For a quarter of a century, the world of tennis has been in constant evolution. The heated line-call disputes that once defined matches are now relics of the past, replaced by the impartial gaze of automated officiating and artificial intelligence. This shift has undeniably reduced controversy, but some argue it has also washed away some of the sport’s vibrant character. The epicenter of tennis gravity has also migrated from the United States to Europe. In the 1990s, American players dominated the ATP top ten, a stark contrast to today’s landscape where U.S. men are notably absent from the top echelons. Even the rackets of the ’90s, compared to today’s space-age equipment, feel like relics of a bygone era, as modern players are empowered to unleash maximum force with each swing, thanks to advancements in materials.
Yet, amidst this tide of change, some constants remain. The Williams sisters, Serena and Venus, continue to defy time and expectations, their combined age exceeding 80, still competing at the highest levels. Another enduring figure is Pete Sampras. At his zenith, Sampras was simply an exceptional tennis player, full stop. However, the trappings of celebrity that often accompany such prowess held little appeal for him. Engaging in press conferences, attending sponsor events, and fulfilling promotional obligations, all considered part of the superstar package, were to Sampras akin to a cat’s enthusiasm for bath time.
Pete Sampras in a contemplative illustration, reflecting his private nature and legendary status in tennis.
There was no hint of arrogance, entitlement, or nastiness in his reticence. Quite the opposite. Sampras’s “no” was delivered with a certain grace that commanded respect for his decision. But this preference for privacy, this pairing of peak tennis performance with minimal public engagement, frustrated many – agents, tournament organizers, and the ATP Tour itself. Before the term “GOAT” became commonplace, Pete Sampras was already considered the Greatest Of All Time by many, yet he possessed the public demeanor of a recluse.
Today, Pete Sampras is approaching his 50th birthday, remarkably close to his playing weight of 170 pounds. His speech retains the same unhurried cadence, marked by modesty, sheepishness, and self-deprecating humor. And he remains steadfastly, resolutely opposed to the spotlight of public life. Even within the tennis world, known for its generous support of its former stars with jobs and appearance opportunities, Sampras remains an outlier. He doesn’t endorse products, rarely attends events, and has resisted the allure of the commentator’s booth.
To put it mildly, Pete Sampras is not one to seek attention on social media. The Twitter account @PeteSampras was created in July 2009, but a telling sign that it was likely set up by his team is the bio: “14-time Grand Slam Tennis Champion,” a factual statement, yet wildly out of character in its boastfulness for the famously understated Sampras. @PeteSampras follows a single account and, despite having over 16,000 followers, has never posted a tweet.
Pete Sampras has maintained cordial relationships throughout his career. However, when approached for this story, he hesitated for weeks. Emails went unanswered. A mutual acquaintance suggested an informal, off-the-record conversation. When it was clarified that this wouldn’t serve the purpose of a published article, the friend predicted, “Are you kidding? Talk about himself? With you reporting and recording? This is exactly the kind of thing Pete doesn’t want to do.” Todd Martin, a contemporary of Sampras and now CEO of the International Tennis Hall of Fame, adds, “Pete has always been super, super-protective of his time. That hasn’t changed just because he’s no longer playing.” Pete’s longtime agent and older brother, Gus Sampras, found himself in the familiar position of attempting to arrange an interview, only to eventually report back that Pete would politely decline. As always, perfectly on-brand.
Pete Sampras in action during his prime, showcasing the powerful serve and focused determination that defined his career.
The cliché of “going out on top” is well-worn in sports, yet it retains its cinematic appeal – athletes departing at their peak, leaving on their own terms. In a profession defined by wins and losses, the ideal ending, the enduring image for fans, is one of victory, arms raised in triumph.
While no athlete can be faulted for wanting to extend their career, if one sought a graceful, stylish exit from the pinnacle of the sport, Pete Sampras provided the blueprint. In the late summer of 2002, he arrived at the U.S. Open as a champion in reputation only. Having just turned 31, considered geriatric in tennis terms at the time, he was ranked No. 17, far below his usual standing. He had endured 33 tournaments without a title. At Wimbledon, the hallowed grounds he had dominated for a decade, Sampras was relegated to an outside court for his second-round match and suffered a loss to a relatively unknown player.
During that Wimbledon defeat, he sought solace during changeovers by reading letters from his wife, a gesture that drew mockery from some fellow players. Privately, Sampras maintained he still had good tennis left, but the number of believers was dwindling.
Then, during those two weeks in New York, it was as if Pete Sampras was transported back to his prime. His shots were precise and powerful, radiating self-belief. His signature serve found its mark with unerring accuracy. He displayed his familiar fighting spirit, a stark contrast to his laid-back demeanor off the court. In a script seemingly written for Hollywood, he faced Andre Agassi in the final, his longtime rival and counterpoint since their junior days. In a fitting punctuation mark to their rivalry, Sampras triumphed 6–3, 6–4, 5–7, 6–4.
