Tennis Forum banner
1 - 12 of 12 Posts

· Vamorza!
118,378 Posts
Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Does anyone have these articles on his computer?

* So tell me about your mother
* The champ is a vamp

I've been searching them for ages, but I can't find them anywhere. And I used to have "So let me tell you about your mother", but Hotmail was so nice to delete it :mad:

If you have it, can you please email it to me at [email protected] ?
Thank you!

· Banned
14,953 Posts
:D :wavey: :D :wavey: :D

· Registered
543 Posts
Observer sections _______________________ BusinessCashCommentFocusInternationalLeadersLettersLifePoliticsReviewScreenSportTravelUK newsSport MonthlyFood Monthly2001 electionPress freedom campaign


Text-only version
Send it to a friend
Read it later
See saved stories

The Observer
Front page
Story index

In this section

The 10 greatest chokes in the history of sport
Last month's 10: the greatest fly-halves

OSM letters

Contender: Tom Scudamore

How to...fight like Muhammad Ali

My team: Leeds United

Sporting references in Song lyrics

Quick-fire round

24 February 1951

Man of Reason

The Cuban Ali

Off the rails

Renée Richards

Gabriela Sabatini

Slip Anchor

Fanny Blankers-Koen

Zola Budd

The OSM lowdown on...

Do you remember when ... America beat the Soviet Union at ice hockey?

Kirk Stevens



Sites unseen

Whatever happened to...?

The Cup winners - the fifties

The Cup winners - the sixties

The Cup winners - the seventies

The Cup winners - the eighties

Chris Old

Malcolm Nash

Mr Lu

Lord Hesketh

JPR Williams

Sportsmen who went to jail

Mick the Miller

John McEnroe

Those World Cup heroes

The Guardian
Front page
Story index

OSM interview

So, tell me about your mother

She was a lonely child, uprooted from home in her parents' quest for perfection. Her mum was her constant companion on and off court but now, at 21, Martina Hingis is going it alone. In her first major interview, the world No 1 talks about family, Wimbledon - and the strain of being stalked

David Jones
Sunday June 3, 2001
The Observer

Each spring, droves of Middle American parents pack their kids and picnic baskets into their pick-ups and head down to South Carolina for the Family Circle Cup, a women's tennis tournament as wholesome as its name suggests. The play is keen but ladylike, the applause generous and plentiful. Adversity is expected to be swallowed with a dollop of ketchup, like the giant hot dogs whose smell wafts temptingly across the outer courts. Usually, Martina Hingis comes here with her folks, too. Or, rather, she is accompanied by her mother, Melanie Molitor, who has watched over her every step since she first held a racket at the age of two. Ironically, however, Hingis has chosen this event - an occasion synonymous with apple-pie family values - to cut the cord and go it alone.
To most women approaching their twenty-first birthday, of course, such a move would be a natural progression. It is the time when they leave home, start a career or a family. But Hingis's relationship with her mother has always been different. Those who have followed the world No 1's remarkable rise have grown accustomed to the sight of a determined-looking figure with a huge Harpo Marx perm perpetually hovering in the background.

In 1997, when Hingis became the second youngest girl to win Wimbledon, aged 16 years and nine months, her mother was first to hug her. The cuddles were more necessary two years later, when she fled the court in tears after disgracing herself in losing the French Open to Steffi Graf. Molitor has been beside her on every flight, shared her hotel rooms, accompanied her into the players' lounge. She was always her confidante and counsellor as well as her tactician, fitness trainer and coach.

But much as she is grateful for her mother's guidance, Martina Hingis wants it to be known that she is a little girl no longer. 'I have to try and deal with a lot of things - different things - on my own,' she explains, slightly awkwardly, when we meet for lunch on the opening day at the Family Circle tournament. 'I made the decision myself. I wanted a bit more space, independence. But, hey, who knows? If I find out it's not the way I want to live, or want to do things, it can change again. I still talk to mum all the time.'

A suitably bland, non-controversial explanation in keeping with Hingis's new nickname, The Diplomat, given to her by her media handler from the Sanex WTA Tour, John Dolan, in recognition of her improved public relations skills following a series of foot-in-mouth outbursts that threatened to diminish her popularity (she branded the muscular, lesbian French player Amelie Mauresmo 'half a man' and described Graf as old and past her prime). According to sources close to her, however, Hingis's official line tells only part of the story.

