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SEVEN MIRRORS STAND WAITING ON THE STAGE. Becker takes his position before them, and the photographer starts snapping, belting out commands to the assistants who stand behind each mirror, adjusting. "No. 4, you're making him look like a giant," the photographer says.
"I am a giant," Becker says, and whether he is being serious is unclear. As a player, he assumed regal prerogatives, took massages during bathroom breaks, set up to receive serve only when he was good and ready. Of Wimbledon, he'd say, "This is where I live." Before each match that's how he would act.
"The attendants used to come in and say, 'Mr. Becker, five minutes,'" says Nick Bollettieri, who coached him in 1994 and '95. "He was in his jogging clothes, didn't pay attention. 'Mr. Becker, four minutes.' He would take the clothes off, fold them piece by piece. Go into the bathroom. 'Mr. Becker, it's time.' He would come out, slowly put on his tennis clothes. 'Mr. Becker, it's time.' But he wouldn't pay attention, and no referee said a word. They were scared shitless."
There are signs — a telltale use of the third person, a low-grade paranoia — that Becker's sense of his own importance has not diminished with the end of his career. If anything, two months on the front pages of German newspapers have convinced him that he still takes up much space in the public imagination, his travails a delight for the masses. "Finally: a little payback," he says. "Becker was the winner for so long. 'The best in tennis with the best-looking wife, beautiful kids, money, he's smart — whatever he touches is gold!' In Germany they thought they had me in a box, and they can't cope with the fact that I'm 33, single, so they stir it up. Because I am so much in that country."
Even now, Becker is the biggest name in Germany, eclipsing singers and chancellors. In the 20 months that he has been spokesman for AOL Germany, the public's awareness of the brand has more than doubled, and his signature line, "Ich bin drin!" (I'm in!), has become the country's catchall phrase for going online. "I don't know if a Michael Jordan comparison is strong enough," says AOL Germany marketing director Phillipp Schindler. "Boris' sympathy levels are outstanding. He is the German superstar."
This can carry Becker far, obviously, and he will need it. By the end of his playing days, the youthful clarity that so pleased Ion Tiriac had been muddied. Becker didn't train as hard as before and bullied opponents with his stature. "He knew a lot," says Bollettieri. "What he didn't know, he thought he knew; and he would intimidate people into thinking that he knew it."
BECKER HAS DONE WELL WITH HIS THREE MERCEDES DEALERSHIPS outside Berlin and by lending his name to AOL, DaimlerChrysler, Völkl rackets and the rtl television network. But his venture online was less successful. The German sports site Sportgate, of which Becker owned 60%, shut down two weeks ago, just three months after launch, with insiders blaming disagreements among the shareholders. In 1999, Becker's stint as Germany's Davis Cup manager also ended in failure, largely because he couldn't get along with one of the country's leading players, Nicolas Kiefer. That same year Becker was the front man for a $300 million bid by the London-based agency Prisma to market the ATP Tour, but Prisma lost out because Becker demanded too much control. His short stint advising Australian star Mark Philippoussis at last year's Wimbledon fizzled too.
"He said he wanted to coach me and to help me with all sorts of things outside tennis," says another pro, Germany's Tommy Haas. "He promised two years ago that he would come to all the Masters Series tournaments because he had to go to them anyway [to do TV commentary]. That promise never came through." Becker's explanation: he wanted not just to advise Haas part time but to take charge of all decisions — coaching, marketing, scheduling — since, he reasoned, any failure would be blamed on him anyway. But Haas didn't want to split with IMG, and it's probably just as well: by then Becker's life had frayed at every seam.
Just as his marriage started to crumble, Becker's longtime business manager and close friend, Axel Meyer-Wolden, died of cancer in 1997. Two years later Becker's father, Karl-Heinz, died. Boris, a star since he was 16, had never indulged in the usual experimentation nor made the usual mistakes of a boy's late teens. Few were surprised when, at 32, he began indulging himself as never before.
His final day as a player, at Wimbledon in 1999, stands like a doorway between his glorious past and his soiled present. Becker, who'd made his name serving and volleying, lost in straight sets in the fourth round to serve-and-volley specialist Pat Rafter. Becker knew he was done. He had liked sitting in the locker room during the rain delays that day, talking to older players back for seniors matches, but he felt removed from the whole scene, as if watching someone else complete his career. After losing he met with the press and began drinking. Barbara was seven months pregnant with Elias. She wanted to spend the night alone with Boris, but he had other ideas.
"This is the night!" Becker recalls. "I'm officially out, no way back, and I'm celebrating with my buddies, and we drink and drink. I have a big argument with her, and she goes crazy and I go crazy, and I say, 'This is a very important day of my life. On this night, I don't want to fight; it's not allowed.' But she went on and I went on, and I drink more. I was crazy."
He ended up at Nobu with friends, and there was Ermakova, the colossal blunder he didn't make until his career's last day. He was still buzzing with the thrill of his final match, still wanting a piece of the action. Then he was in a closet; standing outside himself for the second time that day, he watched someone named Boris Becker drunkenly sire a daughter. "I had no idea what I was doing," he says. "It wasn't an affair. It was just poom-bah-boom!"