The basic arc of Andy Roddick’s life goes something like this:
One day you’re a chirpy, hot-shot teenager with a thunderclap serve, who wears a baseball cap on a tennis court before that becomes a thing, and then one day you’re not good enough anymore, because inevitably nobody is. In between, you go to the top of a sport that doesn’t love chirpy teenagers in baseball caps all that much.
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Then one day you wake up and you’re a soon-to-be middle aged guy at the end of his career, wondering what the rest of your life is supposed to look like. There has to be something else besides 27 holes a
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