Open - Andre Agassi

Andre Agassi's autobiography was completely mindless. It was wonderful to read.

It has spent some time as #1 on the best seller list and it has lots of hype. Time said : "One of the best sports autobiographies os all time . . . One of the better memoirs out there, period."

"Not your typical jock-autobio fare. This literate and absorbing book is, as the title baldly states, Agassi's confessional, a wrenching chronicle of his lifelong search for identity and serenity, on and off the court." -Los Angeles Times

"The most revealing, literate, and toes-stompingly honest sports autobiobraphies in history." -Rick Reilly.

I would have to agree, but keep in mind that we are talking about sports autobiographies here. Sure, compared to Wilt this is heady stuff. Of course Wilt Chamberlain went into much more detail when listing his sexual conquests. By Wilt's account he would have had to bedded three or four women a day starting at age eight to amass the numbers he gives himself credit for.

It is also better than Tom Jackson's autobiography in conjunction with Woody Paige, although one of the hypes on Jackson's back cover came from my mother-in-law. "With the exception of my husband, Charlie, Tom Jackson has given me more pleasure than any other man," she cleverly asserted. I think that was the best line coming from that book.

I don't think it is as good as Mad Ducks and Bears (Alex Karras), but that was more an expose of football life than an autobiography. And, of course, it can't compete with my childhood favorite, The Knute Rockne Story. My junior high devotion to Knute Rockne and Notre Dame makes Rudy whathisname look like a slacker. But I digress.

I had just finished reading Brooklyn and went to the Tattered Cover to buy Freedom, but as is usually the case when I walk into a bookstore, came home with a handful of other titles. I spent the rest of the day determined to start reading Jonathan Franzen's novel, but some force kept pulling me toward the Agassi. I gave in and, just like many of the reviewers said, I couldn't put it down. I finished it by the next morning by reading it in between serves at the U.S. Open. Even though I am a rotten tennis player, I love the game; if you love the game, you love Agassi.

Actually, Agassi merely dictated the book ( I suspected as much from the start) and a typist put it on paper and/or hard drive. Then J. R. Moehringer (The Tender Bar) gave it some structure. It is a successful collaboration. The book presents a straightforward account of Agassi's career in chronological order. It paints a pretty horrible picture of his driven father (Agassi was forced, never cajoled, into hitting 2,500 hundred balls a day!) and Nick Bollettieri's horrific tennis boot camp in Florida. It details his rivalry with Pete Sampras and his hatred (mutual) of Boris Becker. It takes us through a number of his more important matches, everyone of which I remember watching with rabid attention. And, of course, it talks about his awkward relationship with Brooke Shields and his eventual true love, Steffie Graf. It also talks about his heavy experimentation with Crack/Meth during his low years and his humiliating rehab with the help of Brad Gilbert and a whole entourage of trainers, pseudo shrinks, family, and friends. At the end he spends a lot of time talking about his charities, notably the school he funds and runs in Vegas. The whole ordeal ends on a triumphal note, and even though Agassi is basically a whiny jerk through most of his life, we end up happy for his apparently happy and successful future.

My main reaction to the whole thing is a certain bemusement at the error of magnitude that has characterized his life. The obstacles he had to overcome seem so insignificant, so trivial, compared to the obstacles that most of us face every day. Okay, okay, he had a bullying father who pushed him to be a tennis star and make millions and millions of dollars. The women in his life didn't understand him. He was tempted by drugs. Sometimes he lost important matches. Once, he was forced to watch The Joy Luck Club with Barbra Streisand and a collection of hollywood stars. He was on the set of Friends when Brooke Shields, in a cameo, licked the hand of one of the guys (Agassi stormed out.). His back hurt a lot when he got out of bed. But, praise the lord, he overcame all of that to start a school and live with Steffi Graf and his kids in Vegas. Interesting, but not the stuff of tragedy. I mean we could all tell him stories that would break his heart.

That's the thing with sports nuts. Listen to them argue on some sports talk show and you would think that the trading of Brandon Marshall was the end of the world as we know it. Kyle Orton only threw ONE TOUCHDOWN against the Jags and sports columnists like Woody Paige and Mark Kizla manage to opine for 700 words each as if that actually mattered. Of course, I was, and continue to be, devastated that Federer lost in the semis, but that is another story.

In biographies of people of significance like John Adams or Andrew Jackson or Abraham Lincoln, the obstacles they encounter are out of my experience. They are huge stumbling blocks requiring huge deeds by huge men or women. By contrast, it is fun to read about Andre's puny travails but he needs to take himself a little less seriously. Of course, if he did that he never would have dictated his book and then where would we be.