Winning a Title

Besides,its better structured and more polished than many other books of the genre; even if it is,like Agassi himself,more dramatic,more Hollywood,than any other book that revolves around sport.

And,its honest. So honest that Agassis Open becomes,at

a basic,stripped-to-the-bone level,a confessional booth

and,sometimes annoyingly,a platform for some rather random mud-slinging.

By now,we all know he snorted crystal meth in 1997,and later lied to the ATP about it to escape the three-month ban that would have followed had he admitted to knowingly taking the drug. Does he glorify drugs,as he has been accused of doing? There is a moment of regret, he writes,followed by vast sadness. Then comes a tidal wave of euphoria that sweeps away every negative thought in my head,every negative thought Ive ever had. Its a cortisone shot to the sub-cortex. Ive never felt more alive. Maybe he does. He also admits to tanking a match against Michael Chang in the 1996 Australian Open because he doesnt want to face Becker in the final.

Jeff Tarango is a liar,a cheat,Becker is BB Socrates because8230; he tries to come off as an intellectual when hes actually just an overgrown farmboy,and Pete Sampras is a bad tipper he tipped a valet 1 at an Italian restaurant in Palm Springs. Does the last one qualify as a cheap shot?

Why the controversy? Why the dirt? Is it,whether subconsciously or by design,just telling for selling? Its not just Agassi,of course.

In 2004,Manchester United legend Roy Keanes autobiography revealed that a cynical challenge on Manchester Citys Alf-Inge Haaland in 2001 was premeditated revenge for an incident in 1997,when Haaland was a Leeds player. Id waited long enough. I fing hit him hard. The ball was there I think. Take that,you ct. Haaland was never the same player after that tackle. Now,Keane was never Mr Nice Guy,but this?

Mike Tyson liked to hit his opponents on the tip of the nose to hear the sound of bone crushing brain.

Even former England coach Duncan Fletcher managed to wag revealing fingers in his book,Behind The Shades. On Englands Ashes tour of Australia in 2007,he writes: It came to my attention that,after one of the one-day matches,Andrew Flintoff had spent the whole night drinking with Ian Botham and had only got to bed at 7 a.m. the following morning8230; Flintoff was in such a state that he could not throw properly. He had to pass the ball to the bloke next to him to do so.

One argument is that sportspersons,with the amount of time they spend training and playing,eating,drinking and living their sport since their childhood dont really have stories to tell. Wayne Rooney,for example,signed a massive 5 million publishing deal for a minimum of five books,the first of which My Story So Far hit the stands last year. Hes 24. And hes not exactly Lance Armstrong. The seven-time Tour de France winners inspiring fight against cancer is passionately told in Its Not About The Bike: My Journey Back to Life. Armstrong didnt need the dirt.

Neither did Agassi. His account,all 386 pages of it,is scripted almost as beautifully,as symmetrically,as his career itself was. Growing up in Las Vegas,becoming world No. 1 wasnt a dream for him; it was on his to-do list when he was born. He didnt have a choice. Sawed-off racquets at age four,training against the dragon a ball-spitting machine designed by his father,a teenage rebels rise to No. 1,the dramatic fall,glamorous relationships,break-ups,depression,drugs,and then the turnaround,more Grand Slams,a charity foundation that educates under-privileged children and,finally,Steffi Graf and true love the games fiercest double-handed backhand weds the games sharpest single-handed slice8230; opposites must attract,then.

In most cases,controversies paper over the pointlessness of the tale; in Open,they take away from it. Its a fast read,even if you cringe occasionally not unlike his career.