ANDY RODDICK WILL TURN 26 during the first week of the U.S. Open. But as Boris Becker famously observed, you measure a tennis player’s life in “dog years,” so it’s hardly surprising that Roddick sometimes waxes sentimental and savors his memories, separating the wheat of satisfaction from the chaff of expectations.
Take his recollections of the 2006 U.S. Open, where he reached the final but lost to Roger Federer: “That was the most fun I ever had at a tennis tournament, and it’s one of my best memories. Six weeks earlier, even I wasn’t convinced that I might ever make the quarterfinals again, and suddenly there I was, in a position to stick it to those people who had written me off, even though I was just 23 when they did it. Obviously I was disappointed by the loss to Roger, but to be honest, I was just elated to be there. It would have been downright greedy to think anything different.”
Although Roddick has completed an impressive rehabilitation since that match, his remarks still resonate because they capture the quintessential Andy Roddick. He’s heartfelt, sincere, and realistic; more humble than one might expect, yet also a mite edgy— defiant, you could say, in a way that fuels the sentiments of Roddick’s fans as well as his detractors.
Critics of Roddick have never been in short supply, driven by a tsunami of resentments. Roddick’s meat-andpotatoes power game, in an era dominated by the artistic Federer, is found wanting by those who prefer to see tennis as a performance occasionally hampered by the presence of a rude opponent. His lead-with-the-chin honesty is strong medicine in an image conscious time. Roddick can’t resist the acid wisecrack, he’s overtly patriotic, and that isn’t just his heart on his sleeve—it’s his testosterone, too.
That’s a little scary to some, but it also taps into a general resentment of the nation he represents so ably in Davis Cup. Roddick is a red-white-and-blue irritant to America bashers everywhere, including right here in the U.S. To them, he represents American entitlement.
Ironically, entitlement is a strange attribute to pin on Roddick. His father, Jerry, was a self-made man, and probably the least flashy or indulgent one you’ll find anywhere. More important, if there’s a theme in Roddick’s personal history, it’s “struggle.” Stanford Boster, the coach who shepherded Roddick through his junior career, nicknamed him “Shrimp” because of his unimpressive physique. Roddick grew almost apologetic about repeating himself when he reminded me: “I’ve said it a lot: If you told me at 16 that I could be No. 50 in the world and make a living in tennis, I would have taken it right then, no questions asked.”
From a more practical point of view, it’s ironic to attribute entitlement to a player who arrived at about the time that the backlash against power tennis reached its apex.
“I’m the only Top 10 guy with a huge serve,” Roddick says. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
And how about coming of age at the same time as Federer, who’s already on the short list for the Greatest of All Time? Not enough? Try this: Roddick poured his heart and soul into Davis Cup for seven years before finally winning one. That Roddick has uttered nary a word of complaint about the hand he was dealt is a tribute to a sanguine disposition.
At least one of his additional burdens has also provided him with one of his singular distinctions. Roddick is the point man for U.S. tennis in the post-Sampras and- Agassi era. Cruel blow? Hardly. In a fiercely individual sport, Roddick, as his leadership role in Davis Cup attests, has found honor and solace in the ability to be an exemplary team player.
Read the full article, "Manning Up," in the September issue of TENNIS magazine.