I wasin the lead paragraphor headlineof most newspaperstories.They called me ‘“‘thetalk of tennis,”’ “the new Chris Evert,’’ you

nameit. At firstglance,I did appearto be the newChris,

whatwiththepigtails andtwo-handed backhand andtheten-

nis-playing family.ButI grewup onhardcourtswhileChris playedon clayin Florida,and I thinkthat mademe moreag-

gressive.On thecourt.Offit, I wasshyandself-protective, likeChriswaswhenshecameouton tour. I wasknownininterviewroomsforyes-and-no answers. Thiscamebackto hauntme whenI interviewed Jenniferat the U.S. Openin 1991for USANetwork.I askedthesewon-

derful,thought-provoking questions, andshecameup mostly witha yesor a no.It reallyleftmehangingonliveTV,butit wastotallyappropriate forsomeoneherage. Thisbringsup somethingthatbugsmeto thisday:the waya fewpeopleperceivedmy image.I had pigtailseven whenI wassixteenyearsold.I wassonaive.Kidstodayare wearingstraplessdressesat agefourteen.I remember JoAnne RussellsayingthatI worethepinafores andpigtailsforeffect, thatmymomdressedmethatwayforsomekindof psychologicaladvantage.ShesuggestedthatI overdidthe “‘young, helplesslook.”’ShesaidI didit to makemyselfseemsolittle, whichthenwouldallowmeto catcheveryone by surprise. That’sjust plainwrong,andit reallyhurtme.I wasjust a kid.Didn’tanyoneunderstand that?JoAnnewasbeingnasty becauseshewaslosingto me.I beathertwiceina rowwithin twoweeks,soshelashedout.Butwinningwasn’teverything. Littledidpeoplelikeherknowhowsensitive I was. Duringtherestofthe1977season,I woulddosomething girlsneverdo now:I wouldplaya pro event,thengo back 47

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andplayanage-group juniortournament, whereI neverlost.

I'mnotbeingarrogant; it’sjusttrue.Atthatpointinmyca-

reer,I hadneverlostto someonemyage.SoI’dgetthatpro experience, thenplayin thejuniorsand get my confidence back.Forexample,Iwonthegirls’eighteen-and-under inPort Washington, NewYork,in Februaryandplayedit between two pro events—the VirginiaSlimsof LosAngelesandthe FamilyCircleCup,whereI hadmyfirstreallybigupsetof a professional when I defeated Dianne Fromholtz, 7-5, 6-4, in

thesecondround.

ThatvictoryoverDianneat HiltonHeadin Marchwasin-

teresting.Shewasthesixth-ranked womanintheworldandhad beentothesemisoftheU.S.Opentheyearbefore.Diannewas oneofthenicestwomenonthecircuit.Shenevermademefeel uncomfortable. Shebecamea goodfriendandapractice partner ofmineinLosAngeles. Thatday,weplayedonclay,anunusual surfaceforme,soit wasanespecially goodwinforme.Afterward, I was thrilled.I couldn’tbelieveI won. Nor couldDi-

anne.“‘Howcananyonesoyoungbesogood?”Diannesaidat

herpressconference.“I tookhertoo lightly.”

I lost in the quarters to Kerry Reid, 6-3, 7-5. Again, I

just don’tthinkI wasstrongenoughyetto win.Kerrydrop-

shotmeandlobbedmeandsimplyoverpowered mewitha

hugeforehand.It waslikeshehadmeona string.Shewas just too much.SoI wentbackandplayedthegirls’18sand feltgoodaboutmyselfagain. Livinginthisseriousworld,I wasadeptatprovidingdistractionsformyself.At theHiltonHeadbanquet,a magician movedfromtableto table,performing tricks.Hedroppedan orangeonto oneof the tablesandthencameup withit under-

neath,asthoughit hadgonethroughthewood. This puzzledand buggedme, so whenthe magician movedon,I followedhim,bymyself.I’dloveto saya group

of kidswentwith me, but therewereno otherkids.I wanted

to sneakup on theguyandfindoutif hehadsecretholesin thetables.I neverfoundout—butI tried. 48

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The magicianintriguedme. So did golfcarts.I loved them.I couldn’tdrivea car,butI coulddrivea golfcart,and mosttournaments allowedmeto useonearoundthegrounds. Once,BettinaBungeandI weredrivinga littletoo fastand nearlytippedover.Anothertime, whenI arrivedat a tourna-

mentin Floridaafterthe 1979U.S. Open,I founda special golfcartwaitingforme.It hada signon theside:U.s.OPEN CHAMPION. But, in 1977,I hadnot beento a U.S. Openyet,or Wim-

bledon.Ateverypressconference, reporterswouldsay,“What aboutWimbledon?” Honestly—and I knowthissoundsodd—Ididn’tknow.I washopingto go,butI wasundertheimpression I hadto be sixteento beeligibleforthemaindraw.ThenWimbledon officialstoldthepressI wasoldenoughandtheyweresending me an entry blank. My motherkept tellingreportersit was

premature to discussit, probablybecausesheknewifI started

thinking aboutWimbledon in MarchandApril,I wouldn’t concentrate asI shouldon schoolandmyothertournaments. Butaswegotcloser,it becameclearerthatI wasgoingto go.Itwastheone-hundredth-anniversary tournament andIwas goingto betheyoungestpersonto competetheresince1887, whena thirteen-year-old namedLottieDodplayed.Youdon’t thinktheLondontabloidscaredmuchaboutthat,doyou? Theflashbulbs poppedin my facethe momentRobert, Susie,mymother,andI steppedofftheplane.Twentyreporterswerethere—and it wassix-thirtyin themorning.I didn’t knowreportersgotupthatearly.I neverthoughttherewould bethatmuchinterestin me.Never. I firstplayedin theWimbledon warm-upin Edinburgh, Scotland, to getusedto grass,whichwasn’texactlymyfavoritesurface,sinceI hadplayedonit onlyonce,at thegirls18s theyearbefore.I lostin thesecondqualifying roundin Edinburgh,butI feltgood. On to Wimbledon. My fathermetus there,andhe arrived with a bizarre story. He had flown into Gatwick, not

