I had no choice. Word was out. Andre Agassi had a new autobiography that was about to hit and it promised to be a barnburner. After all, if any athlete could write a riveting, what”s-it-all-about volume, it was Andre.
But just to get an advance copy, I had to (for the first time in 29 years) sign a non-divulgence (“squeal and you die”) contract; a seven-clause gag rule saying I would not reveal the contents of the curiously titled book, “Open,” until early November. I agreed, and on Aug. 17, Andre”s four-pound 437-page baby arrived.
For weeks I devoured every detail. Then I waited and waited some more.
Certainly, the book”s explosive details would be leaked in the media. After all, deep within the book, Andre offers up the most explosive confession in sports history, candidly detailing his first experience with crystal meth.
He wrote that in late ‘97, just before his problematic marriage to Brooke Shields, his assistant, Slim, dumped “a small pile of powder on the coffee table [and] snorts it. He cuts it again. I snort some. I ease back on the couch and consider the Rubicon I”ve just crossed. There is a moment of regret, followed by vast sadness. Then comes a tidal wave of euphoria that sweeps away every negative thought I”ve ever had. It”s a cortisone shot to the sub cortex. I”ve never felt so alive, so hopeful…I”ve never felt such energy. I”m seized by an urge, a desperate longing to clean. I go tearing around my house, cleaning it from top to bottom…When there”s nothing left to clean, I do laundry. All the laundry. I fold every sweater and T-shirt and still I haven”t made a dent in my energy…I could do anything right now, anything, man, anything…I could get in the car and drive to Palm Springs and tee off for 18 holes, then drive home and make lunch and go for a swim. I don”t sleep for two days. When I finally do, it”s the sleep of the dead and the innocent.”
To make matters worse, Andre then confides that he lied to the ATP about doing meth and inexplicably the weak-kneed ATP let him skate. Incredibly, the next year he would make the biggest one-year jump into the top 10 in the history of the ATP, casino online rising from No. 141 to No 6. Questions abounded. How was he able to do so well so late in his career (when he won five of his eight Slams)? Andre insisted that he stopped doing meth. Still, lingering voices in the locker room wondered whether there was more to his performance than all those dune-defying workouts in the Vegas heat?
Still, one thing was clear, the same sport that could NOT keep quiet the fact that Arthur Ashe had HIV AIDS and thus forced the ailing star to “come out” and divulge his illness would certainly not be able to contain Andre”s riveting revelations under wraps for nearly three more months.
And Andre himself was touchy. In New York on Aug. 31 as the U.S. Open began, I chatted with the always-benign star.
“What a fabulous book, Andre,” I gushed. “So many insights, so revealing, so…”
Suddenly, Andre”s jaw dropped, his face tightened.
What”s wrong, I wondered.
“Where did you get my book,” he blurted.
Frozen with fear, I struggled to respond: “Your publisher sent it to me. I know the drill. I can”t reveal anything for months. I wouldn”t do anything to harm you.”
His face relaxed a bit, he mumbled, “Oh.”
I fully expected to get some imposing cautionary letter warning about the gag rule. But nothing happened until after a press conference in Northern California. There —when I again told Andre how much I enjoyed his book — he approached me, smiling, but quite serious, and told me, “Hey, man, it”s going to be nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.”
A month later, Sports Illustrated”s Richard Deitsch briefly tweeted the news of Andre”s confession. No gag rules here. The media pounced, the news exploded.
Sure, on a far bigger scale, our former President Clinton told us he “didn”t inhale,” and admitted his dalliance with Monica Lewinsky. Pete Rose conceded that he gambled. Sprinter Marion Jones confided that she did drugs. But why, on his own accord, did Andre so willingly offer up such damaging info?
Some might claim that the headline-happy Las Vegan is “blockbuster-prone.” Time and again, he lost huge matches he should have won and won tournaments he should have lost. This was the man who overnight sheared his endless locks and squired delightful dames and divas about town. He famously squandered the great talents we all saw and developed resources we didn”t even know existed. And, yes, Andre”s admission will certainly help sell many a book. This Las Vegan is a master at crafting and controlling his considerable brand.
But perhaps Andre ultimately had no choice in the matter. He had to fess up.
Held hostage by memory, Agassi had long been haunted by his raucous past. Ask him to talk about his hair and he would shutter. Inquire about his early excesses and he would freeze up.
Now his book was his own personal return of serve. A self-styled educator and truth teller, this was his way to open up, to purge and process his journey, to deconstruct the lies and outrages that shaped his identity and defined his life. Mr. “Image is Everything” had to get real and to defy those hefty personal gag rules we all impose on ourselves. He, at last, had to tell all. What happened in Vegas could no longer stay in Vegas.
