I'm Getting Tired Of Saying Hello To

I Always Insist On My Jeans Being Ironed. Is That A Problem?

I'm Getting Tired Of Saying Hello To Stan Smith And Not Getting Any Reply. I'm Cocky And Confident And Maybe I'm Too Bullheaded Sometimes, But I Think I Have Some Fan And Player Support. I Know What The Others Say, But I'm Not That Obnoxious. I Am Not A Punk. I'm 5' 10", 155 Pounds. I've Got Broad Shoulders And I Can Pack A Punch. Most Of These Guys Are Windbags Anyway. If They Ever Try Anything With Me, I'll Be To The Net Fast.

I Can't Say That I Was My Happiest On Court, But I Felt Completely Free. Free From Family Obligations, Free From My Own Torment. In A Real Sense I Was A Different Person. It Was A Place Where I Could Not Tolerate The Idea Of Being Beaten. I Psyched Myself Up Into A State Where I Felt Something Close To Hatred Towards My Opponent, A State Where I Detested The Idea Of Someone Making His Name At The Expense Of Jimmy Connors. I Was In My Element On Court, Measuring Myself Against Someone Else. I Was Not Competitive For Show. It Came From Deep Within.

I Had True Rivalries. Not Only Did I Want To Beat My Opponent, But I Didn't Want To Let Him Up, Either. I Had A Rivalry With Mac, Lendl, Borg. Everybody Knew There Was Tension Between Us, On Court And Off. That's What's Really Ingrained In My Mind: 'this Is Real. This Isn't A Soft Rivalry.' There Were No Hugs And Kisses.

Equality? They Ought To Play The Women's Final On Opening Day. Everybody Knows Who's Going To Be In It.