“Open” is the first biography I’ve ever read, and it remains my favorite after almost a decade. There is something deeply compiling and inspiring about Agassi’s story and it resonated with me quite deeply; perhaps it’s because I was also once a racket-slinging, tennis-playing, angst-filled teenager, albeit infinitely less successful and skilled at tennis. Or maybe it’s because no one has ever shown such level of vulnerability and openness as Agassi had in this book. The overall reading experience felt less like a book, and more like one of those deeply personal and candid conversation you have with your friends around a campfire; one that lasts late into the night.
Agassi does not shy away from intimate topics; everything from his struggle with hair loss, methamphetamine use, love and divorce, physical and mental struggles, and much more. Everything is presented with such candor that the reader cannot help but be drawn in emotionally. I suppose that’s where the title came from: “Open”, a double-entendre on the major annual tennis tournaments (Australian Open, French Open, US Open), and his act of opening up to the world through this autobiography.
Another aspect that pulled me in from the outset was the superb writing and beautiful portrayal of the game of tennis. The proses were lucid but also incredibly beautiful and thought-provoking. For instance, just look at this quote from the book regarding the game of tennis:
It’s no accident, I think, that tennis uses the language of life. Advantage, service, fault, break, love, the basic elements of tennis are those of everyday existence, because every match is a life in miniature. Even the structure of tennis, the way the pieces fit inside one another like Russian nesting dolls, mimics the structure of our days. Points become games become sets become tournaments, and it’s all so tightly connected that any point can become the turning point. It reminds me of the way seconds become minutes become hours, and any hour can be our finest. Or darkest.
Perhaps I am over-romanticizing, but the lessons I drew from tennis have been tremendously helpful in other parts of my life. The necessary diligence in practice and hard-work, the importance of emotional regulation, and the confidence to take your shot when the time is right. Many of these things have analogs in other arenas of life.
Here are some of the things I took away from this fascinating autobiography.
Tennis is the sport in which you talk to yourself. No athletes talk to themselves like tennis players. Pitchers, golfers, goalkeepers, they mutter to themselves, of course, but tennis player talk to themselves - and answers. In the heat of a match, tennis players look like lunatics in a public square, ranting and swearing and conducting Lincoln-Douglas debates with their alter egos. Why? Because tennis is so damned lonely.
Unlike typical team sports like soccer, hockey, or basketball, tennis is deeply psychological, and in some regards, painfully lonely. During a game, players are not allowed to consult, not even signal to their coaches sitting in the bleachers. In fact, during a game it behooves the coaches to put on a poker face and not react to any mistakes, lest they inadvertently influence their player’s mental stability and focus.
Advantages in physique and athletic ability only gets you so far. The best players in the world are peak performers both physically, and mentally. The technical intricacies, that many of us spend years practicing and perfecting, are the prerequisite of the prerequisites. Things like when to hit a heavier top-spin, when to slice, when to approach the net, how to manage your balance and footwork, all of these things are entirely trivial to the top players. Instead, their mind is focused on strategy and observation of the game and themselves. The top 100 players are all extremely closely matched in terms of raw skills. What separates the best from the greatest-of-all-time is their mental fortitude.
As soon as the match begins, both players are placed on an island. If you’ve never been to a live tennis game before, it is tough to describe the eeriness of an entire stadium of people, watching two players trade blows in silence. A stadium of thousands, yet the only thing you hear are the “bangs” of tennis balls hitting racquets at over 70 mph, and the grunts and breathing of the players. Both the physical, and mental struggles of the players are on full display; placed under a magnifying glass. The passion of every won point, and the self-contempt and anguish of every mistake is amplified for the world to see. In this way, the game is both physically exerting, with some games lasting up more than 4 hours, and completely mentally draining.
Boxers have their corner men and managers. Even a boxer’s opponent provides a kind of companionship, someone he can grapple with and grunt at. In tennis you stand face-to-face with the enemy, trade blows with him, but never touch him or talk to him, or anyone else. The rule forbid a tennis player from even talking to his coach while on the court. […] Tennis is the closest to solitary confinement
Roger Federer famously summarized his approach to the game as: “Fire and Ice”. One must have the drive and ambition (the fire) to win every point. At the same time, one must be able to remain calm and collected (the ice) under tremendous amount of stress. It is not uncommon for an entire tournament to hinge on a single decision. Similarly, for every point, you must have the confidence (the fire) to go for your shots, as well as the self-control (the ice) to restrain your emotions and and not overshoot.
This interesting dichotomy between passion and extreme self-discipline, which intuitively seems to pull in opposite directions, is what makes tennis so fascinating to watch. For the untrained eyes, tennis is boring and repetitive. But beneath the physical exchange of racket strokes, there is a much more interesting battle going on that is entirely psychological.
An Aside About Roger Federer
Although this is not from the book, I cannot resist but to digress and talk about about Roger Federer. Unfortunately, Agassi retired at about the time Roger Federer came onto the scene. He very briefly mentioned how there was this new kid on the block who seem quite talented. Whatever other discussion in the book about Federer was quite brief. Perhaps he was cleverly foreshadowing Federer’s forthcoming dominance by keeping his discussion on the topic deliberately short. Or maybe I am overthinking.
If you’ve ever seen the dominance of Roger Federer during his prime, or if you’ve ever read the ramblings of David Foster Wallace, then you’ll understand the sheer beauty and elegance that is on display when Federer plays tennis. He appears to effortlessly glide across the courts, delivering shots after shots of perfection to us mere mortals. It is like observing a well-oiled engine, or the precision of dials and gears in a mechanical time piece, or a master sushi chef with over 60 years of experience perfecting his craft. Watching Federer play was a religious experience. It feels like being in the presence of something divine. Roger Federer isn’t just a tennis player. He is tennis.
When you chase perfection, when you make perfection the ultimate goal, do you know what you’re doing? You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist. You’re making everyone around you miserable. You’re making yourself miserable. Perfection? There’s about five times a year you wake up perfect, when you can’t lose to anybody, but its not those five times a year that make a tennis player. Or a human being, for that matter.
During my teenage years, I’ve often been frustrated on days when I play a sub-par game. I was anchoring my expected performance and tennis ability to my “best days”. It was very common for my mind to be awash with mental anguish and inner turmoil, here are some examples of my inner dialogue:
The negativity was rocket fuel in terms of motivation, but it took a toll on my mental health. As I grew older, I came to realize not only the importance of improving my skills, but also managing my emotions and expectations. By believing “the best Robert” is the normal Robert, I was setting myself up for constant disappointment.
Agassi is right. There is about five times a year when you feel perfect, when the universe aligns and everything works out. However, we are not defined by our moment of triumphs, nor are we defined by our many failures.
After winning Wimbledon:
I don’t feel that Wimbledon has changed me. I feel, in fact, as if I’ve been let in on a dirty little secret: winning changes nothing. Now that I’ve won a slam, I know something that very few people on earth are permitted to know. A win doesn’t feel as good as a loss feels bad, and the good feeling doesn’t last as long as the bad. Not even close.
On the mental struggle of a tennis player:
I’ve been cheered by thousands, booed by thousands, but nothing feels as bad as the booing inside your own head.
On helping others:
Remember this. Hold on to this. This is the only perfection there is, the perfection of helping others. This is the only thing we can do that has any lasting meaning. This is why we’re here. To make each other feel safe.