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Heathrow,andthenhadto takea one-hourtrainrideto Victo-

riaStation.Hehaileda cabto takehimto theGloucester Ho-

tel, wherethe playerswerestaying.During all this time, he talked to no one—not a soul at Gatwick, on the train, at the

station.Hehoppedintoa cabandthedriverstruckup a conversation. “Thatfourteen-year-old missis quitea sensation,”’ the driversaidright off the bat. My dad saidlater he was stunned.He had traveledfive

thousandmilesandthefirstpersonhe talkedto immediately broughtuphisveryowndaughter.Butmyfather,neverone to baskin thelimelight,didn’tsaywhohe was.Thecabbie launchedintoa discussion thatI wastooyoungto beplaying Wimbledon, thatI shouldbe homelikeotherfourteen-yearoldgirls.Mydadneversaida word,butthedriverwasa bit embarrassed whenhe pulledmy father’sluggageout of the carandcaughta glimpseofthebaggagetag.Weallgota good laughfrom that.

I wasAliceinWonderland inthedaysleadingupto Wimbledon.In the hotellobby,ArthurAshecameoverto say hello.I hadnevermethimbeforeandI wasso amazedhe knewmethatI couldonlystandtherewithmymouthopen, sayingnothing.Mysister,whoalsocameto watchmeplay, pointedoutIlieNastasein thelobbyandI methim,too. Actually,we had met oncebefore,but I hopedhe didn’t

remember.I wasballgirlforIlieandJimmyConnorswhen theywereplayingdoublesat the LosAngelesTennisClub whenI wasten.Beforethematch,you’reremindedto goand get the servewhentheyhit it intothenet. Onetime,they werein the middleof the pointwhentherewasa let-cord andtheballbouncedtowardme.Instinctively, I wentoutand grabbedit andwentbackto myplace.Unfortunately, thisoccurredin the middleof a point.Iliegaveme a tremendous staredown andI thoughtI wasgoing to cry.I wassonervous. AllI wantedto do wasthe rightthing.Theyreplayedthe 50

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pointandI somehowrecovered. Myball-girlcareerwasover, however. It wasJohnMcEnroe’s firstWimbledon, too.(Hereached thesemis.)HewasalmostfouryearsolderthanI. Thephotographers wantedapictureofthetwoofusattheWimbledon Ball,whichthenwasheldonthemiddleSundayofthetournament.I’vealwaysfeltJohnandI havea bondbecausewe bothcameintothepubliceyein a hugewayat thattournament.Totellthetruth,webothwereoverwhelmed byallthe attention.

I firstsawthebeautiful,oldgroundsof theAll-England Clubthrough a holeinthefence,likea tourist.A BBCdriver tookmeby thestadiumandthegroundsafteraninterview, andit waslocked,soI sneakeda peekandthoughtit looked just as I hadimagined:ivy on the walls,bigflowerseverywhere.Eventhen,I wasstruckby thetraditionof theplace. I knewwhatit meant.I hadreadup on it in tennisbooks.I knewsomeofthenamesofthewinnersfromyearspast;that was importantto me.

WhenI gotinside,it wasevenbetterthanI hadhopedit wouldbe.Thechampions’ nameswerepaintedon thewalls. It wasa beautifulgreen,notsterileat all,andsmelledandfelt likehistory. TheBritishtabloidsquotedme as saying,“It holdsno terrorfor me,’’whichwasmadeup, becauseI nevertalked thatway.Theyoftenput theirwordsin yourquotes,which wassomething thattooksomegettingusedto.I doknowthis; I wasin aweprivately,but,publicly,I wasfearless. ThedaybeforeWimbledon began,I practiced atthestaid HurlinghamClub to get in more experienceon grass.They

didn’tallowyouto practiceat Wimbledon or anyotherclub onSundays. Thefansstoodfive-deep watchingme.Thatsurprisedme. I hadneverseenanythinglikethatbefore.The weatherthat daywasthe usualcoldanddamp;I woremy wintercoatat the gardenpartyat the club,a photographer 51

TRACY AUSTIN

snapped somepictures ofme,andthatphotomadetherounds in thenextday’spapers.Thepresshadbeenamazing.They askedme so many insignificantquestions:if I had my ears

pierced(yes);ifotherplayerslikedme(Ithoughtso);andwhat I thoughtof IdiAmin(whocares?). I hada byethefirstroundandfacedEllyVessies-Appel of the Netherlands onJune22 in my firstmatchon Court Seven, one of the outer courts. I won easily, 6-3, 6—3,despite