In recent months, they say, Molitor has grown increasingly frustrated by her daughter's off-court distractions: boyfriends, fashion shoots, social engagements, nights out with friends. She believes they seriously detract from her training schedule, I was told, though laziness is hardly a word one would associate with the consummately professional Hingis. Martina, for her part, is said to feel uncomfortable with her mother's Swiss boyfriend, the former journalist Mario Widmer, and remains close to her stepfather Andreas Zogg.

Their differences have become increasingly evident this year, says one insider on the women's tour. 'There was a particularly heated exchange after she lost to Venus Williams in the semi-final of the Ericsson Open in March. You couldn't make out what they were saying because they were speaking in Czech. But they were arguing and it wasn't very pleasant. Melanie is a hard taskmaster and maybe Martina wanted a bit of space. It can't be a coincidence that soon afterwards we heard she'd be travelling without her mother.'

Indeed not. But remembering her catastrophic decline the last time she broke free from the apron strings - at Wimbledon '99, when she was humiliated in the first round by the then-unknown Jelena Dokic - the big question is, how will she cope on her own the second time around? The jury is out.

She is still beating the minnows of the women's tour with almost effortless ease, making the semi-finals or finals of tournaments with impressive regularity. At this stage, though, things go awry. Hingis has not won a title since the split from her mother, and the list of Hingis's conquerors - Mauresmo, Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario and the resurgent Jennifer Capriati - has a consistency to it: good players, but the sort that she used to beat.

There is now a sense within the tour that at their best both Mauresmo and Capriati are capable of beating Hingis, even when she is at her best. Seasoned Hingis watchers detect a loss of the supreme confidence (some would say cockiness) that has always set her apart from pretenders to her crown. That broad Colgate grin is a touch less haughty, they say; the swagger less imperious, the post-match asides less dismissive.

Perhaps so, but she betrays no deep-seated insecurity during our 90-minute lunch - the first such meeting she has held with a journalist - at the Boardwalk Inn, an overtly pretentious restaurant on the Isle of Palms, near Charleston, where she stayed during the Family Circle tournament.

From her photographs and television appearances, you never get the real picture of Martina Hingis. On screen she can sometimes appear boyish. In person, wearing a simple white sweater, scrubbed blue jeans and fancy sneakers, and without a hint of make-up, she is quite stunning. And unlike other sports icons, who tend to glance around the room checking who's noticed them, she fixes you with a steady, green-eyed gaze when she speaks.

Eschewing the elaborate ? la carte menu, which for some reason carries a potted biography of Edgar Allen Poe, she asks politely for freshly squeezed orange juice and angel-hair pasta with a plain tomato sauce: the ideal fuel for an evening match. That day's newspapers were running an article about a scientist who claims to have discovered the most efficient way to eat spaghetti but Hingis has clearly known the secret for years, expertly twirling her fork against her spoon. It has been a strange few months for her. She has retained her No 1 ranking under fierce pressure from Venus Williams, and surpassed Monica Seles to reach fourth place in the list of women who have held the top slot for longest. Then again, she still hasn't won a grand slam since the Australian Open in January, 1999. She has also been dogged by a menacing stalker, against whom she was recently required to give court evidence, and then, most pressingly, there is her changing relationship with her mother. Dipping a toe in the water, I suggest, her emotions at the moment must be somewhat mixed.

'Yes, exactly, very mixed,' she nods vigorously. 'I think I had a very good start to the season. It was really good. A lot of travelling, a lot of changes, a lot of culture at the same time. Always back and forth. At the same time, somehow it was mentally tiring for me.'

The most taxing interlude came in February, at a new event in Doha, Qatar. She was lured there not so much by the relatively modest prize money, but by the promise of Middle Eastern adventure and unrivalled hospitality. On the latter count, at least, her Arab hosts didn't disappoint. 'It felt like being a princess,' she says, still barely able to believe the way she was received. 'The cameras, the reporters, the limousines, the Emir in his robes. They would do anything. There was just everything you could want.' The quid pro quo for all this was that she was not only expected to win the tournament, victory was demanded of her.

'I felt so responsible for doing well that I didn't feel good about my game. It was, like, what if I lose? They've given me all these things.' Thankfully she won, whereupon she was whisked off to the Emir's stud and presented with a prize Arabian mare to add to the three horses she already keeps at her homes in Switzerland and the Czech Republic.