From the outset of his career, Sampras played with an eye on history. Two years prior, he had secured his 13th major singles title at Wimbledon, setting a new all-time record. This 14th major solidified his legacy. In its tournament recap, Sports Illustrated declared him, unequivocally, “the greatest man ever to play the game.”
Pete Sampras had not only raised the bar; he had elevated it to a level that seemed untouchable, akin to sports records like Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game or Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak. To put it in perspective, John McEnroe, the legendary John McEnroe, retired with seven majors; Agassi, another tennis icon, also had seven at that point. Could anyone realistically surpass fourteen? It seemed improbable.
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Beyond the match, the tournament, and the record books, Sampras won something else that day: the affection of the public. For years, he was admired, but not truly adored. His lifelong aversion to publicity coincided with a shift in sports fandom, as fans began to crave more than just excellence from their sporting heroes. Sampras, while clinically dominant, remained an enigma, never fully revealing himself. Even on court, he often played with his head down, famously quipping, “I’m looking for coins,” a rare glimpse of the humor those close to him knew existed.
It didn’t help that Sampras’s reserved Southern California personality was sharply contrasted by the charisma and flamboyance of his great rival, Andre Agassi. Agassi burst onto the scene with the flash and extravagance of his hometown, Las Vegas. He was known for trash talk, playing to the crowd, and high-profile relationships. Even as Agassi matured into a respected elder statesman of the sport, his evolution – his advocacy for charter schools, his candid autobiography – still involved being a public figure. As Agassi himself famously said, “Pete would never want my life. I would never want his life.”
It wasn’t that Pete Sampras was boring, as he was often unfairly labeled. He wasn’t unkind, and he was certainly not insecure. If anything, as Todd Martin observed, Sampras possessed the self-assurance to dedicate himself to becoming the best tennis player in the world and to reject anything that didn’t serve that singular goal. “As uncomfortable as Pete would seem in public, I always got the sense he was as comfortable in his skin as anyone could be.”
That Sunday in New York, Pete Sampras was finally embraced as a fan favorite. He became the underdog, the aging champion seeking to prove he still possessed magic. The majority of the 25,000 spectators in Arthur Ashe Stadium were rooting for him, as were millions of casual sports fans tuning in before the NFL season kickoff on CBS. Sampras sensed this shift in atmosphere. In a rare display of emotion, he shouted during the match, “That’s what I’m talking about!” The crowd erupted. When he secured victory, he later reflected that it was the loudest ovation of his career.
Capitalizing on this narrative, the opportunity to finally give Sampras his due recognition, organizers arranged a Manhattan media tour. Appearances on morning shows, drive-time radio, and late-night television were scheduled. Sampras, ever gracious, declined them all. He flew home to Los Angeles, a contented champion. He never played another professional match.
Pete Sampras celebrating his victory at the 2002 US Open, a defining moment that marked the end of his legendary career.
Starting in his early 30s, a time when many in conventional professions are entering their prime working years, Pete Sampras was off the clock. And he remained as committed to retirement as he had been to his career. After years of rigid schedules and constant travel, he embraced a life of leisure. Having spent years traversing the globe, living out of suitcases in countless hotels, he now spent months at a time without leaving his expansive Beverly Hills home.
In the late 1990s, Sampras encountered Bridgette Wilson in Los Angeles and, through a mutual friend, obtained her number. They married in 2000 in a small, private ceremony, although Elton John provided the musical entertainment. Wilson, a rising actress, had never fully embraced the Hollywood lifestyle. Upon Sampras’s retirement, she also scaled back her career, and together they focused on raising their two sons, Christian, born in 2002, and Ryan, born in 2005.
After dropping his sons off at school, Sampras might play golf, often at the prestigious Bel-Air Country Club, where he has been a member for years. He might play cards with friends. With a tennis court at home, he might also pick up a racket. (His son Ryan, now a teenager, is a promising junior tennis player.) He and Bridgette might gather the kids and retreat to their weekend home near Palm Springs.
“Every time I see him, he seems totally happy,” notes Paul Annacone, a Tennis Channel commentator and Sampras’s longtime coach, who remains a close friend. “He has a really good perspective and view on being a dad and a husband, and he does whatever he wants to do.”
Pete Sampras enjoying a round of golf in his retirement, highlighting his relaxed and private lifestyle away from tennis.
It’s also noteworthy what Pete Sampras has not done in retirement. While his contemporary, Jim Courier, has become a respected tennis analyst, Sampras has shown no interest in commentating. His sister, Stella, is the highly successful head women’s tennis coach at UCLA, yet her brother has displayed little inclination to coach professional players.