someearlynerves.I rememberit wasa crisp,sunnydayand I worea whitedresswitha bigbowin thebackanda pocket in front,whereI alwaysinstinctively put a tennisball.The dressesweremadeby a companycalledLittleMissTennis. Thewomanwhostartedthe companyhada daughterwho playednationally. Sheneverknewwhereto puttheballeither, sohermotherdesigneda pocketforher.I metthewomanat the 14nationalsandshegavemea fewdresseson thespot. Theyweresocomfortable andloose,I worethemto death.I soonreceived a limitlesssupply. I remember thatEllywasnearlya foottallerthanI was, whichmadeforfunnypicturesofusshakinghands.I alsoremembermymothercryingwhenit wasover,butI thinkthat wasbecauseshe’sallergicto grass,not becauseshe’semotional.That’sa problemforsomeoftheplayersaswell.‘Tennis playerswhoareallergicto grassgetshotsallyearin orderto buildup theirresistance whenWimbledon comesaround. . ThevictoryoverEllysetupthebiggestmatchofmylife to thatpoint.OnFriday,June24,I playedChrisEvertforthe firsttimeever.Thebuildupforthematchwasincredible. It beganwhenthedrawcameout andeveryonesawwecould meetin thethirdround.Shewasthedefending champion.I hadbecomethefocusofeverytabloidin town.Thereporters couldn’tgetenoughof it. Theywerebillingit ‘thelookingglasswar,’’becauseofoursimilarstylesofplay.I can’timaginethe pressureChriswasfeelingthat day.Shewasbeing askedaboutme regularly,and,graciousas always,shesaid verynicethings.I readoneofherquotesthatsaidtherewas 52

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nowayyetto knowhowgoodI was.“‘We’ll knowbythe timesheis 17.By17or 18,ifyouhaven’tbrokenintothetop three, you never will.’’ She was correct then, and she is correct

now. It’salmostmore of a girl’sgamethan a woman’s.

I feltno pressure.I hadnothingto lose.In fact,I was

morenervousaboutcurtsying to theroyalboxthanabout

playing. SothereI was,fourteen,facingChrisonCentreCourtin frontof fourteenthousandfanson a brightafternoon.I had playedexactlyfourprofessional tournaments andhadwona grandtotal of twelvethousanddollars,whichI had given back.I hadwon128tournaments asajunior,andwasto win somemore.Chris,well,wasChris,thetop-rankedplayerin theworld,andthepersonI wasmostlike.Inherautobiography,shewrotethat shegot sickto her stomachbeforewe played.Chrismusthavespentanhourinthelockerroomputtingon makeup:bright-redlipstick,mascara,everything,all just to go out andplaytennis.Her nailswereperfect.She wore a sun dressthat accentuatedher bust line. I mean, her

boobswerejust hangingout.I didn’thavethatproblemyet. Sheput on a necklacethatreadBABE, a giftfromBurt Reynolds.Shewastwenty-twoanddatingandintoguysand allgrownup—itseemedto me.I wasfourteenand,as Bud

Collinswrote in The BostonGlobe,looked like ‘‘a deserter

fromtheCampfireGirls.”’ Hewasright. Wegotreadyin separatelockerrooms.I wasdownstairs in thebowelsof thestadiumin a dungeonwithno windows. Shewasin the seeded-players’ lockerroom,whichis much nicer.It’slikea loungewithwindowsthatoverlookthe far courts.Therewerecoucheswithfloralprintsandeveryone had theirownbathcubicle.A pleasantladynamedMrs.Frazier wasthereto helpthe sixteen-or-so players.Shewashedthe players’clothesandsetout afternoonteaandbiscuits.There wasa hairstylistup there,too. They calledme and said to meet Chris in the Centre

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officials just wantto makesuretheyknowwhereyouareso you’rereadywhentheTVpeoplewantyouto comeout. In theroom,Christoldmehowandwhento curtsyto theroyal box.Wewalkedoutontothecourttogether,warmedup,and startedplaying. I won the firstgameat 30, then Chriscamebackto 1-1.

Inthethirdgame,Chrisslippedandfellchasingaball,landing on her butt. Shewasso embarrassed. At the timeshewas ultrafeminine, unlikeherlateryears,whenshebecamemore proudto beanathlete,spillsandall.Chrissaidsheheardthe clicks of a hundred cameras and, sure enough, that was the

photo all the papers used the next day. Newspaperslove it

whenyoulookstupid.

mi

From then on, it wasn’tmuch of a match. Chris won,

6-1,6-1,ina totaloffiftyminutes, andalthough I thought shewason her way to a third Wimbledontitle, sheendedup losingin the semisto eventualchampionVirginiaWade.But

I playedwellandwasproudof myself.Myfamilyhadbeen

worried I mightturnintoazombie andnotbeabletodoany-

thing.On the contrary,I hadcomeout withmy reputation notonlyintact,but enhanced.Chrissaidit wasthetoughest match emotionallyof her career.I felt instant respectfrom

her.What’smore,Chrishadnot playedat Wimbledon until shewasseventeen; I wasthreeyearsaheadof her. ThewholeWimbledon experience wasa whirlwind[ll neverforget.BillieJeanKingsuggested tomethatIwritedown my feelingsasmy firstWimbledonwentalong.I thoughtthat

wasa goodidea,but didn’tfollowup on it untila fewyears later,whenSaraKleppinger Forniciari, myagentfromProServ whotraveledwithme,gavemea diaryformysixteenth birthday.I havekeptone,offandon,eversince.Saraencouraged me towritedownwhatIwasgoingthroughsoI couldappreciate it later,and,whileI don’tgobackandreadthemveryoften,I love

thethoughtthatthosediariesaresittingonashelfinmyoffice, incaseI wanttoleafthroughthem. IfI hadkepta diarythen,I probablywouldhavewritten 54

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aboutseveral things.I remember goingtothetearoom every chanceI gotto seewhatfamousplayerswerethere.Fromthe

tearoom,whichwas filledwith wickerchairsand floralpillows,I wouldgo up on the roofandget a greatviewof allthe outercourts.It wasfun.And,oh yes,I lovedthe strawberries.

I turneddownthechanceto danceattheWimbledon Ball withJeanBorotra,a tallFrenchman whowasoneofthefamed ‘Four Musketeers’? of Frenchtennisin the twenties.He was

theoldestpersonatWimbledon andI wastheyoungest player. ButI wastooshyanddidn’twantto slow-dance in frontof

people.

