Hitting Back (27 page)

We didn't argue that much about tennis. I understood what
he wanted me to do: mainly put on some muscle and speed up
my serve. He employed an NBA trainer, Mark Grabow, to help
with the physical improvement, and then we worked on some
of the technical aspects of the serve. I understood what we were
doing. I made sure I did. I was always asking him what the
reason for any drill might be, maybe to the point of driving him
slightly mad. I didn't just do anything because he told me to.

He wasn't too worried about rankings and targets. He
thought they would take care of themselves if I played hard and
well. He just wanted to keep it simple and drive home the idea
that tennis is like boxing: you will be the winner if you pound
the other guy harder than he is pounding you. Being a massive
boxing fan, I understood that philosophy.

However, after twelve months, around Wimbledon time, I
knew that things weren't right for me. I wanted to be more
professional, to have a physio and fitness trainer on the road so
that I could always be working on getting stronger and getting
over any niggles more quickly. Maybe that wrist injury I picked
up in Hamburg would still have happened even if I had
gathered a team around me sooner. The risk is always there,
but maybe it could have been reduced.

There were little rows behind the scenes. We didn't argue
that much about tennis, it wasn't the on-court stuff that was a
problem, it was just becoming obvious I wasn't enjoying myself
on the tour as much as I should be. I'm lucky I spend my life
touring the world, doing what I do purely because I'm good at
sport. If I wasn't happy off the court, there must be something
wrong.

Occasionally I shouted at Brad during matches. I had never
done that to Mark. I don't think it's the right thing to do. It
only happened a couple of times but, after that, even if I was
shouting at myself, I think people imagined I was aiming the
comment at him. I'd always shouted on court, often in the
direction of friends, family and coaches in the players' box. I'd
been doing that for years. I always find it easier to get my
emotions out if I'm looking at someone I know. If you watch
any of my old matches, you'll see that I'm shouting in the
direction of my mum or Patricio or my brother or Kim. Even
so, in connection with Brad, it wasn't the right thing to do. It
was immature and silly.

It was heat-of-the-moment in a pressure situation, but that is
no excuse. I wouldn't dream of doing something like that off
the court. You let it all out and afterwards you think: 'I
shouldn't have said that.' My habit attracted a bit of attention
at the ATP Tour event in Doha at the start of 2007 but Brad
just said when asked: 'I know he doesn't mean it.' I don't think
he was too bothered about it, to be honest, and it certainly
wasn't the cause of our split.

Maybe the bookies knew something was wrong before we
did. After Doha they were offering odds of 2–1 that the
partnership would break up by the end of 2007. And, as it
happens, they were right. The relationship ended ten months
later and it didn't end too well. My wrist injury had obviously
been a frustrating time for us both and I think it's possible Brad
misunderstood the best way to handle it with someone like me.
When I went back on the tour after missing Wimbledon it still
didn't feel quite right. I had two heavy defeats, one in Canada
and a thumping one in Cincinnati by Baghdatis, and I was
pretty downhearted at the whole situation.

Brad said he thought I was depressed. He thought I needed
psychological help to get out of it. I did see a psychologist, a
little later, and he confirmed I was not remotely depressed.
Brad even wondered about the cause of my anger on court,
whether it was related to something in my past rather than just
my frustrated perfectionism as a tennis player. I know he
meant all these things as a form of motivation and he had the
best of intentions. They are just not the sort of things that work
for me. I didn't really want to hear that I was 'one of the most
negative people' he'd ever met. I didn't think I was. I didn't
think I was angry either. I asked around all my friends: 'Do you
think I'm an angry person off the court,' and not one of them
said: 'Yes.' If anything, I'm completely chilled.

I suppose that's what people meant about our 'clash of
personalities'. Brad believes in being upbeat all the time, which
is a good thing, but I don't think he was really listening to me.
There was always a lot of talking going on, but not much
understanding. I think he thought I wasn't extrovert or carefree
enough. He said that I didn't have any vices – I don't like
drinking and I don't like going to clubs – so it would be good
for me to go bungee jumping or skydiving or even – but I'm
pretty sure he was joking – rip all my clothes off in public.

I flew back home after Cincinnati to see a sports psychologist
that my Mum had found for me and it did help to clear
my mind. In many ways, I had been thinking about the wrist
too much and we just talked about other things. Maybe that is
what Brad had meant, but there is no doubt we misunderstood
each other.

