I don’t know why Jim Courier would need a makeover—he’s firing on all cylinders here as a commentator, on-court post-match interviewer, and newspaper columnist for one of the two major local newspapers, the Melbourne Age. You can read one of his columns if you click here (it's free, but you may need to register).
“They’re making me write every word of the column, too,” Courier groused, as he sat having his hair restyled in the white tent of a tournament sponsor, Garnier. His discontent was feigned, of course, for this is an astute guy with a real interest in journalism; he’d never turn the job over to a ghost writer.
I’m not sure why Courier had agreed to sit and have his hair done with dozens of spectators gawking at him through the doors and windows, although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because he was looking for a free haircut or pedicure.
Courier hammed it up for a half-dozen television and radio reporters, while a trendy fashionista with an unusual haircut of her own (I can’t really describe in fewer than 200 words) worked on him. As she meticulously parted his hair down the middle and tamped it down, Jim asked, “So what are we going for here, an Amish look?”
Nah, this hairdresser knew enough not to mess with a good thing; she was just in the process of fluffing out his hair like a maid might air out a blanket. When she was done, a television reporter asked Courier how he felt. He deadpanned: “There’s no suitable adjective to describe how hot I look.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if, in the next few years, Courier replaces John McEnroe as the official voice of American tennis. It’s not just that Courier is talented, it’s this feeling that McEnroe becoming a self-caricature. And I know this for sure. There’s a swelling army of people out there–people who know McEnroe–who couldn’t care less if he got hit by a bus.