Therestof my summerwasa seriesof age-grouptourna-

mentswithacouplelossestoMartinaNavratilova attwoSlims tournaments mixedin.I wasupsetbyLindaSiegelinthesemis at thegirls16sin Charleston,WestVirginia,butotherwisewon

everything inthejuniors.Lindaplayedverywelltobeatme,but

thisshowedhowdifficultit wasformeto liveup to everyone’s

greatexpectations. I wasfeelingtremendous pressureplaying againsttheprosandthencomingbacktothejuniors.I puttoo muchpressureonmyselfagainstLinda. I calledmydadon thephoneafterthematch.“I’mjust sosickoflosing,”’ I toldhim.OnelossandI wassickofit. I imaginethat’swhyI barelyeverletmyselflose. Inthe18s,I beatKathyJordanforthetitle.I feltgreat.I wasbackon trackin thejuniors.Prettysoon,I washeaded straight for my second Grand Slam event—theU.S. Open—and anotherbigstepin myfledgling career. I madeit allthewayto thequarterfinals in thelastyear the Openwasheldat the WestSideTennisClubin Forest Hills.Althoughmygreatesttriumphswereto comewhenthe Openmovedto FlushingMeadows,I lovedthe old Forest Hillscourts.Therewasno parkinggaragethere;youparked yourcar on the streetandwalkedas if it werea weekend matchatthelocalclub.ForestHillsto merepresented legendarycourtsandintimacyandtradition.Evenat myyoungage, »5

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I appreciated thebeautyandthehistoryof theplace.It was likeno otherclubin theUnitedStatesI hadbeento except fortheoldPhiladelphia clubs. I beatHeidiEisterlehner of WestGermanyin the first roundandDonnaGanzofMiamiinthesecondbeforemeeting SueBarkerof England,the fourth-ranked womanin the world,in thethirdround.It tookfifty-nineminutesfor me to beather,6-1, 6-4. ThepressureI put on andmy consistencywonthematch.It wassoeasy,it neverdawnedon me howgoodshewas.Sometimes, yougoonautopilot.It’sbetter not to think.Believeme, I wasjust runningon raw talent backthen.

My brothersJeffandJohnwereplayingdoublesat the

sametime.Wehadhopedmymatchwouldgo on before theirs,butit didn’t,sotheytoldmetheystrainedto hearthe

public-address announcersaymy scores.It wasJeff’slasttournamentbeforehe went to law schoolat UCLA. He already

hadquitthetourbutdecidedto playwithJohnbecause John

wasjustcoming upandJeffwantedtohelphimalong.

Inthefourthround,I playedVirginiaRuziciofRomania

in the StadiumCourt with morethantwelvethousandpeople watching.I defeatedher 6-3, 7-5, to becomethe youngest

quarterfinalist in Openhistory.

I guessI wasmakingquiteanimpression because I re-

ceiveda phonecallfromPresidentCarterafterbeatingVir-

ginia.The callcameto the lockerroom anda womanhanded

methephone,sayingit wasJimmyCarterwantingto speak withme.I didn’tbelieveher.Howmanytimesdopeoplejoke aboutthingslikethat?Well,thistime,it wastrue.Myconversationwith the Presidentwentso fast,I don’trememberwhat he said, exceptsomethingabout playingreallywell and if I

evercameto Washington, I couldbe his guestat theWhite House.I thinkI saidI wouldtakehimup onit. I don’treally remembersayingmuch.I wasstunned.I finallydidmakeit to theWhiteHouseto givehisdaughter,Amy,my racquet whenI wontheOpenin 1979.

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Twodayslater,onSeptember 7, 1977,I wasplayingsixfeet-oneBettyStoveoftheNetherlands (whydidI alwaysget thesetallopponents?) in thequarters.I lost,6-2,6-2.Betty, the NumberFiveseedand Wimbledonrunner-up,killedme,

sometimes pushingme backfifteenfeetbehindthe baseline tryingto returnher shots.Shewasjust thetypeof playerI couldnothandlebackthen.Herpowerwastoomuchforme. RobertLansdorp saidBettymusthavebeenplayingonMars.

Shewasoutofthisworld,shewasplaying sowell.I might

as wellhavebeenon Pluto.Shewasso strongshehadme backon myheelsforallof thefifty-sixminutesweplayed. Thenextweek,I wentbackto schoolformy freshman yearat RollingHillsHigh.Thiswasa big dayfor me:my

firstdayofhighschool. Mybrother Johnshowed mearound the schoola fewdaysbeforeandI feltso intimidated. The placewashuge.I wasworriedbecausemy bestfriends,Suzanneand Cari, weregoingto otherhigh schoolsand I didn’t

knowanyone.I stuckoutbecauseofmyfameandI wasbru-

tallyshyontopofthat.ItwasveryhardformeuntilI found

somenewfriends. Wheneveryone toldwhattheydidontheirsummervacation,well,I hada lotto say.Myhometownhad“TracyAustinDay.”’Agentswerecalling.Endorsements weremounting. Offerswerecomingfromeverywhere. A tournament inJapan calledandwantedmeto comeandplay,meaningIwouldmiss thebeginningof school.I saidno. I hadhadenoughforthe moment.Buttherewasno doubtI waswakingupto a new, wonderfulworld.Therewereopportunities galorefor me. Translated, thatmeansagents. Myparentswerein chargeof thisareaof mylifeandI remembertheyaskedJackKramerfor his advice.JacksuggestedDonaldDell,theformerplayerwhoranProServ,the Washington-based sportsmarketingand management firm. SaraKleppinger (shelaterbecameForniciari) andDonaldcame out to the KramerClub to meet me, and I likedthem, but I

reallydidn’tcarewhentheydiscussed business.International 5]

