IN THE TOWN CAR Gil sits in the front seat, dressed sharp. Black shirt, black tie, black jacket. He dresses for every match as if it's a blind date or a mob hit. Now and then he checks his long black hair in the side mirror or rearview. I sit in the back seat with Darren, my coach, an Aussie who always rocks a Hollywood tan and the smile of a guy who just hit the Powerball. For a few minutes no one says anything. Then Gil speaks the lyrics of one of our favorites, an old Roy Clark ballad, and his deep basso fills the car:Just going through the motions and pretending
we have something left to gain-
He looks at me, waits.
I say, we Can't Build a Fire in the Rain.
He laughs, I laugh. For a second I forget my nervous butterflies.
Butterflies are funny. Some days they make you run to the toilet. Other
days they make you horny. Other days they make you laugh, and long
for the fight. Deciding which type of butterflies you've got going
(monarchs or moths) is the first order of business when you are driving
to the arena. Figuring out your butterflies, deciphering what they say
about the status of your mind and body, is the first step to making them
work for you. One of the thousand lessons I've learned from Gil.
- An excerpt from Open- An Autobiography, Andre Agassi
