(Published by The Charlotte Observer in May 2005 and reprinted by permission)

Anna Kournikova was on the other side of the net, bouncing slightly on her toes. Before I served to her and began my 10-minute tennis match Saturday with one of the most famous and gorgeous women in the world, I stopped and looked around. There were about 500 people in the stands, which was about 495 more than I had ever played in front of before. Kournikova probably didn’t look very menacing to any of them, with her blond ponytail and salmon shorts. To me, though, she was terrifying. As a student of tennis, I knew her history. Although known primarily for her beauty, Kournikova had once reached No.8 in the world in singles before injuries derailed her. Only 23, she was now considering a tennis comeback. I was playing her because the Nextel Cup race-car drivers whom the fans had come to see hit with Kournikova in this exhibition – Elliott Sadler and Jamie McMurray – were taking a break. The drivers had not exactly been a challenge for Kournikova. At one point, she started playing left-handed to even things out a little. I had tried to talk my way onto the court with Kournikova for several days, both with the exhibition organizers and with Nick Bollettieri, her former coach. I’m a local league tennis player with a rating of 4.5, analogous to maybe a 6-handicapper in golf. Suddenly, Bollettieri had introduced me as Kournikova’s next opponent. He said Kournikova would play me in a “challenge match” of three games – first person to two games would win. I borrowed a racket and jumped onto the court. “Go ahead and serve,” Kournikova said, smiling. I tossed the ball and clocked my first serve. It sailed 20 feet out. My heart thumped wildly. Beautiful women have always scared me a little. Right before the toss on my second serve, I remembered what Bollettieri had told me the day before in case I got to play Kournikova. “Don’t hit it to Anna’s backhand,” Bollettieri said. “Ever.” I barely got the ball over the net – right to her backhand. Her two-fisted return whizzed by me like a bullet and knocked clay off the baseline. Oh man. It got a little better. Kournikova had been playing pitty-pat for 45 minutes with the NASCAR drivers, and she had flown from Paris to Miami to Charlotte in the space of 24 hours. She actually missed a couple of shots. I was very fortunate to win the first game. Now it was Kournikova’s serve. Her shoulder was sore, so she was just spinning it in. But the rest of her game was strong. During one point, she finessed a backhand drop shot that sent me sprinting 30 feet from the baseline, only to whiff at the ball and spray clay everywhere. “Safe!” someone in the crowd called. The second game got to 3-all. The next point would win the game. Kournikova served to my backhand. I swung hard. The ball hit the net tape and dropped back on my side. “One game apiece!” the announcer said. “OK, let’s just call it a tie!” “A tie?!” Kournikova screamed. She was just finding her rhythm. She knew – as did I – that she would kill me if we played a third game. “Yes, a tie,” the announcer said. “Let’s get the NASCAR guys back out there.” Kournikova resolved herself to it. She was gracious the entire time in Charlotte – I saw no hint of diva behavior. So I shook Kournikova’s hand at the net and said: “I appreciate you taking it easy on me.” “It was fun!” she said graciously. And it was.