TRACY AUSTIN

Management Group,MarkMcCormack’s companyin Cleveland,sentBobKain,oneoftheirrepresentatives. Therewere dozensof otherswhocalledor cameby thehouse.Welived closeto Hollywood, afterall.ButI didn’tpaymuchattention to anyof them.I knewthiswassomethingI wouldhaveto dealwith,butI didn’treallywantto. Whentheycameover, myparentswouldtalkto themandI wouldgo to myroom anddomySpanishhomework. Soon,myparentsagreedto letSaraandProServbecome myunofficial adviserfromlate1977through1978.Sheworked onaprobonobasis,justtohelpmeandmyfamilygetadjusted to thisnewsideof mylife.It wasgoodforus andgoodfor ProServ,too,because theygottheinsidetrackinworkingwith me.Of course,whenI signedwiththem,thiswasbusiness,but,

withSara,it wasmorethanthat.Shewouldcomebytoseeme andmymotherandwouldcalloften.ShewasJeff’sage,soI foundI couldrelateto herasa bigsister.WhenI signedwith ProServ,shetraveledwith meoffandon, roomedwithmeoc-

casionally ontheroad,andbecameoneofmybestfriends—and remainssoevennow.AlthoughSaranolongerrepresents me andnowhasleftProServto formherowncompany, I callher often—as afriend. I waslearningallkindsofthingsatthistimeinmylife.I

watchedtranssexualRenéeRichardsundressrightbeforemein

thebathroomatthePortWashington TennisAcademy. Thisrequiressomeexplanation. I wasplayinga juniortournament there,whichcoincided withtheLionelCup,atourthatmysister directed.RenéeRichardswasplayingon thattour.I was

thereon a Sundayafternoonandwentto the bathroomwith a

friend.Renéethenwalkedin.Obviously, I knewwhoshewas

andsheknewwhoIwas.Westarted talking aboutthetourand

whenPamwascomingintotown.Allthewhile,shewasundressing andIwasbeginning tofeela littleuncomfortable. Per-

hapsshe felt she shouldjust act normallyand undressin the

women’sroom,althoughmaybesheshouldhavebeenmore 58

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sensitive.I wantedto finishthe conversation andget out of there. Becauseof the controversyconcerningRenéeon the women’scircuit,my motherandI hadto go to LenoxHill HospitalwhenI wasat theOpenasdidallfemaleplayersso I couldbemedically provedto bea woman.Thesextesttook a second—yjust a littlescrapingoftissueinsidethemouth.But whatI remember mostisthegiggleswehadoverit. Mymom wentupto thenursesandsaid,‘““We haveto provemydaughter's'a‘girl,”” I beganto haveto dealwithnewissues.WhenI wentto Portlandearlierin theyear,a girlwhowasfouryearsolder thanI wasstartedtalkingaboutsomewoman’sgirlfriend.I said,yeah,I havegirlfriends, too. No, thisgirlkeptsaying, thiswasdifferent.ThatwashowI learnedwhata lesbianis. It’sanissueon thecircuit,butnot a bigone.I didn’tworry aboutit andit’sneverbotheredme. A fewyearslater,whenJohnandI wereinJapanto doa promotionfor Gunze,the clothingcompanywerepresented in the UnitedStates,theofficersof the companythoughtit wouldbe so wonderfulto take us to a transvestiteshow.A

littleuneasy,wewentalongwiththeirplan.Well,wegotthere andthereweremendressedaswomenand I haveto saythey wereabsolutelybeautiful.Wewerelaughingso hardthat I thinkweembarrassed themenfromthecompany. Johnissixfeet-threeandI’ma blonde,so we stuckout likesorethumbs.

Wewentbackstageafterthe showand met the men ... women... whateveryouwantto callthem. In Stuttgart,at agefifteen,I wastakento anothertransvestiteshow.I wasbecominga regularat it. Therewasa fat guy, aboutfour hundredpounds,dressedup as ‘“‘Heidi.”’ Whenhewouldlifthisarms,yousawallthesewartsandeverything.Itwassodisgusting. Seewhata glamorous lifeI was leading? I wasso incrediblyinnocentbackthen.I didn’tknow anythingaboutdrugs,cocaine,peoplesleepingtogether,and 59

TRACY AUSTIN

anyotheralternative life-styles California hasmadefamous. EvenwhenI hadboyfriends andwasexposedto collegelife, as whenI datedtennisplayerMatt Angerfrom USC, I never saw any of that stuff. I havenevertried drugs of any kind,

marijuana, anything.I imagineit’salloutthereonthetennis

tour,butI wassoyoung—and sosheltered bymymother, family,andfriends—that I neverdidanyofit. Peopleoften

ask me about drugs on tour. MaybeI’m naive,but I never knew who did what—orif anyonedid anythingat all. I as-

sumeplayerswereexperimenting withmarijuana, butI don’t knowwhoor whenor where.I wasn’tinvitedto thoseparties,iftheywerehappening atall.AndI’mverygladI wasn’t. I foundout a fewyearsagoabouta rumorthatI hadcome

offthecircuitatsuchayoungagebecause I hadacocaine problemandhadtogotoa rehabilitation center.ScottHolt,theman I datenow,hadheardthisrumorbeforewemet. On our third

date,ScottaskedmeifI everhadtrieddrugs. ‘““No,”’ I said.

