Jay Mariotti Tennis

So what do people want from their heroes, anyway: after-the-fact transparency or the perpetuation of fraud? Here we are, still wading through the slime of the Steroids Era, rightfully crucifying juicers for trying to hide behind walls of deceit. And yet, some of the same critics are pummeling Andre Agassi for volunteering 12 years after his sin -- when it would have been far more convenient to keep living the lie -- that he failed a drug test and deceived the ATP by writing a letter claiming he "unwittingly'' used crystal meth.

The admission, in an autobiography called Open,' is crippling to Agassi's reputation as one of sport's good guys. By outing himself, he hurts his family, his numerous charitable causes, his credibility and the image we have of his complete body of work, not good when one of his defining ad campaigns once had him declaring, "Image is everything.'' Knowing the damage that was forthcoming, he came clean nonetheless about his recreational drug problem, unlike the high-profile baseball stars whose performance-enhancing crimes have been revealed in investigations and exposés.

He was shrinking into someone else, wilting and cracking and melting down. Try as he did, he couldn't generate sufficient torque and let his first serve turn wilder than a podunk mayor throwing out a first pitch. He lost tiebreakers, which rarely happens, and he committed 15 unforced errors in the fifth set to merely four for a 20-year-old foe in his maiden Grand Slam final experience. Worse still, Roger Federer did something unbefitting a dignified, placid champion who speaks elegantly, wears stylish sweaters and counts Vogue editor Anna Wintour among his friends.

A gentleman lost his famed equlibrium, crashing for the shocked masses to see after Juan Martin del Potro challenged a shot via the electronic line-calling system -- which, by the way, Federer loathes. "No, no, no. I wasn't allowed to challenge after two seconds. The guy takes, like, 10. Every time. You can't allow that stuff to happen. Do you have any rules in there, or what?" he barked at chair unpire Jake Garner. When he was basically told to shut up, Federer responed with the latest obscenity in an expletive-filled tournament that should have been called the U.S. Bleeping Open.

Turns out the angel has fangs. Can we ever look at her the same way again? With one malicious, threatening, swaggering, finger-pointing, racket-waving, f-bombing tantrum, Serena Williams took a sword to her legacy and did irretrievable damage. Just when we were starting to project her place in history -- her 11 Grand Slam singles titles, the perseverance of the Williams sisters as they became black champions in a largely white sport -- Serena deflected our eyes from her prominence to her startling petulance.

Such vitriol is going around, of course. Whether it's Kanye West dissing poor Taylor Swift at the MTV Video Awards or Joe Wilson shouting "You Lie!" at Barack Obama on the floor of the House of Representives, America is filled with angry bursts as the first decade of the 21st century ends. But Williams was supposed to be beyond such ill behavior, a credit to her sport and race and country. And when she took a stab at a mea culpa Monday, issuing a third apology after two cheap attempts, even that came across as too little, too late.

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He dropped to his knees on the clay, the dreaded clay, and released years of agonizing pressure with a scream. Then came the tears, the long hugs and the lofting of a trophy toward the sky, all performed with a finality that puzzled me. Yes, Roger Federer at last had seized the French Open, the one crater on his Grand Slam resume. But he'd done so only after Rafael Nadal, his injured nemesis, was bounced in a fourth-round loss that ended his 31-match winning streak at Roland Garros.

This is akin to having a tryst with Angelina Jolie while Brad Pitt is in a coma. It's a bit misleading, wouldn't you say?