Just like us

When I saw Andre Agassi, tennis great, in the media about his new autobiography, Open, I didn’t give it a second thought. I am a tennis fan. I grew up playing the sport, and still do. I was even an admirer of his phenomenal return game and performance towards the end of his career. Yet even with scandal-creating glimpses of Agassi dabbling in crystal meth, I was not racing to the bookstore to snag a copy.

I have a bizarre habit of not being interested in anything at the same time that most people are interested. My seriously delayed embrace of Harry Potter and Weeds are just two shining examples of my quirky ways.

So it was both shocking and completely predictable that I was handed a copy of Open, and was truly engrossed. It was certainly entertaining but more than that, it was raw, and painfully honest. Even if it turns out to be a fake, it was REAL. And for that, Agassi has earned my appreciation and respect.

Let me explain.

For those of you who are familiar with the contents of the book, or who could see it in Agassi’s eyes and demeanor throughout his tennis career, he writes about his tortured relationship with tennis.

Much like Michael Jackson, his wife Steffi Graf, and what seem to be many other greats, he had an obsessive father who was ruthless about discipline, training, and pressure to achieve. The cruel irony being that this preparation enabled their greatness. They were conflicted with the fame associated with their abilities and yet they could not imagine a world without engaging those talents. Nor could the world for that matter.

As we relive Agassi’s life to date, he tells us about how Jimmy Connors was basically a huge prick (surprise surprise), how he (Agassi) wore a hairpiece for the better part of his career, and that he had a long and adorable crush on Steffi Graf. Familiar maxims also pass by: Money can’t buy you love. Or happiness. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be”. Blah Blah. We have heard it many times. But still, the grass is greener on the other side. Easy for someone to say who can hang with the cast of Friends, eat at the best restaurants, and rub elbows with Nelson Mandela!

But if you are to wade past all of that, I see in Agassi’s narrative, a common human struggle (or at least for me). Misunderstood by others, and ourselves, we seek and yearn for something we cannot articulate, something elusive but that we know is there. We succeed and fail, are joyous and then miserable. We experience the repetitive, relentless cycle and feel a dull pain for something more.

A normal person might read what I wrote, and think on my interpretation of Agassi’s book and think: damn that is depressing.

Luckily, since we have established that I am quirky, I actually see something different.

Yes, life is a constant, and often lonely struggle. But we ALL share in common, the struggle and the journey.

Open helped reaffirm that I’m not the only one. And neither are you.

above photo from - http://knopfdoubleday.com/agassi/