An Open book

Sr k hock is an understatement. Andre Agassi's ecent, out-of-the-blue dope revelations make you shudder, question the image you had in mind and wonder if you knew him at all. I don't speak for the community of fans, which I believe Agassi still has. He still has them because they believe in his worth, in his being an eternal underdog, for his unmistakable charisma and his unfailing returns. I don't know if his coming clean tantamounts to deceit and am confused whether liking his `old' image still makes your own morals shoddy.

When Agassi played a Grand Slam final at 35, former No 1 Swede Mats Wilander, said, "He has some limitations, like he can't serve and volley, yet he has won all four Slams. He has a very high energy level. He is on fifth gear from the very first point. There is some abnormality in his eyes, otherwise he wouldn't have had such a phenomenal return. He sees the ball like no one else and just guides it wherever he wants to." He even rated Agassi among the top four greatest tennis stars of all times. But then, in his autobiography, Open, Agassi confesses to always hating the game of tennis, hating it with his gut because his overbearing, abusive father made practice a nightmare. Still, his eight Grand Slam titles and the Atlanta summer Olympics gold medal at the age of 26 in 1996 cannot rule out his genius. Frankly, only glossies have been affected with the false mane, but startlingly enough that was a reason for his French Open loss in 1990. Maybe a scarred childhood was reason for Agassi to standout in terms of style. We all need appreciation. But whether he can be forgiven, or not, for cheating out of a possible threemonth ban for the intake of recreational drug and a lifetime of shame by Nadal, Serena or any viewer of the game is now irrelevant. He's probably made truce with it. He'll probably live with it, and in time, so will we.