Murray and Gilbert: The difference a coach makes

Brad Gilbert's spectacular impact with Andy Murray in just a few weeks has emphasised the vital relationship between tennis players and their coaches. As the pair prepare for next week's US Open, Nick Bollettieri, who has honed more than his fair share of champions, reveals the secrets of his trade

I'm in the Big Apple ahead of the US Open and I can assure you that Andy Murray is creating one hell of a buzz. Andy has potential by the sackload, and since he's started work with his new coach - my good friend, Brad Gilbert - his results have been incredible.

The big talking point, on the verge of the last Slam of the season, is what exactly does a coach do to get a player performing to the best of their abilities? The answer is as varied as the number of players that exist because everyone is different - and most are totally nuts in their own ways.

From my own experience of working with numerous Grand Slam champions, there are 101 personas a coach needs, from teacher to motivator, scout, psychologist, restaurant booker, kit man, surrogate parent, cheerleader and many more.

Elsewhere I explain what Brad is doing with Murray, who spent a good part of this week using my academy in Florida for pre-Open preparations. Andy had a blast with us. Tommy Haas and Xavier Malisse were around to hit with. Serena Williams was there with her father, Richard. Andy even had the chance to meet a supermodel, the "Uptown Girl" Christie Brinkley, who was visiting with her kids.

I had the pleasure of spending some time with Andy, and took him and Brad out to dinner at my local Italian, Gio's. Andy's the nicest kid you could meet, a huge talent who seems more than willing to put in the work he needs to succeed.

Getting a player to do that work, and keep doing it, is the coach's goal. Each stage of a career demands different input. With young, developing players - I worked with Andre Agassi, Monica Seles and Maria Sharapova at that stage - coaching is about strokes, and fundamentals, and then, as they move into tournament play, the other aspects come into it.

Experienced players need something different, as I found with Boris Becker, a multi-Slam winner on the slide when I agreed to become his coach in late 1993. In our first couple of weeks together, I watched in awe as he got himself in shape and I barely said a word in terms of direction. This guy was meticulous, and superstitious, down to the way he unfolded his clothes, got dressed and took new rackets from their wrappers. What can you say to a phenomenon who's done it at the highest level?

Eventually Boris said to me: "Can you actually talk, Mr B?" As anyone who knows me will testify, the answer to that is in the affirmative. I replied: "Yes I can, my boy. But I know if I say the wrong thing to you, I'm going to be in the shithouse."

With Boris I knew advice always needed to be concise - and make a difference. For example, advising quicker hip and shoulder rotation on his backhand swing so the racket was in place when he reached the ball, leaving only the forward part of the swing to execute. Details matter and margins win you matches.

Often I'd give just a 15-second tip before a match. If there was one occasion that epitomised the role, it was Becker v Agassi in the Wimbledon semi-final of 1995 when Agassi - my former golden boy, then being coached by Brad "Winning Ugly" Gilbert of all people - was the opponent.

It was a humdinger waiting to happen, on all levels: skill, power, technique, mental toughness, and all charged with the intense emotion of a grudge match - by everyone involved. Andre, often with me at his side, had beaten Boris in their previous eight meetings.

Tactically, I told Boris to: one, mix up your position when receiving serve, keep Andre guessing; two, keep the ball deep, keep Andre at or behind the baseline to deny him early power shots on the rise. Those were the main points, but I also said: "Boris, don't you dare put your head down if he beats the crap out of you early. Don't show for one second he's getting to you."

I fully expected Andre to come out blazing, quicker to his peak than Boris. He did. It was incendiary stuff and Andre rapidly took a 6-2, 4-1 lead. But Boris did not waver, he dug deep to maintain focus and apply the strategy. And he came back to win that second set on a tie-break and the match in four. There was no shame in then losing to Pete Sampras in the final.

Great players know their desire to win must come from within. Sometimes the assistance they need is understanding they have the right to believe in themselves.

Richard Williams sent Serena to me before the 2002 French Open. Serena was pissed off at coming second all the time, to Venus. "You don't have to any more," I assured her. I worked Serena so hard that week, exhausting sessions, mainly to prove to her she had the capacity to be superlative, in all ways. She won the French, and she came to me for a week before each of the next five Slams, four of which she also won. She'd turned the corner in the most sensational fashion imaginable because she believed utterly in herself.

Jim Courier never lacked belief, nor guts, nor stamina, nor scrapping ability, but if there was one area he felt uncomfortable with it was his backhand. "Hey, Jimmy, don't worry, they'll pick on the backhand, sure, but be physical, get in their face," I told him. I made him believe that the backhand was OK. It was all about that essence: making your player a believer. "It's good that opponents keep going for your backhand," I told him. "Because you can beat them up anyway, and hey, while you're doing it, they're giving you free practice on your backhand."

