Andre Agassi’s autobiography is a revelation in the often stagnant world of the sporting memoir. It is a revelation because the words of sports people these days come out of their media training, making statements non-commital and meaningless. No insights are ever given because their bland soundbites all sound the same.

Into this world comes Agassi, who writes candidly about how he has hated tennis his whole life. It was chosen for him by his father when he was a baby and he had no choice in making a career out of it because he was such an extraordinary talent and there was nothing else the boy from Las Vegas could do.

Andre is a troubled character, and is taken along on a ride that he doesn’t want to be on, being portrayed as a brash rebel on the tennis circuit when inside he was tormented with uncertainty.

Writing this book must have been unbelievably theraputic for him, finally being able to tell the world who he really is, spilling some dark secrets as we learn about his intense rivalry with Pete Sampras, his pursuit of Stefi Graf and what has given him a real purpose in his life outside tennis, a school in Las Vegas that bears his name.

Both my dad and brother got me this book for Christmas, and they made a great choice. Having been inside Agassi’s head for two weeks, I felt that I got to know a whole new person than the one that we tennis fans think we know.