Scorecard

The X-Files
After leafing through Dennis Rodman's just-released Bad as I Wanna Be, we'd love to tell you what the Worm writes about his physical relationship with Madonna. But as a family magazine, we can't. We'd love to tell you Rodman's thoughts on the other thing besides money that NBA players are really interested in. But—for the same reason—we can't. We'd love to tell you what happens to Rodman when married couples approach him in a bar after a game. But we can't. We'd love to tell you how Rodman passes the nights he's feeling lonely. We can't. But we can tell you what his Chicago Bulls teammate Steve Kerr said when he received a copy of Bad last week: "I'm going to wait for the movie." A wise decision.

A Champ's Champion
SI senior writer Sally Jenkins looks back at the life of Tim Gullikson, who died of brain cancer last Friday at age 44:

What made Tim Gullikson extraordinary in the tennis world were his ordinary values. As a player he worked hard, cracking the Top 20 in the late 1970s on limited talent, and as a coach he gave something back to the game, whether he was instructing a no-name club player or turning a gangly underachiever named Pete Sampras into the best player of the succeeding generation. Gullikson's career stands as a lesson for a sport in which too often people are felled by burnout or spoiled by excess.

From the day in January 1995 when Gullikson's cancer was discovered until he died last week at his house in Wheaton, Ill., he was never heard to utter, "Why me?" Instead he showed the same determined optimism and competitive spirit he had applied to all his endeavors, whether it was upsetting John McEnroe in the
fourth round at Wimbledon in '79, refining some of the rough edges in Martina Navratilova's game or transforming Sampras into a champion for the ages. "He fought hard," said Gullikson's twin brother, Tom, the U.S. Davis Cup captain, last week, "and he never complained. I was proud of him. In an industry known these days for selfishness, Tim was known for being selfless."

Tim spent his last days surrounded by family: wife Rosemary; son Erik, 13; and daughter Megan, 9. Sampras said goodbye to his coach a few days before his death, while Gullikson was still able to respond to visitors. Not long before, Sampras had struggled visibly with the impending loss of Gullikson, who guided him to six Grand Slam titles in three years and became his closest confidant. "I've thought about not having Tim in my life," Sampras said. "And though it's hard saying it, I might not care whether I win or lose."

Gullikson would not have approved. A month ago he was still counseling Sampras, whom he fondly referred to as "the gold standard." On the phone from his sickbed, while watching Sampras play in the Lipton Championships in March, Gullikson declared his hope of attending this year's French Open and Wimbledon tournaments, despite an incident that suggested traveling was risky for him. On the flight home from his last public appearance, at the U.S.-Sweden Davis Cup semifinal in Las Vegas in September, Gullikson had been stricken by what he called "a little seizure." He had to be hospitalized for several days. Nevertheless he longed to rejoin Sampras on the circuit. "Maybe it's wishful thinking," he said, "but I hope I can go. It's just a matter of health."

In the end that was all that stopped Gullikson from continuing to be everything he could be.

Pick-up Game

Ever since the invention of the motorized golf cart in 1948, duffers have been able to traverse the links with little fear of actually getting exercise. Now comes the latest energy-saving device: the "reversibly elevated golf cup" patented last month by a Houston businessman. A cup is attached to the top of a battery-powered telescoping shaft and placed inside a golf hole. When a ball falls in, the shaft automatically extends, raising the cup to a height of three feet, so the golfer can remove the ball without having to bend.

Of course, this means the truly lazy golfer now will have to think twice when offered a gimme.