I just thought I was being protective, having endured long-term
injuries before. He may have believed I had issues with
negative thinking that were holding up the healing process. I
don't think he has much patience with injuries. He is more a
believer in fighting through things. That's fine, but I'm a
different type of person. Sometimes, if I'd just lost in a
tournament, he'd just leave a note under my door at the hotel
and fly off home. That's fine too, but it wouldn't be the way
I'd handle someone like me.

It was one big mutual misunderstanding, not helped by the
fact that he had clearly believed I could have played
Wimbledon. I wasn't trying to duck the tournament. I was
really desperate to play, but the advice from everyone except
Brad was that to play would be to risk greater injury. It could
have been a nightmare if I'd played and made things far worse.

People seem to think that I'm too stubborn or strong willed
to listen to a coach, but I wasn't like that with Brad at all. I
respected him. He said hire his fitness trainer. I did. He said see
a psychologist. I did. He said come over and train in California
during the off season. I did. It wasn't entirely easy staying at his
house because we only had each other for company and at one
point he went away and left me for a couple of days but I don't
want to sound ungrateful. It was a generous offer and his wife
was really lovely. She cooked for me and helped out and it
can't be the easiest thing to have another person in your own
home.

Brad also wanted me to stop working with Jean-Pierre, the
physio I had trusted ever since my knee problems in 2005.
They didn't get on. He didn't want to travel with him anymore
after Jean-Pierre had come over to Australia and then the States
with us. Brad thought he was a bad influence. It was probably
a huge coincidence that I injured my wrist after Jean-Pierre had
gone, but you can never know these things with absolute
certainty.

I probably should have spoken to Brad when we parted but
by then there was a huge breakdown of communication. Brad
wasn't speaking to my agent. Instead he was talking to the
LTA, which is fair enough because they were paying him. But
I think the one-on-one relationship between player and coach
is really important and that had more or less collapsed.

I had to do something about it. I spoke to one of the guys at
the LTA, Bruce Phillips, the head of communications. I said:
'Look, it's not working out any more. I don't want to work
with Brad. Thanks for all your support but it's done.'

That might seem abrupt but it seemed reasonable to me to
talk through the LTA because they were the ones employing
him. Obviously I had taken quite a lot of flak about that
earlier, people said I should be paying his wages myself, but at
the time we started working together I could never have
afforded to pay it. It's as simple as that. There is no chance I
could pay his salary, plus bonuses, plus travel, plus expenses.
Obviously tennis players do make good money, but I'd only
been in that position for about eighteen months. You've
only got about twelve years to make a good living from your
career and if you're spending that much on a coach, there
wouldn't be a lot left.

I don't know what else I should have done. All I thought at
the time was: 'Brad Gilbert. God, what a great opportunity for
me.' I was excited and respectful and sometimes you just learn
the hard way that these things aren't enough on their own.
Another lesson learned.

At the end of the year I decided to do things differently. I
hired Miles Maclagan as my coach, a British Davis Cup player
who had been in the top-200 as a player and went on to coach
Kevin Ullyett and Paul Hanley to a couple of grand slam titles.
I thought we'd get on. He is closer to my age, plays well, keeps
in good shape and although he was born in Zambia, he's
Scottish. However, I decided not to work with him alone. I
wanted a fitness trainer and physio to travel with me as well,
and I wanted each of them to have a back-up. I also decided to
bring in specialist coaches, like Louis Cayer to help improve
my net game, and Alex Corretja, twice a French Open finalist,
for the clay season.

It caused quite a fuss, people said the idea was radical, but I
don't see what's radical about a team of people to support you.
It was mistakenly reported that I'd have this massive entourage
of people around me all the time, as though I'd need to hire a
private 747 just to get them all to tournaments. Michael Stich,
the former Wimbledon champion, was one of the guys who
said it wouldn't work – but it is not like that at all. I am never
going to have more than one coach, a fitness trainer and a
physio with me. I don't want to have five coaches, six trainers
and three physios. It is just that I know what it's like to be on
the road all the time with one person, and it does get quite
stressful. I wanted to be in a position where I had a couple of
coaches, a couple of trainers and a couple of physios who all
get on well with one another and are good at what they do.
Then they can rotate. That way, if one gets tired or wants to go
home or wants to see his family, I can just say 'fine' and ask the
other one along.