“Tsee,”hesaid.“Strongdenial.”’ “Whate’’ I toldhimit just wasn’ttrue.Scottlatermentionedthe nameof thefriendwhohadtoldthatstory.Monthslater,I metthemanat a party.I didn’tmissmychance. “Whyare you tellinga storylikethat?’ I said.“It’s wrongandit’sterriblyunfair.”’ Hewassoembarrassed hewantedto diveundera table. I wasso gladI confronted him.Whenyouheara rumorlike that, it makesyouwonderwhatotherfalsestoriesare out therecirculating aboutyou—and aboutothers. Here’soneI foundout about.SomeonealsotoldScott thatI hadbreastimplantsin NewportBeach.Forstarters,I don’tknowanydoctorsin NewportBeach.And,muchmore significantly, if anyone’s everseenmein a bathingsuit,they wouldknow that whoeverdid this mythicalsurgerywould

havebeenoutofbusinessthenextday.

60

LEFT: Threeyearsold.Whata sexy

outfit!I wasalwaysbarefoot—getting shoeson mewasa toughtask. BELOW: Bendyour knees,watchthe ball,

andfollowthrough.I stillmakefunny facestodaywhenI hit theball.Pretty goodformfora three-year-old!

Thepigtailsstartedearly.I wasfourhere,atthe | Myfirstmagazine coverat fouryearsoldin Jack KramerTennisClub, where I spent most

1967.My mom said that if she’dknown, she

of mydaysbecausemymomworkedtheresix wouldhavedressedmebetterandcombedmy daysa week. hair! PHOTOGRAPH BYDAVID POWELL, World Tennis

On the stepsof the Kramer Club in 1966with my whole family.Fromleft:Jeff; me, Mom, Pam,

Dad,John,andDoug (iii

{ MAIL,Tuesday, November1,1966 ¥

ISITanywonder thatWi bide, the pinnacleof. S$tennis tenahasreg looked more: America hy-collecting convention? Ae

Se «cacti come i beonecthe ofreason

“doctrine. Ie mcs nitinabegtelspore ingpractice. : Kramer, kingoftheprofessional teamscircuit, andLosAngeleshootin pte ie Bradenhaveopened a$c it ifornia, Their arethreeand:fouryears old. The tum:To TokeepAmerica oai“ ofthetennisworld,

Emotions At a recent children’s on

e

— pupilstookmostnfthe hessSome.of 2seat potential wot beuten? is not givenenough oreditof : hesays.“Justdetth ce ~see think, Thinking means growth,development. ButKramer admitsthat pa locers gan showtheemotions anyone would expect, —— theythrowa tantrum and malor nm beenknownto kickthe bailormick thelrtongues outat their© yg eee

First—

tellsa pupilhowtodait...

+x thetsheswings two-handed—and it'sleet accomplisher

TheLondonDailyMaildida storyonJackKramerandjusthappened to usemypicture.Little didweknowthenthatI wouldusetheJackKramerautographracketto wintheOpenthirteen yearslater. LONDON DailyMail BELOW LEFT: At seven,winningmyfirsttrophy.I thinkI likedthisthingcalledwinning! RIGHT: Withmyfirstcoach,VicBraden(left),andtennisgreatJackKramer.Theystartedthe clubwhereI grewupandmadetennisfunfromthebeginning. PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF MELODY BRADEN

ABOVE: WithKarenBunag(fomyright), KellyHenry(toherright),andSuzy Jaeger(tomyleft,inpigtails) at the12 Nationals in Savannah, Georgia.We playedcardseverysecondwegot.I was

votedmostpopular.

a SR § leprae

coverat MyfirstSportsIllustrated LEFT: thirteen.Thestoryinsidewasaboutour wholefamily.I hatedthosebraces! G.ZIMMERMAN, PHOTOGRAPH BYJOHN SportsIllustrated

ABOVE: Sittingforour1976SportsIllustrated portrait.Fromleft:Doug,Jeff,Dad,me,Mom,Pam, andJohn.Thisisourfamilyroomwithallofourtrophies.Theshelvesstartedoutwithbooks, whicheventually hadtobereplaced. SportsIllustrated BELOW LEFT: PlayingWightmanCupat theRoyalAlbertHallin Londonin 1978. BillieJean King,ChrisEvert,andPamShriverwereon theteam.TedTinlingmademethedresswith American flagson it. RIGHT: PlayingWimbledon in 1978,wheretheclothinghasto be90 percentwhite.TedTinlingmadeall mydressesandspecialwhiteonesforWimbledon.

ae

=

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Ce eae ae |

MybrotherJohnandmeat thebeginning oftheWimbledon mixeddoublesfinals.Atthattime matchesneverstartedbefore2 p.M.,butbecauseofrainwewerepushedbacktothefinalSunday. Westartedat 12p.m.,rightbeforetheincredible finalbetween JohnMcEnroeandBjorn Borg. PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OFJOHN AUSTIN BELOW LEFT: Thewinningmoment!RIGHT: WeneverevendreamedwecouldwintheWimbledon mixeddoublesin1980.Wearetheonlybrother-sister teamtowinWimbledon. PHOTOGRAPHS BYCAROL L.NEWSOM

Thevictorydance.I can’tbelieveit!I had

just beatenMartinaNavratilova,1-6, 6-1, 7-6, to win the U.S. Open in 1981.

PHOTOGRAPHS BYCAROL L.NEWSOM

LEFT: Lookingbackat mydadand brother.MymomandcoachMarty Riessenweresittingin thesamelucky seatstheyhadsatin alltwoweeks—at

theotherendofthecourt.

