Hers is a story of Gods and demons and lost innocence, and more money than you or I will ever see. It's one of those things that writers love to inflate and blow up even bigger than it really is, just as I have done in the very first sentence.

Maybe it's just the story of a little girl who had the same kinds of problems as millions of other kids all over the world. No, it's definitely more than just that, but maybe the difference boils down to the gifts that brought the spotlight.

There's never been anyone like Jennifer Capriati, and the powers that be in the tennis world have initiated Age Eligibility Rules to ensure that there never will be again.

She was the most hyped tennis prodigy in the history of mankind, and unlike other media-creations she delivered immediately.

Immediately, at the age of thirteen, in her very first WTA tournament, the Virginia Slims of Florida, With the cameras rolling and the gallery oooh-ing and aaaaah-ing and shouting and clapping she won her first match, then her second...she won her first five, including wins over #16 Nathalie Tauziat, and #10 Helena Sukova. She rocked and rambled all the way to the final before losing to Gabriela Sabatini.

A star was born. Star wasn't the word for it. Who could ever forget the orange-juice commercial quality photographs with Chrissie Evert? Billie Jean King came out of retirement to play doubles with the girl!

She reached her second final in her third WTA tournament, this time losing to Martina Navratilova. She debuted at #25 in the rankings, was seeded at her fourth event (Italian Open), didn't drop a set in reaching the semifinals of the French Open...at that point her career match record stood at 21-4. When she reached the round of 16 at Wimbledon (as the #12 seed) before falling to Steffi Graf it appeared that she was beyond all but the greatest players.

Graf stopped her again at the same stage of the US Open, but Jennifer took her first title at the next tournament in Dorado. She was ranked in the top 10 of the world at the age of 14. Hers was the brightest future of all the futures ever seen in the world of tennis.

The erratic tennis began in late 1990 and continued on into 1991. Her performance on the European clay-court circuit was a bit less than the previous year, but she was only 15 years old.

She defeated defending champion Navratilova in the Wimbledon quarterfinals, then quickly added titles in San Diego (defeating Seles, the two totaled 33 years of age) and the Canadian Open. She reached the semifinals of the US Open, quickly followed by the finals in Philadelphia.

But let's not leave the US Open semifinal so hastily. It was there that she fought the epic battle, with the eventual champion Seles, of such magnitude that it's still shown with regularity on ESPN Classic. Incredible sonic baseline rallies, instinctive strategy and touch, emotion in spades; the match had it all. Had it all. This was, everyone knew, the new rivalry: Evert-Navratilova all over again, but better. Something like Navratilova-Navratilova maybe.

She was 15 years old, ranked sixth in the world, and had endorsement deals worth $4.5 million.

Poised on the precipice of world dominance she strangely sputtered, routinely reaching the semifinals and quarterfinals of tournaments great and small, but unable to get back up over the top. There were hints of major cracks in her psyche, but everyone brushed them off due to her tender age. She wept openly on court after losing to Sabatini in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open.

Then came the breakthrough that everyone was waiting for. She came back from a set down to Graf in the Gold Medal match at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, immediately followed by another tournament win in San Diego.

Of course at this point the wicked witch steps in, or whatever: the breakdown that no one was looking for. Capriati's game became spectacularly inconsistent. She played well in early 1993, winning at Sydney, but the year degenerated into one befitting someone with half her talent and gifts: wins over the lowly, but very little against the best. Up and down, back and forth like an aircraft losing power without explanation she reached the Canadian Open finals, but was dropped by Leila Meshki in the opening round of the US Open. She fled, again in tears.

The bottom had dropped out. She wouldn't play another tournament for over a year, and was instead arrested for shoplifting, and then for marijuana possession. The latter arrest, especially, had the sort of overtones that the media couldn't resist, with an older male at the hotel party arrested on heroin charges.

Of course the reality is that you can't live in suburban America without knowing three or four teenagers on the block undergoing the same sort of maturation difficulties; but other kids hadn't been built up high enough to be torn down, hadn't made a lot of money, hadn't played and beaten legends, weren't primed to have their deficiencies exploited. "I was very young and I was experiencing my adolescence..." began the mea culpa of later years.

Absent for more than another year, and after cancellations and rumours of cancellations, she began her second career in February of 1996 in Essen, where she reached the quarterfinals. Oh how the mighty had fallen, but it was a lot better than the other kind of court.

Her game continued to fluctuate wildly, but she ended the year strong, reaching the finals in Chicago. It goes on like that for another two years, finals at Sydney, bottom falls out hopelessly again, injuries and rumours of injuries at the periphery all the way.

Finally in May of 1999 she broke through again, albeit in a smaller way, winning on clay in Strasbourg. She stormed up 62 spots in the rankings (to #53) in the month of May alone.

This was, of course, followed by disappointment and inconsistency, but she ended the year on another up note-picking up another title in Quebec City. She was ranked in the top 25, and most experts figured that was about as good as it was ever going to get again.

Such expectations might have been appropriate for mere mortals, but Jennifer Capriati was selected by the Gods, with a forehand touched by....I dunno Mars or somebody like that.

She stormed out of the gate into the 21st Century with a vengeance and determination to claim what was rightfully hers: She defeated Mary Pierce and then Martina Hingis to win the Millennium Cup exhibition in Hong Kong, and then reached the semifinals of the Australian Open. In March she defeated Serena Williams in Miami. By mid-April she had reached #12 in the world, her highest ranking since 1994.

Then a sadly predictable thing happened. She fired coach, and 1970s clay-court legend, Harold Solomon, ran into trouble with injuries, and received extensive press for playing around with her boyfriend Xavier Malisse (the Belgian Davis Cup player) instead of practicing.

Her play validated everything that her critics were saying about her. She reached the round of 16 at Wimbledon and the US Open, but that's all a bit like bragging that you can do 100 km/h in a Ferrari.

In Luxembourg, just a week ago, she took her ninth career tournament victory. It wasn't a big tournament, no, but a win is a win. Before the champagne quit bubbling she was defeated in the opening round of the Porsche Grand Prix at Filderstadt.

A young lady who was an international legend and made millions of dollars hitting tennis balls before the rest of us were allowed to borrow the family car on Saturday night is on the prowl. We may not understand her ways, may wish she had a different coach, may wish a lot of things different for her...

But the past is the past and it's going to stay that way. She says that being happy is more important than winning, and by all accounts she's a happy young lady. The gifts are hers. She'll use them as she wishes, but the window isn't going to be open forever.

Wouldn't it make for a happier middle age if she could look back and remember 2001 as the year she dedicated herself to using the powerful weapons she has for good? That would be, of course, beating the hell out of Martina Hingis and those Williams sisters!

This article originally appeared in ZoomTennis, December 2000

and so it came to pass. I love happy endings, but now it's time to go home