When I announced what I was doing at Christmas in 2007,
some people said: 'Look what happened when Rafa Benitez
(now manager of Liverpool Football Club) tried rotation.' I
said: 'Yeah, the Spanish League, the Champions' League, the
UEFA Cup and the FA Cup.' That pretty much ended the
argument.

After Brad, I needed someone I felt I could sit down with and
have a discussion, not someone who would tell me what to do.
I wanted to be able to put my opinion across, let them put
theirs, and then we would come to a decision between us. I felt
I was starting to understand this game of tennis and I didn't
need to have everything spelled out for me any more. A few
people might say I'm a difficult person to deal with, but I am
open to ideas. I will listen. I am definitely not interested in yesmen.
If people are thinking that I am, then they don't know me.
I don't want to have coaches around me saying 'Yes, Andy,
you're right.' I want to get better. I want to become one of the
best players in the world and I'm not stupid enough to think
I'm going to get there by listening to people telling me I'm
wonderful.

I think this is the best way to improve. Get fitter, get stronger
and find ways of doing even small things better. I'm a very
good tennis player. I've been ranked in the top-10, but there
are lots of little things to improve that are going to make all the
difference between being ranked 11th and being in the top-five
– or third – or at number one in the world.

I'm the pushy mother. I know that's what a few people think because
I've had some horrible letters over the years, accusing me of all sorts
of things including 'inciting violence' due to my 'aggressive' fist-pumping
during matches and even humiliating my sons with my
support. People like that just don't get it. I don't mind what they say
for the same reason I tell Andy not to mind when they criticise him:
these people don't know us.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm not pushy at all. I am
not a control freak. I'm not sacking Andy's coaches behind the scenes.
I don't try and dominate the lives of my sons. I've always been a
believer that if you make a decision yourself and it's a mistake, you're
going to learn much more from it than if someone makes a decision
for you.

I've always seen the difference between people who push their
kids to do things and people who push to make things happen for
their kids. I admit I've often had to push to create opportunities
for my kids but if they didn't want to take them I would back off.
When it came to tennis, they never wanted to back off.

It wasn't just tennis either. When they were little, it was anything
that involved having fun: playing swingball in the garden, chasing the
ducks round the pond in the park, flying down the chutes at the
swimming pool in Dundee, riding their trikes like mini Valentino
Rossis round the Dunblane Tennis club house. It would be pointless
me saying I don't know where they get it from. I know very well. I
used to take them to those indoor activity centres with ball pools,
tunnels and slides. The other mothers sat and had coffee. I went on
everything with them, ignoring the signs that said 'For Under-10s
only'.

These days, my two little nieces just start screaming when they see
me. I play hide and seek with them, I go on the trampoline, chase
them round the garden. I get them completely hyper. My sister-in-law,
when it gets close to bedtime, says: 'Can't you just read them a story?'
I do, but it's nowhere near as much fun.

This may partly explain why Andy's first eighteen months were the
hardest of my life. It was a little bit of a shock to discover I was
pregnant again when Jamie was only five months old. I had found the
whole birth thing such a horrific experience that if I hadn't done it
again quickly I wouldn't have done it at all.

We had moved to Dunblane two weeks before Andy was born,
back to my old home town and not far down the road from my
parents. I'd had to give up my job in retail sales and my company car
had gone back. I felt completely trapped. I was used to doing a job
and loads of sport and suddenly there was no escape. I was stuck in
the house with these two little tiddlers and it was an absolute
nightmare.

It wasn't post-natal depression or anything like that, it was just the
frustration of an active person suddenly surrounded by mashed
vegetable. They were both good babies, although I wouldn't say they
slept. I was up and down in the night with both of them. More with
Andy, if I remember rightly. It just killed me the next day, and I still
had a toddler running round to cope with.

I've been on the women's professional tennis tour, I've been
through a divorce, I've watched both my sons win and lose major
tennis matches and still I would say that Andy's first eighteen months
were the toughest I've every known.

Nothing has been that hard again, not even during the first couple
of months of 2008 when Jamie was so furious with Andy for pulling
out of the Davis Cup tie in Argentina. All brothers argue, but not
many end up with newspaper headlines exposing the fact splashed all
over the world.

