Trophy Son(58)

I nearly thanked him for the gratuitous analysis.

Gabe said, “If we appeal?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Chi Chi, keeping the floor from Alan. “I’ve looked at this from a lot of angles. I pushed for a Therapeutic Use Exemption but there was no support for me on that. Back-dating an application for a TUE from you would be tricky, and there has been no apparent injury or media coverage of an injury to support the claim. Plus if it ever got out which substances came up in the test, that wouldn’t line up either.” He raised his hands. “The point is, I’m trying to help you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Gabe.

“Gabe, you’re dead to rights,” said Chi Chi. “There’s no appeal. That would be just a big media circus, and nobody wants that.”

Gabe nodded.

Chi Chi said, “But there’s good news in all of that, if you listen to exactly what I just said. Nobody wants a big media circus!” He looked from Gabe, now to me. “You’re the number one fucking player in the world!” He sounded like Raul Julia. “That’s the point of leverage I’ve been working on your behalf.”

Alan looked frustrated and I realized Chi Chi was a rogue operator trying to handle this in a way that made lawyers squirm. He wanted my test gone as much as I did. Not because he liked me personally. He liked that I sold tickets and TV rights and tennis needed a clean image to keep growing revenue.

I still hadn’t heard my sentence issued and I didn’t feel ready to speak. Gabe said, “Where did that leverage get us?”

“Well, again, this is highly political,” said Chi Chi. “We don’t want our number one player out on a drug ban. But we can’t just do nothing either. That won’t fly. The ITF leadership is clear that they won’t hand out a pass on this. So where does that leave us? How do we satisfy both?”

Gabe and I looked at each other. I had the feeling he was right that we might get a sweet deal.

“A six-month suspension,” said Chi Chi. He looked back and forth at us both trying to gauge a reaction. Gabe and I stayed stone faced. “But we won’t call it a suspension. There’s no need to label it. As a practical matter, you will not play for six months. Release a statement about some injury, make something up that takes six months to heal. Take some time off.” He smiled his biggest yet. “So you do six months. Call it a vacation, call it a suspension. What’s in a name?”

Gabe and I looked at each other. I was thrilled. I knew Gabe was too. This was the best outcome he had hoped for but he was savvy enough not to look thrilled in front of them. “Six months is a long time,” he said.

Chi Chi looked annoyed for the first time. “Gabe, this is a gift and you know it.” His comments were all directed to Gabe. “You know we have to come down with some punishment. I’m saving your athlete’s neck here. It’s six months, and that overlaps December which is a month out anyway, so you’re really looking at five. You can keep training, quietly, off the radar. Anton keeps his reputation, all that nice money coming in on the side. And tennis avoids a black eye.”

“Well,” said Gabe.

Chi Chi pointed a finger at Gabe. I could see he had plenty of fire behind the smile. He had been sent here to sew this up, make sure we cooperated. “You need to work with me on this, Gabe. It’s the best deal you’ll get. Take it now, as is, or I promise your life and Anton’s life will turn to shit.”

Gabe looked at me and nodded. I nodded back then said to Chi Chi, “Alright.” My one and only word of the meeting.

The group’s focus returned to Alan who said, “This is a verbal understanding between the parties. For a period of six months, commencing today, Anton Stratis agrees that he will not enter any ITF-or ATP-sanctioned event, nor will he play tennis in public in any way that demonstrates he is at full physical health during the six-month period. Should you apply for entry to any event your application will be rejected. The ITF reserves the right to publish the drug test results in the future if it feels in its own judgment that Anton Stratis has not fulfilled this agreement in good faith.”

Chi Chi was smiling again. “Call it a wrist injury. Show up to play again in six months, wear a brace, put a little mascara on it. Enjoy some vacation, then boom, boom, boom, you’re back in.”





CHAPTER

40

I couldn’t sleep well. One thing I’d always been able to do with excellence and consistency was sleep, but that skill had left me literally overnight. I became like an upset octogenarian who complains he can never get more than a few hours snooze at a time.

My youthful battles with OCD had shifted to hours of staring at the ceiling in a dark room, wandering mind, hallucinating eyes, trying warm milk, trying warm milk with bourbon, getting up to pee six times and returning to bed each time with a new configuration and body contortions, like running on a treadmill that moved me back farther from sleep the faster I tried to run toward it. By the middle of the night I was the most alert and crazed I’d be in a twenty-four-hour period.

The daytime would be shot. I’d muddle through a workout with Gabe then take a nap which would certainly condemn me to another night of hell.

It started exactly when my sentence began. My absence. I could call it neither a vacation nor a suspension, so when the team needed to make reference to that six-month period, we’d taken to calling it my absence.