If I Were To Say, 'god, Why

There Were Times When I Asked Myself Whether I Was Being Principled Or Simply A Coward.... I Was Wrapped In The Cocoon Of Tennis Early In Life, Mainly By Blacks Like My Most Powerful Mentor, Dr. Robert Walter Johnson Of Lynchburg, Virginia. They Insisted That I Be Unfailingly Polite On The Court, Unfalteringly Calm And Detached, So That Whites Could Never Accuse Me Of Meanness. I Learned Well. I Look At Photographs Of The Skinny, Frail, Little Black Boy That I Was In The Early 1950s, And I See That I Was My Tennis Racquet And My Tennis Racquet Was Me. It Was My Rod And My Staff.

I Don't Care Who You Are, You're Going To Choke In Certain Matches. You Get To A Point Where Your Legs Don't Move And You Can't Take A Deep Breath. You Start To Hit The Ball About A Yard Wide, Instead Of Inches.

Some Folks Call Tennis A Rich People's Sport Or A White Person's Game. I Guess I Started Too Early Because I Just Thought It Was Something Fun To Do. Later, I Discovered There Was A Lot Of Work To Being Good In Tennis. You've Got To Make A Lot Of Sacrifices And Spend A Lot Of Time If You Really Want To Achieve With This Sport, Or In Any Sport, Or In Anything Truly Worthwhile.

Regardless Of How You Feel Inside, Always Try To Look Like A Winner.

Someone Once Told Me That God Figured That I Was A Pretty Good Juggler. I Could Keep A Lot Of Balls In The Air At One Time. So He Said, "let's See If He Can Juggle Another One."