John McEnroe: from the autobiographical book “Seriously”
Until this very day, I often have the feeling that my name is written right on my forehead. It is difficult to walk along the street, wherever it is, without someone noticing me and not shouting, as if we were in fifth grade together.
In most cases, it’s nice. Of course, I can survive without being asked for an autograph in the middle of dinner. And in fact, I do not like to give autographs to those who are more than 11-12 years old. Well, what can my handwriting, like a chicken’s paw, give a person, if he is not a child – well, maybe, apart from money in the market for sports paraphernalia? And believe me, my signature is not that much worth it. I don’t get tired of such compliments. I feel proud that I deserve them. And I must admit it – some part of me is flattered by such attention. Continue reading