I first took notice of Andre Agassi during the 1988 French Open, a tournament I particularly remember as it coincided with my last meaningful attempt to get fit.
I’d installed an exercise bicycle in front of the telly so I could watch tennis while I pedalled my way to nowhere. But I soon retired to the couch as I became entranced by the exploits of an exuberant Afghan puppy, perhaps the pet of some sophisticated Parisienne, whose neon-coloured Lycra shorts clashed horribly with the red dirt of Roland Garros.
It seemed appropriate that the rebellious puppy was from Las Vegas, for here was a showman whose brash image contrasted starkly with those of the two top seeds that year, the impeccable Stefan Edberg and the Addams Family butler, Ivan Lendl. Agassi lost in the semifinals to eventual winner Mats Wilander.
Having decided to boycott Wimbledon because of the all-white dress code and the Australian Open (too far, too soon after Christmas), it seemed unlikely that the player who bids farewell to the game at the US Open currently under way in New York, would ever become a legend.
Not only was he halving his chances of winning a Grand Slam tournament by missing two out of four but, despite a fantastic repertoire of groundstrokes, his style looked unsuited to the evolving power game.
As the Eighties rolled into the Nineties, Agassi seemed destined to fill a role later taken by Anna Kournikova in the women’s game: pretty, heavily sponsored young thing who earned more from sponsorships than tennis.
But, unlike Kournikova, Agassi is blessed with real talent and decency all too uncommon in professional sport.
Although he did not have the power serve of a Pete Sampras or a Jim Courier, he was probably the finest returner of serve the game has ever seen. His rivalry with Sampras, particularly, was one of the highlights of the early Nineties.
Agassi renounced his Wimbledon boycott in 1992 and appeared on the lawns of SW19 in clothes whiter than an Omo ad. Not only did he go on to win the tournament but he introduced a sight now commonplace (think of Roger Federer), on centre court: the men’s singles winner bursting into tears.
In 1994 he picked up a second Grand Slam title, at Flushing Meadow in New York, the venue he has chosen for his farewell to the sport.
Just as he won Wimbledon once he’d overcome his aversion to the dress code, Agassi conquered Melbourne the first year he found Australia on the map, in 1995. It was a late start at what would turn out to be his most happy Grand Slam hunting ground, where he won four of his eight Major titles. He also won the Davis Cup with the United States team in 1996 and followed that up with a gold medal at the Atlanta Olympics.
His off-court activities, particularly his ill-starred marriage to Brooke Shields in 1997, took his mind off the game and his ranking went into freefall. But Agassi surprised us all, taking the humbling step of joining the Challenger circuit when his ranking had dropped to the 140s to build up enough tournament experience to be able to compete again on the main tour.
His rehabilitation was complete in 1999 when, amid more tears, he took the French Open, making the tournament at which he first showed his promise the final piece of his Grand Slam jigsaw — only the fifth man in tennis history to have won all four. He won the US Open again that year, and the Australian in 2000, 2001 and 2003.
His renaissance, at least according to the gossip magazines, was rounded off by marriage to German tennis superstar Steffi Graf in 2001.
But age and chronic back problems have finally caught up with that mincing, pigeon-toed little walk. Tennis lovers have had a decade to get over the loss of the locks — shaved off in 1995 at the first sign of baldness — but it might take longer before we get over the departure of a legend: a player whose niceness often masked his greatness.