Climate Right for Upstart to Steal Hero’s Thunder

Americans love Pete Sampras for the same reasons they loved Jack Dempsey, Joe Louis, Babe Ruth, John Daly, the 1927 Yankees, Notre Dame under Rockne, the Lombardi Packers, Michael Jordan.

They love guys who can bring it. Pour it on. Slug. Dominate. Forget the bunt, the jab, the knuckleball, the field goal. We want the jugular. Blood, not points.

We like to think we’re a nation of underdogs rooting for the underdog. But we’d rather be identified with the overdog. Check the next prizefight. “Kill ‘im!” the fans will implore as a Tyson advances on a guy on the ropes. “Outta the lot!” we instruct our favorite batter. “Hey! Hey! All the way!” the rooting section pleads. Or “Hit ‘em again! Hit ‘em again! Harder! Harder!”

“Hold that line!” has long since gone out of favor. Now they shout “Defense! Defense!” as we want, not only the play stopped but the quarterback sacked. Maimed, if possible, by some troglodytic pass-rusher.

Even in tennis history, probably the most famous player was Bill Tilden. He was William Tilden III but was billed as “Big Bill.” His serve was designated as “cannonball.” That’s what sells tickets. In baseball, the fans’ idea of “defense” is Sandy Koufax with a 100-mph fastball.

Fans identify with the irresistible force, not the immovable object. There once was a player (Eddie Stanky) of whom they said, “He can’t run, he can’t throw, he can’t hit--all he can do is beat you.” But the fans didn’t want to hear about it. Invisible talents don’t sell. Fans want guys named “Rocket.” Fighters nicknamed “Mauler.” “The Bomber!” Serves called “cannonball.”

That’s where Pete Sampras comes in. Fans don’t want their tennis players to run the other guy ragged and baseline the game to death. Players who are as hard to get the ball by as a barn wall, who wait for mistakes. Players whose nicknames are “Sneaky.” They want guys named “the Terminator.”

Of course, if all a player has is a big serve, that just makes him a one-shot wonder. He’s like the golfer who hits the ball 350 yards, then four-putts or chili-dips his approach shots.

Sampras doesn’t just stand there and throw crazy rights. He isn’t even the fastest server on the tour, although he’s one of them. He led the tour in aces in 1995 with 974, and was third last year with 904. The Great Croat Goran Ivanisevic had 1,477, but he played in 20 more matches than Sampras. Someone named Mark Philippoussis served a ball 142 mph last week, the fastest recorded on tour. But Sampras won 84% of his first-serve points, which means his ball is in the invisible range too.

Pete Sampras may be to his sport what the Ruths, Louises, Dempseys, Hogans, Nicklauses, Jordans and Red Granges were to theirs--the best ever to play it.

With all that, you’d think he was untouchable. An early-round tennis match featuring Sampras is just a recital, not a contest.

Sampras came in here at the Newsweek Champions Cup tournament this week undefeated in ’97 and looking as much an all-time great as anyone has or can.

For the fourth time in a row he has been named No. 1 in the world. He has made more money out of rackets ($25.5 million before this season) than anyone since Al Capone. He has won three Wimbledons, four U.S. Opens and one Australian Open. If he could only find a way to win a French Open (on a molasses surface), he would have the all-time pedestal to himself.

Tennis is also a formful sport, probably the most formful in the pantheon of sports. The headline “Unknown Wins Open,” commonplace in golf, is all but unknown in tennis. Unknowns make the quarterfinals in tennis, is all.

In other sports, you can have a bad day, or a bad inning, or a bad half. Ruth can have three terrible at-bats and hit a homer and win the game on his fourth. In tennis, if you have terrible at-bats, the game’s over. In tennis, there’s no tomorrow. Goof up today and head for the airport.

Pete Sampras began the Newsweek at the Hyatt Grand Champions last year with just as many flags flying as this year. He had won Wimbledon and the U.S. Open and was runner-up in the Australian Open. But when he ran into the Dutch journeyman, Paul Haarhuis, in his second match, he tumbled, 5-7, 7-6, 1-6.

It happens all the time at the Newsweek. Jim Courier won here twice but fell to somebody named Francisco Clavet this week. His supporters blamed jet lag, but jet lag is as much a part of the game nowadays as the drop volley.

So, a lot of people approached Sampras’ debut this week with crossed fingers. They were careful not to drop mirrors, spill salt or confront a black cat on the sidewalk. The sponsors, TV producers, and, yes, journalists had almost as much at stake as Pete. So did the people selling hot dogs and T-shirts. Tennis itself had a stake.

It didn’t matter. Nothing helped. The best player of his time, maybe the ages, found himself defending himself inadequately against a guy who will never put anybody in mind of Rod the Rocket or Cannonball Bill.

The fly in the ointment was an improbable character, a collection of consonants by the name of Bohdan Ulihrach, a clay-court player from Prague who would not ordinarily be considered other than a warmup to the man who rules the tennis world.

But that’s what they thought about Haarhuis last year. And already this year, Courier and Andre Agassi have been eliminated. This is not a tournament, it’s a hoodoo. You get the feeling Sampras might lose to his chauffeur.

You would think a Pete Sampras could beat a Bohdan Ulihrach off the interest on his talent, without dipping into the capital. He’s No. 1 in the game, Ulihrach is No. 43. But Sampras was No. 1 last year too. And Haarhuis was No. 68. That’s like losing a pot to a pair of treys. Getting bit by your own dog.

It was the only match Sampras has lost this year, in fact, the first time he lost since last October.

But the Czech was in the mail, all right. This Czech bounced Sampras.

Don’t look for Ulihrach in the finals at Wimbledon. But he kept Pete Sampras at his ineffectual worst at the baseline all day. “I’m sorry,” he said waggishly in the interview after the match. “I beat the best player in the world. So, I apologize.”

Sampras apologized too. “I played ugly. I never seem to play well here in the desert,” he admitted.

What about the two times he won here?

“Well, the ball seemed more affected by the dryness today. It flew on me. It helped on my serve but my serve isn’t the problem. The ball would fly on me on my groundies. Control was a problem.

“I didn’t play to my capabilities. I don’t mind losing to somebody who outplayed me. I think I outplayed me today.”

Somebody did. Mentioning Indian Wells in the presence of the world’s No. 1 tennis player will become like mentioning rope in the house of the hanged.