Newport, Rhode Island. 11pm.
My team and I had just finished dinner with a few of our senior clients. We were still relatively new to sports hospitality at that point, figuring out how these events worked, what mattered and, occasionally, what we were supposed to be doing next.
I was walking back alone to the Hotel Viking, where we were staying, when I spotted Marat Safin outside.
He was sitting by himself, pen in hand, writing something on a few sheets of paper. I assumed it was his speech for the Hall of Fame ceremony the next morning.
I walked past him and tried not to stare.
Then I remembered the 2005 Australian Open final.
I had grown up idolizing Lleyton Hewitt, so I still remember that match quite clearly. Third set, Hewitt serving at 4–2, and Safin came up with that backhand cross-court. He just wound up and absolutely ripped it. Hewitt had no chance.
Safin broke, the match turned, and Lleyton never really recovered.
It was one of those moments that stays with you for no particularly good reason, even with someone like me who has a pathetic memory. I was a kid watching tennis from thousands of miles away and, at the time, that backhand felt like a personal stab.
I suddenly realised I was looking at the guy who had hit it.
I walked a few steps past him, stopped, thought about it, and turned around.
I told him about the backhand, and how much I hated that particular shot when I was younger.
He looked up, smiled and laughed.
“What can I do now?”
I said, “We could get a picture.”
He laughed again. “Cheers, let’s do it.”
So we took the selfie.
I congratulated him on the Hall of Fame induction, he went back to his speech and I walked upstairs to my room.
I went to bed feeling like a slightly luckier version of the kid who had watched that match all those years ago.
And yes, I still think that backhand was unnecessarily good.