What Happens in Beverly Hills. . .

Mornin, Tribe. Due to the wonders of auto-posting, this entry is going up while I'm somewhere over Kansas, on my way home from Los Angeles. I had a good visit with Pete Sampras at his home in Beverly Hills, which is as tasteful and elegant as was Pete's game. There's not a sign of Pete's career anywhere in the common rooms in the house (and for all I know, none anywhere else, either), which is something I always like in someone who could surround himself with all manner of hagiogaphic fetishes.

But then, many of the trophies Sampras earned at Wimbledon and the U.S. Open have already been shipped to Newport, R.I., and the International Tennis Hall of Fame, into which he will be inducted in a few weeks time. Wimbledon champs, BTW, get replica's of the Championship Plate that are about a quarter the size of the originals (think large pizza vs. "personal" size pizza). Pete had those replicas tastefully displayed in his previous home, and I assume they'll find their way back to his living room at some point.

John Curry, the former All-England Club (Wimbledon) chairman called Pete a few weeks ago and asked if he'd be interested in a wild card for this year's event. Pete didn't have to think twice: He politely declined.

Pete has watched a little of Wimbledon, and he misses the place. He says he can sit in his chair, close his eyes, and conjure up the exact feeling he had - the nervous anticipation - walking out on Centre Court to play a final. You may have noticed that a locker room attendant walks onto Centre Court with the players for the final, carrying their bags. Ir's a detail that was always fraught with existential significance for Sampras. *
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It's like you're just walking out there, like naked, and you think, "Well, this is it. . .'" You don't even have that security of lugging that bag, having something to hold onto. You're just like. . walking out there, to meet fate. It's unnerving, in cool kind of way.

Last year, when serving-and-volleying U.S. player Robert Kendrick pushed Rafael Nadal to the limit, we had a spirited debate here about the viability of the attacking game at today's Wimbledon, against today's baseline players. I think the fact that Nadal subsequently reached the final only made Kendrick's performance more impressive. This was no attacking player beating up on some helpless clay-court expert. An attacker can still win Wimbledon; It's something I believed then, and still believe now. The problem is that nobody is attacking (see Ray Stonada's entry, below). Here are Sampras's thoughts on the subject:

Now you can dismiss all this as a typical "old guy" rant about how much tougher it was in his era, but Pete isn;t that old, and his era is not too long gone - even though the sea change in the nature of the players may suggest it is. It certainly didn't seem to me that Pete had an axe to grind, or that he was trying to blow his own horn or boost his stock; this is a guy who'll admit that Ivanisevic's first serve was superior to his own. This is a guy who has no dog in the fight, just talking about what he sees and how he feels about it. One of the great things about working on this autobiogaphy with Pete has been discovering how much he knows about the game, and how what he knows is so often simple. Smack-your -your-forehead, lightbulb over head, how could I not see that simple.

So, when Federer worked out with Sampras for a few days before Indian Wells this year, Pete raised the issue. And Roger explained. It was one of those moments: two dominant champions, talking shop.

And, as we all know, what happens in Beverly Hills, stays in Beverly Hills.