With approximately $50 million in career prize money, and likely double that from endorsements and appearance fees, Sampras is not under financial pressure to pursue a second career. Despite the stability in his personal life, his historic tennis records have proven surprisingly vulnerable. Just months after Sampras secured his seemingly insurmountable 14th major, a talented Swiss player with a similar playing style, Roger Federer, won Wimbledon for the first time. Two years later, Rafael Nadal, a dynamic Spaniard, won the French Open. Three years after that, Novak Djokovic, a Serbian player of unwavering consistency, won the Australian Open.
Currently, these three players, collectively known as the Big Three – Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Novak Djokovic – have surpassed Sampras, with 20, 22, and 23 major titles respectively. And importantly, all three remain active, continuing to add to their tallies and further distancing themselves from Sampras’s mark. Moreover, each of the Big Three has achieved a career Grand Slam, winning all four majors, a feat Sampras never accomplished, having never won the French Open on his least favored surface, clay.
Imagine being Pete Sampras, retiring at 31 after a career dedicated to chasing history, standing atop the mountain, only to see not once, not twice, but three other men climb even higher. While there are certainly greater tragedies in sports, it’s akin to Michael Jordan, who also last played in the early 2000s, being largely absent from GOAT conversations.
Yet, consistent with his on-court demeanor, Sampras has been remarkably gracious about this shift in tennis history. He has never expressed bitterness about something beyond his control. In 2009, as Federer was poised to win his 15th major, Paul Annacone played golf with Sampras and inquired about how he was handling the erosion of his record.
‘“I said, ‘It’s getting close. What do you think?’ ” Annacone recalls.
“It’s pretty amazing!” Sampras replied.
“What do you mean?” Annacone pressed, who ironically would later coach Federer.
“Well,” said Sampras, “I just know how hard it was for me. If anyone else can do it, that’s just too good. That’s amazing!”
Similarly, as Nadal and Djokovic eclipsed his records, Sampras has offered nothing but praise and respect, devoid of any hint of resentment. Annacone observes, “He’s pretty good at checking his ego at the door … most of all I think he gets the emotional fuel that it takes to continually be in the final weekends of majors and generally come through. When he sees these three guys do it, he just genuinely tips his cap, like, ‘Well done, guys.’ ”
However, don’t expect Pete Sampras to definitively declare a single GOAT. “I feel like every decade there’s the guy. Certainly Roger has been the best player. Rafa is up there with him. Djokovic is pushing. So it’s really hard to say. I mean, there’s not one greatest player,” Sampras stated in 2015. He also emphasizes the importance of historical context. “For five years [Rod Laver] didn’t play any majors when he was in his prime, so he could have had over 20 majors.”
Beyond the records, Sampras maintains amicable relationships with all three players who have surpassed him. He has known Federer the longest, having played against him once in a memorable Wimbledon match in 2001, often seen as a symbolic passing of the torch.
A different kind of warmth exists between Sampras and Nadal. Despite differences in language, culture, and handedness, they share a mutual respect. They also share a natural inclination to avoid the trappings of fame and prefer the company of family over public appearances.
Perhaps surprisingly, Sampras is also close with Djokovic. While Djokovic is more publicly engaged and sees himself as a global figure, in contrast to Sampras’s preference for privacy, they have bonded over their shared pursuit of excellence and the joys of fatherhood. Djokovic frequently spends time in Los Angeles and often visits Sampras.
To ensure Sampras’s legacy is not forgotten, tennis writer Steve Flink recently authored a book, Pete Sampras: Greatness Revisited. Flink concludes, “He does not sound like he is feeling sorry for himself in the least, nor does he show any resentment towards Roger, Rafa, or Novak. It appears to me that it is quite the opposite; he is proud of what he did, and he still believes he could have competed favorably against anyone in history including Federer, Djokovic, and Nadal. But he also appreciates their greatness and the way all three have represented themselves. He gives them full marks for breaking his record at the Slams.”
Flink recounts a conversation with Sampras about the epic 2019 Wimbledon final where Federer held match points but ultimately lost to Djokovic. Sampras, watching with his family, found the match deeply affecting. “He could not stop thinking about it the rest of the day,” recalls Flink, “and his sentiments were twofold— great respect for Djokovic’s grit and determination and sympathy for Federer losing a heartbreaker.”
Like all athletes, Sampras is often asked, “Do you miss tennis?” His standard response is, “I miss the game, but I don’t miss the stress of it.” Part of that stress stemmed from his own high expectations, and part from the pressures of public life. As Todd Martin says, “Now, in some ways he has the ultimate freedom. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.”
For nearly two decades, Pete Sampras has lived a quiet, private life that might seem uneventful to some, perhaps even to Andre Agassi. But for many others, and most importantly for Sampras himself, it closely resembles a life of contentment. While he may no longer hold the record for most major titles, Pete Sampras went out on top, and he hasn’t strayed far from that peak of personal satisfaction.
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