Naletjel na fejsu na jedan dobar osvrt na Gorana:
"He was born with fire in his veins and a racket in his dreams. Goran Ivanišević, the son of Gorana and Srđan, came from the coastal beauty of Split, Croatia — a place where passion and chaos often dance together. As a boy, he was wild. Not reckless, just... untamed. Jelena Genčić saw that spark. She didn’t try to dim it. She fanned the flames, helping mold the tempest of emotion and talent into something that could someday shake Centre Court. And eventually, it did.
Goran turned pro in 1988. He was just a kid — lean, raw, unpredictable. That same year, he paired with Rüdiger Haas to grab his first doubles title in Frankfurt. A sign of things to come. But doubles was never the full story for him. His heart belonged to the one-on-one chaos of singles — the battlefield where he could go to war with himself just as much as his opponent.
In 1989, as a no-name qualifier, he ripped through to the quarterfinals of the Australian Open. But it was 1990 when the world took notice. He walked into Roland Garros and slapped Boris Becker out in the first round — a shocking upset. Then he waltzed into the quarterfinals like he’d always belonged there. That same year, he and Petr Korda finished as runners-up in French Open doubles. A few weeks later, he made it to the semifinals at Wimbledon. It was poetic — he beat legends, lost to Becker, but won hearts. Stuttgart gave him his first singles title, and he helped Yugoslavia win the World Team Cup. Then the world changed.
When Croatia declared independence in 1991, Goran left the Yugoslav Davis Cup team behind. Politics and identity collided. He was no longer just a tennis player. He was a symbol. That same fire that burned in him as a boy now had a purpose — to fight not just for points, but for pride.
By 1992, Goran had become a walking contradiction. He was one of the most feared servers on the planet — leading the ATP in aces, smashing records — and also one of its most fragile minds. He could demolish an opponent in one set and implode in the next. But that Wimbledon... that summer... that changed everything.
He took down Lendl, then Edberg, then Pete Sampras — a gauntlet few have ever faced, let alone conquered. In the semis, against Sampras, he blasted 36 aces and didn’t face a single break point. Not one. And then came Agassi — the flashy American with the heart of a lion. The final was a five-set war. Goran had chances. He served 37 aces, but double-faulted twice in the final game, his nerves short-circuiting at the worst time. Agassi won, but Goran didn’t lose the crowd. Or the respect. Or the legend beginning to grow around him.
Later that year, he brought Croatia its first Olympic tennis medals — bronze in both singles and doubles. He carried the Croatian flag high at the opening ceremony in Barcelona. He had no Grand Slam yet, but to his people, he was already a hero.
The next few years saw him knock again and again on the gates of greatness. Wimbledon runner-up again in ’94 — beaten by Sampras. Grand Slam Cup winner in ’95. Five singles titles in ’96, including the Hopman Cup with Iva Majoli. He got close at the US Open too, reaching the semis after ending Edberg’s Grand Slam career. But always, always, Sampras stood in the way, the final boss Goran could never quite defeat.
Then came 1997. On the red clay of Davis Cup, Goran did the unthinkable. He beat Thomas Muster — the king of clay — in a five-set epic. Muster had won 112 of his last 117 matches on clay. Not that day. Not against Goran.
But the years started wearing on him. Shoulder problems crept in. The results waned. In 1998, one more Wimbledon final. One more loss — again to Sampras, again in five grueling sets. It was as if destiny was taunting him, over and over, right at the doorstep of glory.
By 2000, the frustration boiled over. At the Brighton International, he broke all three of his rackets during a match. No rackets, no play. Defaulted. Asked about it later, he laughed bitterly. “At least when I’ve finished playing tennis, they’ll remember me for something,” he said. “They’ll say, ‘There’s that guy who never won Wimbledon, but he smashed all his rackets.’”
But fate wasn't done with him yet.
In 2001, Goran’s body was battered and his ranking had plummeted to 125 in the world. Too low to even qualify for Wimbledon — unless the organizers gave him a wildcard. And they did. For old time’s sake? Maybe. For magic? Definitely.
He tore through the draw like a man possessed. Beat Carlos Moyá, Andy Roddick, Marat Safin. Then came Henman — the British hope, playing in front of a delirious home crowd. Rain delays turned the semifinal into a three-day saga. But Goran triumphed, emerging from the chaos with his shirt torn, his eyes burning, his body trembling.
The final was pure drama. Patrick Rafter, the Aussie gladiator. Five sets. Three hours. A 9–7 finish. Goran fell to his knees. Wimbledon champion. Finally. A wildcard. A warrior. A Croatian dream come true.
He wasn’t just the first wildcard to win Wimbledon — he remains the only one. His 213 aces that year? A record. That final? A fairytale. He dedicated it to Dražen Petrović, the Croatian basketball legend who died too young. His homecoming to Split was mythic — over 150,000 people, fireworks, a sea parade. Goran, in his boxers, leaping into the Adriatic. He was their king.
That title would be his last. Shoulder surgery in 2002. A few farewell matches. A final goodbye at Wimbledon in 2004, bowing out on Centre Court against Lleyton Hewitt. Then, in 2005, Croatia won the Davis Cup — and though Goran didn’t play, his spirit hovered over the team like a proud guardian.
Today, when people talk about Goran Ivanišević, they don’t just speak of serves and stats. They talk about madness and magic. Of a man who argued with himself on court, who played with his heart on his sleeve, who lost three Wimbledon finals... and still came back to win one when no one believed.
He wasn’t perfect. He was passionate. And sometimes, that’s better than perfect."