I felt for both of them: for Andy as all he was trying to do was
protect himself from unnecessary injury, and for Jamie because he
was thrown in the deep end of a press conference without being
properly informed. When he found out from the Davis Cup captain,
John Lloyd, when the team were already over in Chile that Andy
wouldn't be joining them he was visibly, audibly, livid. In the infamous
press conference called shortly afterwards, Jamie had a rant against his
brother to the press.

He obviously felt really strongly to have spoken out like that, but it
had been caused by a horrible lack of communication. He was fielding
all these questions about Andy's withdrawal and he barely knew
anything about it. He was being asked as though he should know,
since he was family, but he didn't. We had inadvertently put him in a
very difficult and exposed position.

It all arose because Andy's knee had been bothering him on-and-off
during December and January and it became clear that the worst
thing he could do would be to play a succession of intense matches
on clay where there is a lot of sliding and pressure on the knee from
changes of direction. The result of a scan and the advice of his physios
and trainers was that it would be taking an unnecessary risk to play in
Argentina.

When Andy finally decided not to go, his agent Patricio called John
Lloyd, and we just forgot that Jamie didn't know. I understand from
Jamie's point of view that he was put in a difficult position. I also think
that Jamie felt very strongly they had a chance of winning the tie with
Andy's contribution. Without it, they had no chance.

Perhaps people thought it was strange that the boys hadn't spoken
to each other anyway, but, although they're brothers, they don't
communicate on a daily basis, and especially not about tennis. They
might send each other messages on MSN, but that's just banter.
When they are together, they just have fun. They rarely talk about
tennis at all.

I was relieved when they started speaking again. It didn't take long.
They are brothers after all and blood is thicker than water. On the
13th of February the first thing that Andy said to me on the phone
was: 'It's Jamie's birthday today, Mum,' so I knew he was thinking
about his brother and that everything would be OK. They met for the
first time afterwards at the tournament in Indian Wells and it was fine.
I think Jamie now understands Andy's reasons for withdrawing from
the team, but these should have been communicated to him
personally before the announcement. It was obviously wrong that
Jamie had to find out from John Lloyd.

You have to put everything in perspective. They've been
competing – or wrestling or arguing – since Andy was old enough to
walk. Most of the time they are polite young men (believe it or not)
who enjoy each other's company. These things happen and, anyway,
I understand the pressures of life on the tour.

I was on it myself once, not for long though. I had left school, just
turned seventeen, and I really wanted to give it a try. It was
completely different in those days. There was no one in Scotland to
help. No coach, no training facility, no other full-time players. You had
to do everything on your own. I had no money for flights and
accommodation. I often had to take buses and stay overnight in a tent
which, on one occasion in France beside the tennis club in Antibes,
collapsed in the pouring rain.

The worst time, for sure, was at quite a big tournament in
Barcelona when I was on my own as usual. I had just played Mariana
Simionescu, who was Björn Borg's girlfriend at the time, and lost. In
those days your opponent would always buy you a drink afterwards
in the club-house bar. It's crazy to imagine that now. Justine Henin
saying to Venus Williams: 'Would you like a beer?' after beating her
in the Wimbledon quarter-finals is hilariously unimaginable. Anyway,
we were on our way to the bar when Mariana said: 'We have to go
to the locker room first.' I asked her why. 'Because Björn doesn't
like to see me smoke,' she replied, lighting up a cigarette. 'I can't
smoke in front of people or else he'll find out.'

So we stopped for her nicotine break, then had our drink together
and it was a good job she was paying. I was so short of money I then
had to go into Barcelona to a Spanish post office to collect extra
funds that Mum and Dad had sent me. It was all I had in the world.
Coming back from the city, the bus was mobbed. I had my handbag
over my shoulder and, of course, when I got off the bus my bag was
open and my wallet, including my passport and my ticket home, were
gone.

I just stood there on the pavement in sheer horror and disbelief. I
couldn't move from the spot for a while, but then I forced myself to
go and find a policeman, who took me into a shop to find someone
to speak English and eventually I found my way to the British Embassy
who organised a little money and a passport home. When I arrived
back in Dunblane, I was so distraught about the theft that my dad
basically said: 'That's it. You can't do it on your own any more.'