PHOTOGRAPH BYCAROL L.NEWSOM

CHAPTER THREE

[ turnedprofessional on Octo-

ber 23, 1978,lessthantwo monthsbeforemy sixteenthbirth-

day.Jim Murrayof the LosAngelesTimes,oneof the best sportswriters in thecountry,wrotea veryunflattering article aboutme in the paperthe nextday.Howawfulit was,he said,thatI wasgoingto betraveling aroundtheworldatsuch a youngage,stayinginhotels,missingtheprom,leadingsuch anabnormallife.It reallymadeanimpression on mebecause JimMurraywasalwaysmydad’sfavoritewriter.Atthepress conference, I wasincrediblybubblyandgushedthathe was mydad’sfavorite.I wasthrilledhewasthereto seeme.Then I wokeup andopenedthe paperandhe rippedmy decision up onesideanddowntheother. I ran into Jim Murray againwhen we sat next to each

otherat a charitydinnerin LosAngeles.Mydatewasa baseballplayerwhowaswiththeNewYorkMetsandheandJim gotintoa greatdiscussion aboutthesport.Jimreallyknows hisstuff,plusheisa warmandsweetman.I foundhimfascinating,evenif he didn’tlikemy careerchoice.Havingthat kindof experience withJim’scolumnmademe waryof the

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pressright away.I wasjust fifteenand quitesensitive.I

learnedquicklythat it wasbestnot to readthe papers,which

is hard,becauseyou’recuriousaboutwhateverybodyelseis readingaboutyou.I alsolearnedneverto believewhatyou readaboutyourself.Joe Paterno,thePennStatefootballcoach,

saysif youstartto believewhattheywriteaboutyou,you’re in big trouble.My motherhad her own theory:‘‘Neverread what they write about you becauseif it’s good, you'll get a

bigheadandif it’sbad,yourfeelingswillbehurt.”

Tobackupforamoment, afterthe1977Open,I moved

backto the age-groupcompetition andwonit all.WhenI

wouldmakethe occasionalforayinto VirginiaSlimstournaments, I would win a round or two, then lose to Virginia

Wadeor MartinaNavratilova. Nowfifteen,I hadgrownthree

inches sincethesummer tofivefeettwoinches andhadgained eightpoundsto reachninety-eight. I wasevengettingseeded in Slimsevents.WhenI lost to Martinaat the Los Angeles

Slimstournament inJanuary1978,I wasseededeighth.Mar-

tina, seededNumberTwo,beatme, 6—3,6—4in the quarters. It was the third time she had defeatedme in three matches;

thefirsttwowereimmediately beforeandaftertheU.S.Open

in 1977.

Afterward, Martinasaidata pressconference thatshehad everything to loseandI stillhadnothingto lose.‘““Can you

imagine theheadlines ifIlost?’Martina asked.“Irealized that

beforethe match.HereI ambeingbeatenby a fifteen-yearold. Tracymakesus all feellikeold ladies.”’

CombinethatwithJoAnneRussell’s comments thatI was fakingthemallout by dressinglikea littlegirlandyoucan see that they all lovedme out there. But, in their defense,I

shouldsayit musthavebeenhardfor themto acceptme.I wasa threatto them.Eventually, I startedto buildmy own friendships, butit wastoughatfirst.I readthatChrissaidshe

feltthatway,too, whenshefirstarrivedon the circuit.I really

wasn’tmadeto feelallthatwelcomeandit probablymademe wantto beatthemevenmore.Theydidn’tknowhowto react 70

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to a fourteen-year-old, especially onewhomightbeatthem soon.

AlthoughI waspickingup the paceof my tournaments,

mixinginmoreprofessional events,I stillwasgoingto school asusual.Myroutinewasset:I wouldgoto schoolfromeight in themorninguntilone-thirtyin theafternoon,missinglast periodbecauseit wasphysicaleducation(theytoldmeI had enoughofthat).Mymomwouldtakemeoverto theKramer Club,whereI wouldtakea lessonor practiceor waitlikeeveryoneelseto playaneight-game proset,becausethecourts werefull.Whenyouwaited,you“racked.’”’ Theprocesswent likethis:Youput yourracqueton a peg,whichis tennis’s versionof takinga number.My friendsandI wouldn’tsit thereandwatchotherpeopleplay,though.Wewouldrunto thestoreto buycandyor run aroundtheblock,whichfeatureda treacherous hill.Weneversatstill.Occasionally, the wait on the weekendswas threehours,yet, somehow,by the

endof theday,I hadplayedtwoor threehoursof tennis. MymotheralwaysmadesureI behavedon court,but I neverevenconsidered actingup.I’donlygetmadin practice, andeventhen,it wasrare.I didgivemyracqueta goodlittle tap on the groundeveryoncein a while.I'd tellmy mom whatallthe kidstoldtheirparents:“It fellout of my hand whileI wasservingandit musthavecracked.” ‘““‘We expectherto behave,’’ mymothertoldJimMartz, thenof TheMiamiHerald.“‘Inpractice,aftershemissedaball, shekindoftooka swingandnickedthecourt.Pllgetonher forthat.Youcanhurtyourracquetthatway.”’ I wonderif Mrs.McEnroeeverhad that conversation withJohn.

Actually,I likedto keepmy composure,becauseif I startedto actup, I lostmyconcentration. AndwhenI camehomeatnights,I wouldeatdinner,do

homework,and watchTV. I lovedTV back then—Charlie’s Angels,HappyDays,and Welcome BackKotter,especially.At

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withmy girlfriends. I didn’trealizeit, but I wasso singleminded,I probablycouldn’tdateanybodythen.It wasnot until1981thatI starteddatingMattAnger,my firstserious boyfriend.Therewasjust no timeforboysin mylifewhen tenniswasalmosteverything. I was movingvery quicklythen, muchfasterthan I thought when I kept sayingI would go to collegeand turn

proat ageeighteen.Bytheendof 1977,I wasrankedfourth in thecountryandtwelfthin theworld.I wasnamedrookie of the yearby Tennismagazinein 1977.TheypickedJohn McEnroeas the men’swinner. In early March 1978,I flew to Dallasfor the Virginia

Slimstournamentthere.Everyonehasa momentin lifethat theycanlookbackto andsay,“Thatwasit. Thatchanged everything.”’ Andsoit wasformein Dallas. Why?It wasthe firsttimeI beatMartina.Wewereplayingin MoodyColiseumon a Fridaynightin the quarterfinals.

