DATE: Monday, July 14, 1997                 TAG: 9707120018

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B11  EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Opinion 

SOURCE: Ann Sjoerdsma 

                                            LENGTH:   85 lines

WHETHER TYSON OR BECKER, SAME OLD ``WINNING IS EVERYTHING''WHAT THE HECK'S WRONG WITH PLANTING THE FLAG OF ACCOMPLISHMENT AND THEN TAKING THE TRIP DOWN THE MOUNTAIN SLOWLY, EVEN LEISURELY?

U. S. sports media pundits sunk their teeth into every biting pun known to man in chewing out bad-boy boxer Mike Tyson for his recent Van Gogh act in the ring. They had a field day.

But when Boris Becker unsportingly upstaged Pete Sampras by abruptly retiring after losing in a Wimbledon quarterfinal July 3 to the eventual champion, nary a media creature stirred. Nary a biting comment was heard.

``This is my last match at Wimbledon,'' Becker whispered at the net to Sampras, who was so stunned that he asked the 29-year-old German to repeat what he had said.

Later, the pundits would stand and applaud: A great athlete makes a great exit in the twilight of his career. Boom-Boom Becker, gone. But what thrills he gave us when he was in his prime!

Aaah, baloney. Only my longtime, favorite tortured-soul tennis player John McEnroe, turned smart, shoot-from-the-hip TV commentator, told it straight: ``I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. I think it's just another blow to (men's tennis). He's the biggest personality we've had in the last 12 years. . . .''

And more than a little spoiled.

Mac, of course, has had intimate experience with early exits by ``great athletes.'' At 26 and stinging from a loss to McEnroe in the 1981 U.S. Open, the precision-tuned Bjorn Borg packed his toys and emotional baggage and went home. And he never came back.

While it may seem a stretch to compare blood-and-guts boxing to country-club tennis, and Tyson, 31, a bullying thug and convicted rapist, to Becker, the humble, gracious Hamlet of professional tennis, the two aging athletes have something in common.

First, because of their particular sports, they're both ``naked'' out there, as McEnroe would say, solitary warriors - as each of us ultimately is - fighting for their lives. And second, and more important, they both suffer from a condition that the late James Jordan aptly ascribed - in a colossal understatement - to his extraordinary son Michael: a ``competition problem.''

Which is to say that an obsession to win grips his mind, squeezing out all rational thought and making every sporting contest a supreme test of his ``stuff.'' Of who he is.

A ``competition problem'' can make a champion of a talented athlete. But it can also so corrupt the pleasure of sport - whether it's pro tennis, weekend golf or girls' soccer - that there is no pleasure of sport left, only pressure. No gratifying process, only an all-or-nothing goal.

Though Becker claimed that he planned his surprise retirement, I ain't buyin' it. Boom-Boom has a ``competition problem.'' The former Wunderkind, who won the first of three Wimbledon titles in 1985 as an exuberant, carefree 17-year-old, quit because he lost, just as Tyson bit because he was losing.

Does anyone imagine that Becker would have retired if he'd beaten No. 1-ranked Sampras?

Despite a long-term case of angst and a serious wrist injury, the very fit Becker can still beat anyone on the tour - except for Sampras. Why isn't that enough? Why must he torture himself with his failure, as Borg did, instead of enjoying his success?

I love tortured souls; they're my kind of people, provided they're self-aware and not too maudlin. But there comes a time when all tortured souls must get past the torture, already. Evander Holyfield has said the same to Mike Tyson when he talks about the now-``revoked'' ex-heavyweight champion learning to be a good person.

But consider: If a brooding German philosopher can't stand the heat, how's a crude American like Tyson to manage?

Contrast them both with Jimmy Connors, who ``played like a caged animal'' - his words - and made the U.S. Open semifinals at the age of 39, completing his transformation from brash punk to ``The People's Choice.'' Connors had a major - a major - competition problem, but he made it work for him. After his championship days were over, he thrived on being the underdog, on proving himself when others doubted him. A new challenge.

At his retirement conference, Becker explained: ``I always wanted to go out on top . . . of the mountain. I can only go down.''

What the heck's wrong with planting the flag of accomplishment and then taking the trip down the mountain slowly, even leisurely? What's wrong with being a champion of character, personality, wisdom or staying power - a survivor, a mentor - instead of the invincible, but short-lived young star everyone wants to beat?

Et tu, Boris? MEMO: Ann G. Sjoerdsma, an attorney, is an editorial columnist and book

editor for The Virginian-Pilot.

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