And so, it's over. The legendary career of Andre Agassi has finally come to an end, and as far as we're concerned, he went out with a bang, much like his big, booming forehand. We were on the edge of our seats yesterday because, the truth is, he had his chances against Becker and he could have actually pulled it out, and that's a kind of miracle in itself. We'll remember these miracle matches, this year and last year. We'll remember that forehand, too. How could we forget? We see it in every park and country club, in every junior wanna-be champion, the big, crushing AA forehand, as if every one of them were Children of Agassi. His style announced that the game was now power and attitude, and you see, you RIP your return because that's the way we play tennis in America. Throw in a handful of celebrity girlfriends, ridiculous hair and jeans shorts (I had them, too), and that would have been enough to make him a legend. But then he had to go and become a great man, a man of substance and maturity. He became a man who loved his wife and his kids just like we did. Throw in a bad back like Upabreak and you pretty much can call him my hero. So, Godspeed, Double A, we'll remember you everytime we take the ball early and go for broke on a big serve. And it's funny, in the end, the image you exude is class and generosity and grace, and it turns out, this time image really is everything.
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