Yet the pressure didn't abate until she was safely reclining in her first-class seat on the outbound flight. 'The Arab journalists were appalling,' says a WTA source. 'They invented this story that she was going to switch nationality and play for Qatar instead of Switzerland in the Federation Cup. And they'd turn up at press conferences with autograph books. But Martina handled it all with great maturity. She really came of age on that trip.'

Came of age. The phrase sounds odd when applied to Martina Hingis, for she's been around for so long now one can barely remember a time without her. The headlines began back in 1993, when the women's game was still dominated by another Czech-born Martina - Navratilova - after whom she was named. Then just 12 years old but already contracted for £250,000 to the sports marketing giant IMG and signed up to wear Sergio Tacchini outfits, 'Little Martina' audaciously won the French Open under-18s title, and suddenly everyone wanted to know who she was.

Ostensibly, hers is the archetypal, heard-it-before, girl tennis prodigy story. Her mother was a top 20-ranked Czech player and her father, Karol, was also handy enough to coach professionally. When they realised they'd never make the highest grade themselves, they invested all their time and energy in Martina, an only child, so that before she started infant school she could play 300-stroke rallies, and by six she could beat competent adults.

As often in these tennis family hothouses, however, one parent - in this case her mother - was more ambitious than the other, and partly because of this, Melanie and Karol divorced. Soon afterwards, Hingis's dominant, driven mother escaped the former Czechoslovakia, and its suffocating communist regime, and fled to Switzerland, where she believed, correctly, that her daughter's career stood a better chance of flourishing.

This version of events, while broadly accurate, omits much revealing detail. Detail which, perhaps because she is in the process of examining her past, Hingis supplies without prompting now. The conversation has moved on, and we are chatting about the horse she won in Doha, when she says, 'I love horse-riding, and anything I do, I try to do it right, and perfect. That's the way mum taught me to be from the earliest age. Sports, swimming. Skiing three or four times a week. I always had to do it the right way, and I always had professional people around me who would teach me. Always be perfect. Always be the best that you can.'

But hadn't this placed a terrible burden on her? No one could be perfect at everything, all the time. Surely there must have been times when she longed to rebel. You know, miss practice. Sag off with her friends. Smoke behind the bikesheds. An inscrutable smile. 'No, that's where you learn your concentration, and the progress and the discipline. That was very important to my mother.' Yes, but why? A shrug, a forkful of pasta. 'That's the way she is. A perfectionist. It's very simple. If everything you do, you learn to do it right, so nothing is a problem then.' Except that you can't do everything right and you feel a failure when you don't reach the requisite standards. She gives a hollow laugh. 'Yes, it feels like that,' she concedes finally. 'It does. Because, you know, you should have done better. But at least you can always try to make the best of the situation at that moment. That's all you can do. Even if I didn't do something right we would try to work on it. I mean, you can go to school and fail one test and it looks like you've screwed up. But if you don't get an A, but a B, you try and work on it, so you get an A next time.'

Her mother's almost obsessive need to better herself - and Martina - stems from their displaced family background, she explains. Her forebears in the Czech bourgeoisie had their property snatched away from them during the Communist backlash after the Prague Spring of 1968. 'Grandmother had to go out to do [menial] work even though she was educated to be a teacher and everything was taken from us, so it was hard. We didn't have that much but we survived. My grandmother always wanted mum to do well at school, because that's what she had done. But my mum knew that even with an education you couldn't go very far. She was good at sports and she always had a great instinct for knowing what's right. So she put everything into her tennis instead.'

Molitor's plan worked, but only up to a point. She lived reasonably well, and was allowed to travel, but she knew her dreams for her daughter could only be realised by moving to the West like her hero, Navratilova. Poignantly, the precise date of their move to the Swiss village of Trubbach, is engraved in Martina's memory. 'I was almost eight years old. Well, it was 4 September, 1988, and my eighth birthday was on the thirtieth. I remember things like that. It was a big thing because at the time I didn't want to move. I was very happy with life in Czechoslovakia. I had all my friends there, and I didn't know what was happening. Of course I was very upset, crying. I couldn't speak the language. I couldn't understand anything.'

Some children might have reacted angrily against a parent who wrenched them away from security but apparently, in Hingis's case the opposite happened. 'That [the move to Switzerland] is why I became closer to my mother. Because we only had the two of us,' she says awkwardly, her limited, tennis circuit American-English vocabulary too narrow to convey her depth of feeling. 'It's fairly hard to understand, but she moved just for me. She put everything she knew into me. Tried to get us a better living. I mean, that's what Kournikova did, too. It was more [people] from the Eastern countries. Mum said it was the only chance, the only opening. Because of the family background she thought they would try to stop me playing and travelling. I'm very thankful to Switzerland because I was able to travel when I was nine years old.'

