9101260829
DETROIT FREE PRESS
910705
Friday, July 05, 1991
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
CAPRIATI LOST MATCH BUT SAVED HER YOUTH
WIMBLEDON, England -- I don't want to sound cold here, but losing
Thursday was the best thing that could have happened to Jennifer Capriati. She
needed to win Wimbledon like she needed a bleeding ulcer.
Better to exit in the semifinals, still smiling, still saying things like
"I had a great time," packing the suitcase with nice memories and one huge
moment: the straight-set destruction of Martina Navratilova, the defending
champion. Capriati took her out Wednesday, in the quarterfinals, the first
time in a decade someone had beaten Martina here before the finals. That was
like blasting a trumpet into the tennis world's ear.
And that's plenty. Go home, kid, soak it in, listen to a few M.C. Hammer
albums. Let people buzz about the things you will achieve in this game. But
win it all now? At age 15? Become the youngest Wimbledon champion in history?
Why not walk down to London Bridge, tie weights to your ankles, and jump
off?
Tennis tears up teen girls
If the overglitzed, overhyped and overpaid world of tennis has shown us
anything in the last 20 years, it's that the top is no place for teenage
girls. Not unless they want to spend the rest of their lives on a
psychiatrist's couch. Take a quick look at a list of victims: Tracy Austin,
who played her best tennis when she wore braces, now a dizzy 28-year-old woman
still hounded by her unachieved potential; Andrea Jaeger, who before Capriati
was the youngest player ever seeded at Wimbledon, a star at 15, a has-been at
20, out of tennis now, her career one big explosion and a lot of dust.
Monica Seles, the No. 1 woman in the world today; she had an ulcer by the
time she was 12, and has been the subject of more "reported nervous
breakdowns" than a soap opera star. Last month, at age 17, she disappears,
skips Wimbledon, and is spotted at Donald Trump's mansion in Florida, with
half the world reporting she's pregnant and the other half passing judgment on
her frenetic career. You need that when you're 17? People passing judgment?
Come on. When you're 17, the only things you should worry about passing are
1) notes 2) your driver's test 3) that cute kid's locker.
Tennis stardom chokes all that. Steals the youth from thousands of girls
who never reach a major tournament. Even those who survive are scarred; Steffi
Graf's reputation went from invincible to unstable in about two years. (I have
personally watched her smile disappear in press conferences, replaced by a
permanent scowl.) Gabriela Sabatini, the Argentine star who beat Capriati
Thursday, endured bouts of homesickness and depression coming up.
And none of these women did what Capriati was threatening to do this week:
win Wimbledon before her 16th birthday. Can you imagine? You'd have to throw
her a life preserver. Newspapers. TV shows. Endorsement deals. Tournament
directors. She'd be smothered. Every match she'd play would carry the
introduction, "Ladies and gentlemen, the youngest Wimbledon champion in
history . . . "
Try living up to that the rest of your life.
Capriati should emulate Evert
No, Capriati deserves better. We have something special in this
long-legged American teenager, a bucking filly of tennis talent who seems to
know instinctively that, at 15, the most important things in life are to be
cool and laugh a lot. She still attends high school (albeit a rich, private
academy.) Her speech is peppered with "you know, like, you know, like . . .
" She sits down for press conferences as if flopping on her bed, elbows out,
palms on her ears. All that's missing are the gum and the phone.
Good. That's how it should be. Bad enough she already has an agent,
millions of dollars, and Texaco and Oil of Olay patches on her tennis outfit.
Bad enough that her father, who says "she's only doing it because she loves
to" -- all the tennis fathers say that -- still pushes her too far, demanding
workouts when she wants to be with friends.
The best we can hope for is that success comes slowly for Capriati, the way
it did years ago for Chris Evert. Evert didn't turn pro until she was 16,
didn't play in Europe until she was 17, made her first Grand Slam final at 18
and won her first one at 19.
She also lasted nearly 20 years.
Sadly, Capriati may be too talented for that pace. A pro at 14, she already
has the big serve, hits like a rocket, and fires passing shots better than
Kevin Costner fired arrows in "Robin Hood." Guts? She made Navratilova, who
could intimidate stone, look positively useless Wednesday. Even in losing to
Sabatini, who has matured tremendously as a player, Capriati held off match
point four times, whipping the ball out of reach, Sabatini flailing, looking
bad, asking herself, "Hey, who's winning this, she or I?"
In the end, it was Sabatini, which, trust me, is the best news for
Capriati. A semifinalist? In her second visit? That's enough. More than
enough. Take it home, Jennifer. Put it in your scrapbook. Call your friends
and say, "How cool."
"Memories?" she said, when asked. "I'll have great memories of this
tournament. I'll leave knowing I beat a great champion and that I got to the
semifinals."
And, smiling broadly, she left the room, in that clumpy way teenagers have
of leaving rooms, playing with her ponytail and never knowing how lucky a
loser she really was.
WIMBLEDON; JENNIFER CAPRIATI; LOSS; COLUNMN