Being Goran Ivanišević

The Goran Ivanišević Cycle (Part 2 of 3)

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I wish Goran Ivanišević was my friend.

We'd do everything together, be inseparable, like cheese and a suitably priced brand of water cracker. We'd raid the fridge at midnight together, and I'd eat honeyed leg ham and Goran would eat broccoli pieces dipped in tzatziki.

I'd be in the crowd at all of Goran's matches, and after he gets bailed out of Wimbledon in the second round I'd be there to help him go on a huge bender through the pubs of London.

Goran's an emotional guy, you know? I understand that if he were my friend there would be good times and bad times. He might punch me in the mouth when I tell it to him like it is, but afterwards, when he's calmed down, he'd pay for all the dental work.

There might even be a man-hug in there somewhere.

And if Goran happened to twist his ankle while we're fighting over the affection of a mutual lady friend, why couldn't I take his place in Wimbledon?

I've got dark hair. I'm left handed. I can play a bit of tennis — I'm sure the difference between amateur and pro is merely a few pointers from a good coach.

I could bulk up a bit and grow another six inches. I look like I could be named “Goran”.

I'm unsure why I'm not playing on the pro circuit as we speak. After all those years living in GI's shadow, I'm positive I could be as good at being him as he is.

I am Goran Ivanišević!