Yes, but she still has a home in Slovakia, and Czech remains her first language. Does she now feel Swiss? A pause. The Diplomat knows her response will resonate all the way back to Bern. 'I don't feel nothing,' she replies at last. 'Mostly I'm Swiss, but I've a lot of things from my mother being a Czech. You know, sport is very international - but yeah, when I represent Switzerland I'm proud of my country.'

In any case, she could never live full time in Switzerland, any more than she could in the Czech Republic or Florida. 'I don't know. I'll probably always be on the move. I could be happy anywhere.' Where she finally lays down her roots, she adds a touch primly, 'depends on my partner'.

If this last remark sits uneasily with her efforts to recreate herself as a free-thinking, independent woman, it will hardly surprise those who know her core values. Two years ago, when her favourite player, Chris Evert, became her mentor under a WTA programme designed to prevent young players burning out, Hingis was more interested in seeing photographs of Evert's three young sons and talking about motherhood than discussing back-hands.

'Martina's first comment to me was about my children,' Evert recalls. 'She felt that family is what is important in life. Her interest impressed me because usually, at that age, most girls are tunnel-visioned about their tennis.' It doesn't take a Freudian analyst to work out that her desire for a conventional marriage and children stems from her own fractured beginnings. She was born in Kosice, Slovakia, to tennis-mad parents who placed her on a rug beside the court while they played. When Martina was three the family moved back to her mother's home town of Roznov. There her father supplemented his modest electronics teacher's salary by coaching tennis, but his wife always wanted more.

In 1986, the couple divorced and Molitor quickly married Zogg, a wealthy computer salesman whom she met when he was visiting Czechoslovakia on business. Suddenly she had the affluent lifestyle to which she had always aspired, but Karol was left behind with his rusting Skoda. Worse, when he initialled the documents permitting his daughter to leave communist Czechoslovakia he unwittingly also signed away his access rights, so that he has only seen Martina on a handful of occasions since. In 1997, her Wimbledon glory year, he is reported to have said she had 'banned' him from watching her play, and there have been other tabloid stories alleging she has frozen him out.

She has never previously spoken about this aspect of her life, and her publicist kicks me sharply under the dining table when I raise it. Despite his misgivings, though, she doesn't balk. Rumours of a rift are inaccurate, she implies. 'I haven't done that much over there [Slovakia] so I see him twice a year, or so, and we speak on the phone.'

Did she wish their relationship had been closer?

She sighs resignedly. 'You see, when you are a child you just don't think about it. You just go with whatever happens. He's a very nice person, but he was just happy with what he had, and my mum wanted to go in different directions. He follows my career and I try to support him the way I can. He's very happy with what he has.'

Since her career earnings top £12m, and her sponsorship deals multiply that figure several times over, one wonders then why Karol Hingis still works as a £240-a-month tennis club caretaker and shares a cramped, sparsely furnished apartment with his 85-year-old mother. But another kick under the table tells me its time to move on.

Hingis's early years in Switzerland were lonely and alienating, she recalls. Her classmates were envious, both of her wealth and the amount of time she was permitted to spend playing tennis. Her only acquaintances were older, less-gifted tennis hopefuls. She always felt different, but insists, 'I liked being special. I had the respect and I earned it, and that made me very proud. I was happy about that.'

Her home life in Roznov and Trubback may have been emotionally turbulent, but out on the municipal courts in these small mid-European communities she learnt from the earliest age what it takes to win tennis matches. Under her mother's tutelage she developed a chess-player's approach to the game, overcoming her lack of size and power by out-smarting physically superior opponents. Today she employs the same cunning to outwit Amazonian rivals like the Williams sisters, Mauresmo, Mary Pierce and Lindsay Davenport.

'When I was little I played a lot of tourists and veterans, and they always had a weakness,' she recalls, her eyes twinkling mischievously at the memory. 'So I would find a way to succeed even though I was, like, six or seven years old and they were 30- or 35-year-old guys. If they couldn't hit a backhand or forehand I would have this strategy of playing on their weakness, and I'd stick to it. Don't try to beat someone with his methods.'