Martinawasthetopseed;I wasseventh.Theyhadtheirbiggestcrowdever,nearlyninethousand.Theywereloudand theylovedus. Youngversus“‘old,”’ allthedramaof a great upset:Whatmorecouldyouaskfor? As I said,I hadlost to her threetimesbefore,so I didn’t

haveveryhighhopeswhenthematchbegan.ButI wonthe firstset, 6-3. Martinacamebackto win the second,6-2, set-

tingupthedecisive thirdset.I wasdown,5-2,butwhenMartinaservedforthematch,I hit twogreatpassingshots,then hit a crosscourt backhandto winthe gameandreach5-3. I wonthreeof thenextfourgamesto tie her6—6, sendingit intoa nine-point tiebreaker, whenyouwinbygettingto five. At thatpoint,thecrowdcheeredsoloudly,Martinaput her handson her ears, so as not to hear it. At the time I didn’t

feelsorryforher,butI probablyshouldhave.Thereshewas,

playingat home, and playingagainsta kid with no pressure.

Talkaboutimpossible. Anyway,Martinamadea couplemistakes,hittingballs intothenet,andI washoldinga4~2lead.Triple-match point. 72

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I gota littletentative andlostthenexttwopointsto goto

4—4.That was it. One morepoint,a simultaneous match point, suddendeath, winnertake all. I was serving.Wereturned eachother’sgroundstrokes,then I found an opening

andpoundeda forehand intothecornerto Martina’s forehand.

Shereached itbutdidn’tgetanything onitandsentitfloating

to meat thenet.I hada simplecrosscourt volleyandit was

over. Martinahad had a thirty-seven-matchwinningstreak, but that, too, was finished.

I rememberbeingso excitedI jumpedup anddowna

coupleoftimesatthenet.I remember thecrowdgivingme

astandingovationandMartina,withtearsinhereyes,warmly contratulatingme and tousling my hair. The newspapers calledit the biggestupsetof the year.Martinasaidit wasthe

mostexcitingmatchshehadhadin a coupleyears.It wasthe mostexcitingmatchI hadhadin, oh, aboutfifteenyears.

AfterI beatMartina,I won one morematch,an up-and-

down1-6,6—4, 6-1victoryoverAnneSmiththedayafterthe big win,whichput me in the final.I becamethe youngest womanto reachthe finalsincethe openeraof professional tennisbeganin 1968.Chrishadheldthatdistinction at age fifteenyearsninemonthsata tournament in Charlotte,North Carolina,in 1970.I wasfifteenyearsthreemonthsin Dallas.

In the final, I facedEvonneGoolagong,who beat me, 4-6, 6-0, 6-2. Therewereso manyupsetsin the tournament

that Evonne,then twenty-seven and the motherof a tenmonth-oldbaby,wasthe onlyprofessional leftin thesemis:

Anne,PamShriver,andI, teenagersall, werethe otherthree.

WhenI wasgrowingup,Evonnewasmyfavoriteplayer. I hadher autographmy handwhenI wasa ballgirlat the VirginiaSlimsChampionships in LosAngeles—and didn’t washit fordays.EvonneandChrisplayedin thefinal,with Evonnewinningin threesets.Someof theotherkidsandI waitedoutsidethe lockerroom for aboutan hour, hopingto

talkto themor getan autograph.Finally,Chriscameout.I

was thrilled.But, right then,Jimmy Connors,her boyfriend

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atthetime,metherandtheybreezedbyus,wentupanescalator and—boom—they weregone.Justlikea cloudofsmoke. I imagineshewasprettyupsetaboutlosing. WhenEvonnecameout, shemovedslowlydownthe hallway,signingforeveryone. I didn’thavea pieceofpaper(I usuallywasn’tthat unprepared)so she signedmy hand.

I tolda reporterin 1978thatI mostadmiredEvonnebecauseshewas“‘sofeminineandniceandeverything.” I'lltry

tobealittlemorereflective now:Shealways hasamazed me

byneverseeming nervous.WhenwemetinthesemisatWimbledonin 1980,weboth weremillingaroundthe seededplayers’lockerroom. It’snot a big place,so you eachknow the

otheristhere.Television setswereturnedto theBBCwiththe

matches goingonatthetime.A Britishwomanwhoplayed

Wightman Cuptooka likingto meandstartedspeaking with me. She talked about my upcomingmatch—andmade me nervous.ArthurAshesaidon TV he thoughtI was goingto

winthetournament. Thatmadememorenervous.

AndtherewasEvonne,walkingaroundthe lockerroom,

singinga song.Sheneverseemedto havea nerveinherbody. Shealsoseemedto enjoyplayingverymuch.I lovedto watch herplaybecauseshewassofluid,sosmooth.It wasas if she wereoutplayingin a publicparksomewhere. Shealsowasa

littleflighty onthecourt.Shewouldbehittinggroundstrokes almostexclusively,and all of a sudden,she wouldswitchto playinga serve-and-volley game.Shewouldbe wailingaway,

thenwouldbeginputtingspinon theball. Afterthattournament,I waswhipped.I wasn’tusedto therigorsofthecircuitandkeptgettingmoretiredeveryday. I wantedto gohomeanddo sometraining.I keptthinking, I haveto getstronger,I haveto getstronger. Ataboutthattime,I begananextensive trainingprogram at LaurieBelger’s house.It wasa secretweightroom;secret in thatthedoorwasdisguised as a partof a wallwithpool sticksattachedto it. I didn’ttellanybodyI wasworkingout becauseit wasembarrassing for womento lift weightsand 74