It would have rung incredibly false for Sampras’ autobiography to include flowery, wistful and sentimental passages about his career. Anyone who remembers anything about his demeanor, on and off the court during his career, remembers that that is simply not his style. This autobiography is very true to its subject, and in the end it is abundantly clear that it doesn’t take any fancy rhetoric to make Pete Sampras’ life seem fascinating.

A positive upside to Sampras’ aversion to cheap sentiment and artificially aggrandized recollection of emotional experiences is that the events that truly did have a profound emotional impact on him become much more profound. It’s definitely a “less is more” approach. Sampras includes only a limited number of emotional exchanges that he has shared with others. Because of this, those interactions that are mentioned feel much more interesting, complex and even surprising. Expectedly, the ordeal of losing his coach Tim Gullikson to cancer is devastating to read, but there are other, more surprising moments. For instance, when Sampras describes his heartbreaking loss to Jaime Yzaga at the 1994 U.S. Open, he doesn’t focus on what a missed opportunity it was to get another major or on how much more difficult it made his push to end the year #1. Instead, in possibly the most poignant section of the book, he uses the incident to highlight the genuine loss he felt following the sudden death of fellow tennis champion Vitas Gerulaitis. Of course, all great athletes suffer profound loss, make tremendous sacrifices, and deal with strong positive and negative influences in their lives and careers. This book doesn’t break any new ground in this regard, but it still feels like a triumph that Sampras is even opening up at all after having a lukewarm (to say the least) attitude toward public life during his career.

For many, the main attraction of this book will be Pete’s decision to finally open up. In all honesty, I had hoped that Pete would spill the beans about how he really feels about Andre Agassi, Michael Chang, Jim Courier and his other great rivals. The actual result is neither disappointing nor altogether satisfying. In true Sampras form, he doesn’t hold back what he feels. He has some surprisingly negative things to say about the likes of Courier, Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe and Tom Gorman. However, none of it is overly gossipy or vindictive like Vince Spadea’s autobiography, Break Point!, often was, for instance. This is obviously not meant to be a score-settling book. Sampras calls things as he sees them, and he constantly reminds the reader that he is only speaking from his own perspective. Truly, it’s almost aggravatingly responsible of him. He does, however, include a much-appreciated appendix at the end in which he analyzes the games of some of his best rivals and the matches he shared with them. This is probably the most colorful section of the book, and I admit I read it first. Some of his comments, especially concerning Mark Philippoussis and Yevgeny Kafelnikov, made me cringe. They were so sharp. Still, there is something to be said for that level of brutal honesty.

One of the unorthodox storytelling techniques in this book is exhibited in the way Pete tells the story of his complex and compelling relationship with Agassi. Sampras has almost nothing to say about Andre over the course of the book and he is not mentioned at all in the appendix. This was becoming more and more disappointing, and I was becoming convinced that this was not an oversight but intentional avoidance. Without spoiling the beautiful and fitting way Pete finally offers his perspective on their careers, I will say that it is well worth the wait when it finally comes.

While this book is certainly a wonderful achievement, there are a few little problems, both technical and aesthetic, which became hard to ignore as I moved through it. The main offenders are the factual errors that appear somewhat frequently. Some of these are just incorrect stats that might make only the biggest tennis buffs roll their eyes. Even a cursory fact check would reveal that Agassi was not in the 1995 Wimbledon final and MaliVai Washington was not in the 1994 one. These errors scream out at you because Sampras was, in fact, in both of those finals. He should know. There is also a bit of redundancy when describing matches with certain opponents. Almost every time Sampras mentions playing Courier or Todd Martin or Chang, he describes them as “my old pal” or “my old rival,” and if you never really reconcile yourself to Sampras’ and Bodo’s straightforward writing style, these details can be very tiring.

In the end, however, these are minor flaws. The book has clearly defined objectives and succeeds at every one of them. Those who liked Sampras before will grow to like him even more, especially when the circumstances behind his rise to greatness are presented. Those who disliked him before will probably dislike him even more, given his stubbornness and continued cavalier demeanor.

In my opinion, that’s what makes this book so successful. He doesn’t try to rewrite history or futilely remake his own image. He just presents, as he says in the introduction, who he “really” is. Some may know a better or worse side of him, but I am inclined to believe he does just what he promises.