A kind of homespun martial arts philosophy, then: meet force with resistance. If an enemy is angry, irritate him. 'Yes, exactly,' she says, animated now. 'I haven't exactly studied it, but I know it. I can't overpower them, so why should I try? I just use their force to make them less powerful. Tennis is not only a physical game. It's mental and finesse. So I try and avoid their efforts. The way I hit the ball, from the first moment, I don't give them the chance to hit their ground strokes as hard as they can. Sometimes it's hard because they are already pressuring with the serve or return. But you have to somehow try to find a way to get out of trouble. Out-think them. If I'm at my best I have to feel that I can beat anybody.'

As this season began, Martina's brain was keeping her ahead of Venus's brawn - just. But she is clinging to the top spot largely by virtue of the complex WTA ranking system, which penalises Williams (her closest rival) because recurring injuries - and her father's selective scheduling - prevent her playing as many tournaments.

Hingis is 5ft 7in tall and weighs 9st 4lb. Venus is 6ft in and two stones heavier. At times, I say, she must feel like David fighting Goliath. Or perhaps the additional threat from Serena makes the Williams sisters seem like the mythical hydra: whenever you chop off one of their heads two more appear. Another broad smile. 'It does feel like that, but it's not only them. I mean, Jennifer is playing well now too, and some of the other girls. Mauresmo is doing well on clay. So there's always someone out there. But most of the time I still manage to get out of it, and win, because I use other methods. I have my speed, I have my hand and my brains - and I have my mum.'

Ah, that subject again. The split isn't permanent then? 'Well, I don't know,' she says tersely, suggesting that the tightly permed head might yet be on view again come Wimbledon. 'I don't want to tell you anything more about this, I'm sorry. Just say that the situation may well change by the time I get to Europe.' In fact by the time she arrived in Europe the situation with her mother had crystalised rather than changed. Though they still talk on the phone after every match, Melanie's days of following her daughter to every tournament appear to be over, while some of the routine coaching duties have recently been taken on by Martina's new hitting partner, the Australian David Taylor.

The tournament she would most like to win this year is the French Open, the one grand slam to have eluded her.'If I had to wish,' she says, 'I would love to win the French. All the grand slams are important. But for me the order of importance is the French, Wimbledon, the US Open, and then Australia. But if I had won the French it would probably be Wimbledon first. I mean, I won the tournament and I love going back there. It's like there's this... such a great... ' the word she seeks is tradition. 'For me it's always such a conservative, pure, clean tournament. I'm still that kind of person.'

What, conservative and pure?

'Well, yes,' she says earnestly. 'I enjoy that. I mean, I do. The ties, white shirts, strawberries.'

As for the surface, she adds, grimacing, well, that's something to be tolerated. 'The players mostly don't like the grass any more. But it's the same for everybody.' Last year she tried to prepare by playing a tiny grass-court tournament in Holland. This year she probably won't even bother. 'You can't really practise on it. The less you practise on grass the better because the bounce is different every time. I always go indoors, just to get the rhythm. Because with grass you are always trying to compensate and you can't do that. And it's like running on a carpet. But it's still the same four lines, the same guys competing, the same net, the same balls.'

Since her 1997 triumph she has never looked remotely like winning, and last year Venus simply blew her away. With the top women's serves and volleys getting faster by the month, doesn't she fear, deep down, that a baseline player like herself will never recapture the title?

For the first time she grows tetchy. 'No,' the snaps. 'Agassi won it and he's a returner. And then we had Borg. We had Chrissie, and we've had others who won Wimbledon and they weren't big servers. So I'll give it another shot. This year, next year. It could be any time. I hope there's many more years to come.'

One aspect of Wimbledon she can't be looking forward to, though, is the tabloid press coverage. Never a summer goes by without some new story about her family, her fashion sense or her love life. Two years ago after she was thrashed by Dokic, the paparazzi even followed her to Cyprus, where she was photographed embracing her then boyfriend, the Swiss player Ivo Heuberger, in the Mediterannean surf.

Her dalliances with the big-serving Spaniard Julian Alonso, Czech National Hockey League jock Pavel Kubina, and Swedish tennis star Magnus Norman (now reportedly dating a former Miss World) have also made waves. It can't be much fun to have one's romances constantly examined by journalists?

'No, well my private life has been very easy and simple lately, so there won't be much to talk about this year,' she says, a touch wistfully. No boyfriends at the moment? 'No.' Why not? 'I meet people and maybe sometimes you are attracted to someone but then it's very difficult to keep in touch. We travel so much.'

