1998 Legg Mason Tennis Classic Report #5 (by Yuan-Kwan Chan)

Thurs., July 23:

With Mr. Gambill out of the tournament, I was now able to focus all my energies on Michael's whereabouts. I neglected to mention that Michael spoke to a group of 50 WTF (Washington Tennis Foundation) kids in a clinic. Basically, his message was to "stay in school, don't do drugs."

I don't think that Michael practiced until about 3:30 or so. This time, he was on the Stadium Court. A hilarious incident occurred when a kid approached me, thinking that I was Diana Chang. I had to say I wasn't, but they asked me all these questions about Michael, all of which I was able to answer--so they were still left wondering who I really was!

Later on, when Michael's match against Martin Damm was going on, I thought it would be fun to sit near the Chang Gang. Diana, her friend (who was mentioned earlier on the message board related to an Australian Open post), an Indian lady, and Carl were in the box. Although Michael had a late afternoon match, it didn't end until 9 p.m. because of the rain.

Fri. July 24:

I had given morning session tickets to my friends Alan and Jen, evening tickets to other friends, Ron and Annie. It looked like a good lineup, with Ferreira, Agassi, and Chang vs. Courier all on the plate.

I watched the end of the Ferreira-Spadea match, which Wayne won in three sets. We watched Andre practice, with Brad Gilbert and his son Zachary--a pretty mean tennis player in his own right--on the sidelines. One of the ushers had asked me to hand a picture that she had taken of Brad to the man BG himself, which I did. Meanwhile, I kept sending my little brother out every half hour to scout the outside courts for MC. Around 6:30 p.m. or so, I was told that he was on South 2. Alan, Jen, and I all scurried out.

By the time we got to the court, there was a small crowd patiently waiting. Michael was soaking his left wrist in a big cooler of ice, and my first thought was, uh oh--there goes the wrist again. Nobody dared to say a word, everyone just stood quietly. Finally, Michael propped his foot up and said that he would be able to sign stuff as long as we supported our book/paper/magazine on his right knee. It was nice of him to do this. He ended up taking my black Sharpie pen and signed everyone else's memorabilia with it. Midway through, he asked the Indian woman, whose named was Hellini (I think) whether the time was up for him to stop soaking the wrist.

After he had made sure that he had made everyone happy, the only people left on the court were myself, Alan, Jen, my little bro, and Michael. I asked Michael whether I could take a picture with him, and he said sure. Then I asked about the wrist. Again. This time, I knew something was wrong, because usually he will look you directly in the eyes and give you an answer. Instead, he hesitated, turned away, and said, "I-it's okay." Jen and Alan wished him good luck.

The match against Courier was the last one scheduled on Stadium. The seats had emptied out somewhat after the Agassi blowout (1 and 2 against Lareau), which was a shame, because this match was AWESOME. I still will not forget set point, when Jim played a drop shot, which Michael chased down. Jim then lobbed the ball over Michael's head, and Michael scrambled to the baseline in the nick of time but was only able to reach around his back and flick the shot weakly. Surprisingly, it hit an incredible angle crosscourt, and Courier raised his arms as if to say, "Wow!" Earlier he had been a little frustrated, talking to the crowd ("He uses 29", I have 27"), and the crowd was clearly for Jim, but they went crazy after that shot. Michael won the set on that point, and everyone gave him a standing O. Michael then went on to win 6-3 6-4.

Sat., July 25:

I knew something was wrong when Michael didn't practice longer than 15 minutes that morning, and that was a practice that I had missed. My dad saw it though, and he said it was strange. "He practiced his backhands, but they were all one-handed, and he kept dinking them into the net," my dad recalled. We later got the official word--though not until an hour and a half before the match--that Michael had withdrawn from his semifinal against Scott Draper. The cause? That pesky wrist with chronic tendinitis, something that he suffered against his win versus Sampras in Rome. I left early and later discovered that Michael was still in DC, ready to walk out in his black shirt and khakis to announce to the crowd that he had to withdraw, and that he was sorry to do so. Apparently the crowd understood, because we didn't get a single phone complaint the next day in the Tournament Office.