It was hard because I loved tennis and, within Scotland, I had a
successful career. I went on to represent Great Britain at the World
Student Games in Bucharest in 1981. The reason I remember it so
well is that I played mixed doubles with a guy named Bill Gowans
against the Romanians who consisted of Virginia Ruzici (who was
number 10 in the world at the time but listed as a student by the
home country) and Florin Sergarceanu (who went on to become
Romania's Davis Cup coach). We lost 6–4 6–3 in a great match with
a big noisy crowd. Ruzici was a great athlete, a beautiful gipsy-like girl,
with big gold hoop earrings. Bill kept drop-shotting her and she would
invariably run up and smack the ball right at me. After she had done
it about half-a-dozen times, I suggested to him it might not be the
greatest tactic. He said: 'I know, but I just love to see her running
towards me!'

All together I won sixty-four junior and senior titles in Scottish
tennis, which is no big deal and I never talk about it to Andy or Jamie
or anybody else. All Andy knows is that I was good enough to play
with him until he was about twelve, and then he started beating me.

However, I am glad I tried for those few mad months on the tour.
At least I have no regrets and it probably made me grow up fast.
Doing things on my own made me stronger. When I see kids having
so much provided for them these days, I think: You have no idea how
lucky you are to have this chance. You learn so much more when you
make your own mistakes. You try that bit harder if everything isn't
given to you on a plate.

There was a gap between abandoning the tour and going to
university, so I took a crash course in shorthand and typing, and then
took a series of temp jobs like working as a secretary in a glass factory
and later in a car insurance office where I maddened my boss by
typing 'Ford gear' instead of 'Ford Ghia' from his dictaphone every
time. How was I supposed to know? I had never owned a car in my
life.

I studied French and German at Edinburgh University before
switching to French and Business Studies, because, to be honest, the
German was so boring. For a while after that I was a trainee manager
with Miss Selfridge and then I was employed as a sales woman for a
confectionery firm with my own company car. It was that car – or
one of its successors – I had to give back when I discovered I was
pregnant with Andy.

Life changes with children in unimaginable ways, not just because
you are looking after them but because pretty soon you discover the
new characters that have arrived in your world. In many ways both
boys were very similar, and yet they were very different too:
both sensitive and fuming, but Andy with a stubborn streak so that it
was always very difficult to tell him what to do. Whether he thought
something was right or not, if you forced him to do it, he would dig
his heels in and say 'No.' You have to find the right way to approach
things with Andy. With Jamie you could always be a little bit more
direct.

Jamie, now, is the extrovert. He loves going out in a crowd and
being the life and soul of any social situation. That has only come in
the last few years, boosted by his famous win at Wimbledon in 2007
with Jelena Jankovic and by the success he has enjoyed on the men's
tour in the doubles. Andy isn't shy but he is more the introvert. He
likes going out with a smaller group that he's very comfortable with.
He is very happy with his inner circle, and has a really good
relationship with his girlfriend, Kim and has a few very close friends
from his junior tennis days. He is very level-headed and he's quite
good at sussing people out.

I remember Paul Annacone, the LTA men's head coach, saying
something to Andy like: 'When you're 18, you have to do xxx . . .'
and Andy just said 'Well, why?' He will not follow instructions blindly.
He won't just accept what somebody tells him. You have to prove it
to him first.

Both boys are quite sensitive, but I would say Andy's the more
sensitive of the two. He hates seeing people begging in the street, he
hates cruelty to animals. He is more inquisitive than Jamie and he
can
be more argumentative – not in a bad way, but he likes to reason
things out.

He has always been very sensible. When he went away to Spain I
didn't have to give him a pep talk about potential vices. I trusted him.
He never expressed any interest in drinking. He is so like me in many
ways.

Apart from one time, I never, ever wanted to drink, even all the
way through university. The only time I did was in a bar in Edinburgh
the night before we were due to catch the London sleeper en route
to a three-month stay in France as part of my degree. Someone
encouraged me to try a Southern Comfort and lemonade. I agreed
to try one, then two, three, maybe even four. When I tried to move
away from the pillar I was leaning against, I couldn't walk. I then fell
down a flight of stairs – it wasn't until the next morning I discovered
I was covered in bruises – and I was violently sick on the train. The
girl in the bunk below has never forgiven me!

I have never done it again. I never want to have that feeling again.
I don't get it – how can people want to feel that terrible? I am pretty
sure Andy is the same.