Oh, so that's why she has never dated anyone for longer than three or four months. Travel. It seems a rather feeble reason to end a relationship, and indeed, when one presses her she concedes that, yes, there have been other difficulties. In particular, the fact that her profile is higher than that of her boyfriends, and she commands more public attention, is difficult for egotistical young sportsmen to stomach.

'I always get more attention than them,' she explains. 'I am more famous than they are. If they aren't strong enough, and they think it's very important, it is a problem. But it just comes with my job and I can't change it. I wouldn't say that it's a problem with me.'

Perhaps not, but one problem she has highlighted, when talking about her failed relationships, is the inability of her boyfriends to 'behave' properly in certain social situations. As so often with Hingis, the comment can be misinterpreted when stated baldly. According to John Dolan, however, she does not intend to sound boorish or superior. It's just that her grasp of English (her fourth language after Czech, Swiss-German and German) occasionally lets her down. That being so, I ask her to expand on these perceived behavioural aberrations. 'Well, I'm surrounded by people, you know, and manners and things like that are important to me, of course,' she begins. 'It's important that I feel proud of them [her escorts]. You don't have to be ashamed. It's a kind of different society. I don't want to name anybody, but it was sometimes a problem. I mean, the people I meet are the top people - whether it's Hollywood people, or the princess of Qatar or the Emir. And when I was in Colombia [on a charity visit in aid of the street children] it was the First Lady. Or the top people at Unesco or Unicef. It's wherever I go. And they are looking at me [thinking] like, 'Who's this guy?', if they don't know how to speak.'

So Magnus was socially inept, I venture, fishing for names. 'Hah! No, Magnus was fine with that. Magnus was different.' Has she ever had her heart broken? Her eyes flash. 'Yes. Once, maybe, yes.' Who by? Silence. So she's more guarded now? 'Definitely. I won't let that happen again. Or I'll try and avoid it unless I see a future about that person which makes me think we can go on a long time.'

One 'admirer' she's mightily relieved to see the back of is Dubravko Rajcevic, the 46-year-old Croatian-Australian oddball who stalked her wherever she played and bombarded her with gifts and love-letters until he was jailed for two years. The sentence had been passed just a fortnight earlier, and Martina, who courageously faced him in court when giving evidence, is understandably reluctant to discuss the episode.

However, she is adamant that his menacing presence had contributed to the Dokic debacle, and says quietly: 'That was unpleasant. I'm happy that he's in jail. And they made a "stay away" order, so he'll go straight back to prison if he comes near me again.'

Unexpectedly, her voice grows compassionate. 'I never thought it would go that far,' she adds. 'He always had the option to just sign the paper [promising to leave her alone] and he would have been out of prison within two weeks. I hope they give him treatment in prison.'

Her greatest fear, she says, was not for her own safety but that of the people around her. Principally, one presumes, her mother. 'It was, like, OK, he might be in love with me, but if he can't get that thing he wants, where are his limits? He might hurt people just to get close to me.'

She shudders visibly, folds her arms. 'Well, I guess we attract these strange people. Girls in short skirts - the highest paid women's sport - the profile. It's become so much bigger, more global, like showbusiness.' Now she's considering employing personal security, she says, 'but it's another restriction, another thing to stop you living a normal life.'

Is that what she really hankers for, then, this ageing wunderkind whose face is so instantly recognisable that when she walked into the restaurant every head turned, and the wide-eyed waiter could barely prevent himself asking for her autograph. Normality?

'Yes, yes,' she says. 'Like you've seen, I'm a normal, ordinary person in the way that I try to explain things, communicate with people. It's just like, maybe sometimes, on the court, people think the way I handle myself seems arrogant. I'm confident, and I'm very emotional, and, OK, it might be a little bit too much, and they see this spoilt brat, prima donna or whatever.'

Regrettably, some do. But today I haven't encountered a brat or a prima donna. I've enjoyed lunch with an engaging, though perhaps slightly confused young woman in search of herself. Over a parting handshake I ask her if she is content with her life thus far.

'I'm happy, yeah,' she smiles. 'Things are going the way I wanted them to go. I'm taking another step on my way, but who knows how far it will lead?' Alone again, she heads off to her room for an afternoon nap.
1 - 12 of 12 Posts
This is an older thread, you may not receive a response, and could be reviving an old thread. Please consider creating a new thread.