More to Tomic than tennis brat
OPINION: About 11 years ago, just before it was all about to start for Bernard Tomic, I got sideways in a beat-up old Mazda being driven by his father, John.
The streets of Surfers Paradise had been shut down and modified for the IndyCar race about to start in a few days, and as the Tomics drove me back to my hotel after two days of spending time with them for a magazine feature, John decided to make his Mazda corner like he was John Andretti.
Bernie, who was sitting in the back seat, loved it. I loved it. We all laughed as the wheels screamed.
It was the same sort of moment you’d have with your own father, the type your mother would later get angry about if she found out. Driving really fast in your old man’s car. Doing dumb s...
That moment sprung to mind while watching the final three minutes of Tomic’s bizarre interview with Australian TV’s Sunday Night on Seven.
For the other 17 minutes, the 24-year-old could barely wipe that smug look from his face – the one that seems to really, really piss off most of Australia, almost the entire tennis world and one or two cranky bloggers.
But it was in those final three minutes that Tomic showed us there’s something more in there than the tennis brat who’s watched too many episodes of Entourage and is living his life accordingly.
‘‘I didn’t come from a rich family,’’ he said, voice quivering.
‘‘I was 12-13 years old, nobody knows the sort of life I had. We came to Australia with basically nothing. It was tough. We had a car, $200, $300, and now maybe going buying cars for half a million, a million, living in these lavish houses, property around the world, it’s my choice ... I’ve worked for it and I’ve earned it.
‘‘Being 24 and in my opinion achieving a lot in this sport, it’s affected me a little bit mentally and emotionally. Now it’s just about finding my balance and pushing on the next 10 years and being successful.’’
Then he said this: ‘‘I’m trapped’’.
Tomic has become such a punchline it’s easy to dismiss and criticise instead of sending some empathy his way. This column has been guilty of it as much as anyone as his career has turned into a slow-moving car crash between his canary yellow Ferrari and bright orange BMW.
Today, I can’t condemn him. How sad that a 24-year-old can work so hard, can sacrifice so much, can do so much for his family who once drove around the Goldie in a beat-up old Mazda, and now feel so imprisoned by the life it’s brought him.
What does Tomic owe you? Me? Us? Some will say the A$4 million (NZ$4.3m) of funding from Tennis Australia that’s helped him live this miserable existence with homes in Miami, Monaco and Surfers Paradise.
Maybe. I’ve seen a lot more public money spent in worse ways.
If Tomic isn’t pulling on a green and gold tracksuit for Australia in the Davis Cup, or at the Olympics, he isn’t really representing anyone but himself.
Go and live in the real world. Work in a factory. What about the fans who have paid for the courtside tickets? What about the history of the game? Wimbledon? Why can’t he be like Federer? Or Nadal? Or Rafter?
In truth, he’s more like Andre Agassi, who told us in his 2009 autobiography Open just how much tennis tortured him.
‘‘I play tennis for a living even though I hate tennis, hate it with a dark and secret passion and always have,’’ he wrote.
It wasn’t until he lost the hairspray and hairpiece, kicked the meth and found love and children with Steffi Graf that he came out the other side, winning grand slam titles and becoming a universally loved and adored character.
Like Tomic, Agassi and Graf had overbearing fathers. In an interview with German news magazine Der Spiegel around the time of his book’s release, Agassi revealed how tough the life of a tennis professional could be.
He said: ‘‘I told a lot of people that I hated tennis – seriously and strongly hated it – and they all tried to talk me out of it: ‘Ah, that is not right, Andre; in fact you love tennis, don’t you?’ Do you want to know what Stefanie said? ‘Don’t we all’.’’
Agassi waited until the end of his career to announce how much he disliked his own sport. Tomic has announced it by tanking at Wimbledon, saying afterwards he was ‘‘bored’’ and then explaining to Channel Seven that he is just in this for the money.
He says he will never find happiness while playing tennis – it’s just a pay cheque to fund his playboy lifestyle. Again … how sad. Before we stepped into his father’s old Mazda that afternoon, I’d spent a few hours interviewing Tomic. Just the two of us, away from his father, who had earlier drilled him on the practice court at Southport under a blazing sun.
He had it all worked out: he was going to win this grand slam, reach this ranking by that age, have the ground strokes of Federer, heart of Hewitt etc, etc, etc.
How was he to know that he’d have none of those things? Just a big pile of money and no way out.