Master's Voice

Jim Courier is about as Australian as huckleberry pie. Born in Sanford, Florida, now a resident of New York, he built his tennis on a fierce work ethic rarely seen Down Under. Yet the former world No. 1 has become the carrot-topped face of the Australian Open, which runs until Jan. 27. Courier is back for a fourth straight year as the headline act of local broadcaster Channel Seven's coverage, which includes his jocular, self-deprecating interviews with the sweat-soaked evening victors. While not to everyone's taste, these as much as anything have made him known to millions of Australians. Every bit as insightful as his Seven predecessor, John McEnroe, Courier presents as a lot more likeable.

In connecting with the locals, it's helped that Courier in his prime made his mark on Melbourne, winning back-to-back Opens in 1992-'93 and celebrating each with a fully clothed plunge into the city's contaminated Yarra River. He also played in one of the tournament's most famous matches — the 1995 quarter-final against Pete Sampras, who labored through the five-setter while distraught over the ill health of his coach, Tim Gullikson. Late in the match, noticing Sampras sobbing, Courier called across the net, "Are you all right, Pete? We can do this tomorrow, you know." Though laced with compassion, his words steeled his friend. Sampras won the epic at 1:09 a.m., but Courier won many new admirers that night.

Australians sense that Courier, co-founder of an event promotion company and active on the seniors circuit, relishes his fortnight at Melbourne Park. Being played this year on a new, blue, supposedly quicker surface, the Open is booming: since 2004 it's achieved its four biggest attendances ever, peaking last year. And Courier's stature and enthusiasm for the event have helped drive the surge in interest. "There was a time," says Courier, 37, "when the Australian Open was a stepchild to the other three [grand slam titles: the French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open], but that hasn't been the case for quite some time." Hope and friendliness define the Open, he says. "Hope because it's the beginning of a new season. The players are fresh and full of vigor. And friendliness not only because of the nature of the Australian people, but because it's the most relaxed of the majors. It's not like being in New York City and having to fight traffic to get out to Flushing Meadows."

In the booth, however, Courier's past deeds and fondness for the host country would count for little were he not a fine color man. His first broadcasting assignment was for a U.S. network at Wimbledon in 2001, when he had, he says, "pretty heavy anxiety on the flight over because I'd had no formal training." He needn't have worried. From the start, he's talked nothing but sense, and with a flair and lucidity you might not expect from someone who has spent a fair chunk of his life whacking balls. He has a few pet expressions — great shots, for example, are "absurd" or "ridiculous" — and a way with metaphors: during a first-round match at last year's Open, he remarked that while Lleyton Hewitt looked toned, his American opponent Michael Russell "is jacked!" Another time, when co-commentator John Alexander chided a player for not playing "percentage tennis," Courier spoke for many when he responded: "J.A., I'm not here to see percentage tennis. I want to see brilliance."

In his classic 1993 book Winning Ugly, the former giant-killing player turned leading coach Brad Gilbert had this to say about Courier: "He tries to the maximum on every single point of every single game of every single set . . . I get the feeling he probably brushes his teeth ferociously." Effort in the form of preparation remains a feature of the Courier way, the more so nowadays when fewer and fewer faces from his era remain on the Tour. Behind the scenes, he'll seek out players and coaches for the mail on the sport's turks, and fill his head with facts. On air, his trick is to avoid unloading these in a torrent but to work them into a narrative. "I'm very stream of consciousness," he says. A compliment from peers like Sampras and Andre Agassi means the most. "You can't please everyone — that's something we all learn as we go through life," he says. "But I do want what I'm saying to ring true in the locker room."