When You're Hot, Anything Can Happen.

It Was Okay For Wayne Gretzky's Dad, For Instance, To Give Him A Hockey Stick, Or Joe Montana's Dad To Give Him A Football, Or Larry Bird's Dad To Give Him A Basketball, But It Wasn't Okay For Gloria Connors To Give Her Son A Tennis Racquet.

New Yorkers Love It When You Spill Your Guts Out There. Spill Your Guts At Wimbledon And They Make You Stop And Clean It Up.

Tennis Was Always There For Me, Which Was Lucky. I Would Go Play Baseball, Basketball, Football, Hang With My Brother, Do Whatever, And At The End Of The Day I'd Come Back And Say, 'hey, Mom, Would You Hit 15 Minutes Worth Of Balls With Me?'

I Can't Say That I Was My Happiest On Court, But I Felt Completely Free. Free From Family Obligations, Free From My Own Torment. In A Real Sense I Was A Different Person. It Was A Place Where I Could Not Tolerate The Idea Of Being Beaten. I Psyched Myself Up Into A State Where I Felt Something Close To Hatred Towards My Opponent, A State Where I Detested The Idea Of Someone Making His Name At The Expense Of Jimmy Connors. I Was In My Element On Court, Measuring Myself Against Someone Else. I Was Not Competitive For Show. It Came From Deep Within.

I've Been Kicked In The Teeth More Times In Tennis Than The Law Ought To Allow.