I awoke with a start. My flight to Melbourne was finally being called and the assembled herd of tennis goats who had been kicking around impatiently in the waiting lounge finally stirred their stumps and joined a ramshackle queue, nudging, snorting and shuffling their way forward, keen to get on the plane before anyone else. Even off court, they could not resist the competitive urge to be first on board, first in their seats and first to order their free inflight Pimms.
“Let’s face it, nothing can substitute for just plain hard work. I had to put in the time to get back. And it was a grind,” complained Andre Agassi to Billie Jean King. She nodded, sympathetically, kicking her tennis bag along the floor as the queue slowly shuffled forwards.
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