Sometimes it's necessary to set out ground rules, explicitly stating what you expect. I did that with Mary Pierce, writing her an enormous letter at the end of 1994, our first full year together, during which she'd climbed from No 12 to No 5. It was, in effect, a conduct contract seeking her commitment, laying down what I expected from her on court, off court, in her personal life (it shouldn't get in the way), in her fitness, her weight, her mental approach, and her game. This letter was many pages long but the bottom line was: Mary, if you accept all of this, I'll help you. If not, I won't.

Mary knew I told it straight, she'd known that a long time. Earlier in 1994, I'd even said to her: "Mary dear, you aren't too bright on the tennis court. You might even be unintelligent." I'd just wanted to ram home the message that I thought she was thinking too much and not trusting enough to instinct, her great gift. "Forget about strategy and finesse and do what you're best at. Get up on that baseline and whack the crap out of every ball."

Of course, winning Slams is more complex than that, but I always felt Mary needed the message up front. The complicating factor was that Mary always looked to the stands for help. She was dependent to the point of not knowing her own mind on court at all.

The acid test came at the Australian Open of 1995, when I had to leave Melbourne after the quarter-final. Mary faced Conchita Martinez in the semi. I called Mary with the game plan when my plane to the US stopped in Hawaii. "Make her hit on the run. Move in when she slices. Use your angles. Get depth on your second serve. Power through her. And Mary, dear, do it for yourself, and make sure you whack the crap out of the ball." She won, and met the world No 2, Arantxa Sanchez Vicario, in the final.

The advice was simple. "Your opponent will chase down your very best shots time and again, trying to force you into bigger shots, and errors. Don't fall for it. Every great return she plays, start the point again in your mind. Every shot is your first. You're not frustrated. Play your game, hold your nerve. You can do it. Even if I was there, I could do nothing to help you on court."

Mary won the final 6-3, 6-2.

Every player is different, as is every match. Knowing what to do, and when, to get the best from your player, and then actually getting your player to do it, is what being a coach is all about.

Master tactician who was always a step ahead of rivals

I've known Brad Gilbert a long time, since he was a young touring pro who used my academy to polish his strokes and strategy; not that he often gave me much credit!

My admiration for him grew especially through his work as Andre Agassi's coach. Brad's a great guy who never stops talking, but is actually quite quiet, very thoughtful and always one step ahead. He's a true family man, and I'm honoured that his son, Zach, is currently at my academy.

So what is Brad doing for Andy? I'd break down his input into four categories: mental, physical, practical, tactical.

Working on a player's mind and attitude is crucial. I believe I'm good at making players feel good about themselves. I try to get in their minds, and then get more out of them than they think they have to give.

Brad will be doing that with Andy, telling him simply, 'You have a future, I believe you can achieve great things'. But by the same token, he will be honest and make it clear when he disagrees with Andy. Brad is no ass kisser.

Physically, Brad is working on building Andy's strength and muscle mass, with planned input from one of my academy's conditioning experts who does a lot of work with top NBA stars. The rewards will only truly come a year or more from now. Brad is also giving other nuggets of advice, like telling Andy to dip his hands in pickle juice to harden the skin and prevent blisters.

The practical arrangements are varied, but Andy's training times, travel plans, hotels, tournament schedule and every other aspect of his day-to-day life will have input from Brad. Even Murray's meal times will be altered as necessary. Lunch was moved to 11am one day this week because of the afternoon's training.

Which leaves tactical help, Brad's trump card. He's got a vast knowledge of current tour players and he's an excellent tactician. One example was the plan against Roger Federer recently. I'd guess Brad's pre-match talk was: "Utilise your cross-court shots fully. Pump Federer's backhand continuously, pressure it, unsettle him. Keep him deep with your double-handed backhand. You can beat him up." And he did, with Federer, albeit tired, unable to cope with the consistency of those sustained power strokes to the point that he started hitting inside-out forehands from deep positions in a failed attempt to dig out of trouble.

Two matches later, Murray faced Andy Roddick, Brad's former player.

Murray lost that one. Tiredness and Roddick's better physical shape were understandable factors. But what stood out for me was it could have been Jimmy Connors v Brad Gilbert out there.

Connors is Roddick's new coach and Roddick's new "in your face" attitude mirrored his coach's, just as Andy's brilliant court tactics have mirrored Brad's.