A Letter to Anne-Gaelle Sidot

Dear Anne-Gaelle,

My name is Dennis McIntyre and I’m thirty-five years old. I live in Scarborough, Ontario, Canada.

On June 26th, 2000 your self-described “obligatory style of baseline tennis” came to my attention. You were playing at Wimbledon. I was watching on the television in my parent’s bedroom in Mississauga. You beat Anna Kournikova 6-3, 6-4 in the third round.

And what a match! You dismantled the “John Daly” of tennis in just over an hour. I was glued to the screen. Afterward, I remember the camera closing in on your un-expectedly smiling face as you packed up your rackets; while walking to the tunnel, you waved both hands to the rapturous crowd.

And then you had the post-match interview with Billie-Jean King, your sweat drenched hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks rosy, flush from exertion. It was a special day for me as it must have been for you: it was the highlight of your career!

This isn’t a fan letter. I’m not some crazed person who writes to famous people- you’re not actually that famous, anyway. But you’re a human being like me. It’s just that I think we’re a lot alike, that we’ve lived the same type of life, a life of great potential cut short from what it could have been.

Let me tell you a little about myself. I was an honours student at the University of Toronto school of Dentistry. The “prodigy” as my professors called me. They said they’d never seen anyone make a teeth-mould quite like Dennis McIntyre.

Then it all fell part. It was the spring semester of my third year. The course was DEN321H1, Pharmacology. I got addicted to fluoride. I was missing classes, staying up all night with tubes of the stuff. I started stealing it from the office I was doing my practicum at, Dr. R.F. McNeil’s in Oakville. Instead of using it on patients I pocketed it, took it home, etc…. Needless to say, I got expelled and barred from the profession.

I’m clean now- ha- but my name is tarnished. I find myself working at Lady Footlocker in Scarborough selling women’s shoes. It’s all right, I guess, but nothing compared to the thrill of removing plaque!

It saddens me that you stopped playing at the tender young age of twenty-three. You must have dreamed of walking out to Centre Court at Roland Garros and winning the French Open in front of the hometown fans?

Do you ever question the missed chances, the opportunities, the double-faults, the unforced errors? I used to fear slicing gums with a periodontal scaler, or letting a suction tube slip down someone’s throat. It’s kind of the same thing, right: succumbing to the pressure in the critical moment?

Since you dropped off the circuit in 2002 I’ve often wondered what you do, the path your life has taken. Through a little independent research, I’ve found that you teach at a local academy, in Montiigon, mentoring young French girls, enriching them with your experience as a professional tennis player. But that has to be limiting, living in the background of others future successes, successes you never had?

My excommunication from dentistry has been difficult. I miss root canals and the extraction of wisdom teeth. My only consolations come from slyly telling Lady Footlocker customers the right type of toothbrush to use or that they have a winning smile. I spend long evenings reading Oral Health Journals wondering what could have been.

I know the circumstances surrounding my failure in the field of Dentistry are different from the reasons you retired from professional tennis- a persistent injury such as plantar fasciitis, or your overall lack of success at the sport? I’m can only speculate. But my point remains: we both could have been something more than we were.

I don’t want to spook you with this letter. It’s not like I’m some Line Judge screaming, “Out” when you thought the ball was clearly in. I’m just a normal guy living in the shadow of a former dream, a little lost, and down on my luck.

I’ve got some money put aside and I’m a three-quarter qualified dentist. So, Anne-Gaelle, I’m going to make a proposition: I come to France and we begin a life. I’ll set up an office in the apartment we discover together. Every morning I’ll clean your teeth with loving affection- you’ll have the perfect Parisian smile! In the afternoons we will go down to the nearest clay court and you can beat me six-love, six-love- I’ve even made a trophy that says, “Anne-Gaelle Sidot – Champion of ‘Our’ World.” In the evenings we’ll drink Bordeaux, snack on crackers, cheese, olives and the finest cured meats. In this way, through each other, we’ll satisfy the desires we never achieved: champion tennis player and practicing dentist.

I’ve anticipated your acceptance of my proposal. So, I’ve taken it upon myself to learn your language and familiarize myself with the many aspects of “la culture Francaise,” such as the poetry of Arthur Rimbaud.

In closing, I’ll leave you with a quote from his poem A Season in Hell, to which you can surely relate: “In the dawn, armed with burning patience, we shall enter the splendid cities.”

Faithfully awaiting your response,

Dennis McIntyre