The day after the Indian Wells "Charity Hit for Haiti," I was humored with another of Agassi's selfish assertions. Wasn't his dig at Sampras's stinginess, petty? And Sampras responded with his usual brand of bland. Wouldn’t it have been more fun if center court had turned into an ice hockey rink and they had an honest go at it?

What did you get out of it? Here's my story:

Saturday, Trisha showed up with more than her usual abundance of energy. Whether it was violin, volleyball or tennis, she was overly obligated to form and power. Years ago, when she was "corporate," she managed alone - not getting feedback to help recognize her talent or potency; when she loved, she was monogamous before the fourth date - she pushed and prodded, not letting the relationship breathe; she currently lives alone wondering what she's being punished for.

"The ball was too close to me," was her sonata of the day. As though she were victimized, she panicked and then struggled to move out of the way of the ball. Her feet tried to kick her out of trouble for a few shots and then tired; her arm lurched away from her body into the position she thought it should be in - but without context to where the ball actually was. Her shots flew all over the place.

I had a clear thought: just by walking out on the court, she invited the ball to her home, but she was not welcoming it in. Isn't welcoming a gesture of open arms? She had lots of requirements and no tennis ball could ever meet them. I asked her, "Would you be willing to welcome the ball in, no matter what it looks like?"

She smirked at the idea of allowing for a potential robbery or vilification of her property. I added more visual for her, "Erase your rules for this shot - it doesn't have to take its shoes off, remain sober, eat vegan, or like your taste in furniture, drapes or art. Just welcome it in and connect with it - like a humble and gracious host. Not like Agassi last night."

I was not surprised when her first shot caught the center of the strings, screamed across the net, and dipped into the backcourt.

She dropped her racket in disgust. "I always fight for my agenda and my conditions. I have to stop fighting myself," she moaned.

"And when you hit a shot like that? What causes the racket drop?" I asked.

"It's too easy, too simple, like I wasn't important."

"So your snarky attitude toward the ball that arrives at your door is about needing to feel important?"

"Agassi," she started, "got snarky when he thought Pete was getting more attention."

"So, do you wanna hit a few balls and trust your importance without having to snark? If you don't feel important, you can begin to face it."

She went out to hit without her need to prove, without wearing her fears on her sleeve. She seemed quieter. She was more fluid and her shots traveled faster.

"This is a rare moment for me," she said. "I have nothing to complain about. When I welcome the ball into my wheelhouse, I just have to accept it as it is; accept that it'll be different each time and that it's welcome."

Andre and Pete, fighting with yourself or others is never pretty and doesn’t work with your profiles. What do you two still need to prove? Welcoming each other into your new lives might put the ball in your wheelhouses. Then maybe you'll be free of this petty larceny and move on to appreciate your legacies, your tennis, and yourselves?

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