On a Rolle

The time is now for Miamian Ahsha Rolle, who’s not at NASDAQ

Seven days before Federer, Sharapova, and company rolled into town for the NASDAQ-100 Open, twenty-year-old tennis prodigy Ahsha Rolle walked slowly from Crandon Park Court #14.

After showing off her 115 mph serve, blistering groundstrokes, and wicked slice, Rolle calmly surveyed the construction site surrounding her: Noisy workers were busily erecting grandstands and polishing corporate logos. A Warsteiner beer pavilion was sprouting just steps away from the court where she has practiced for the past year.

At five feet eight, 150 pounds, with muscular arms and legs, Rolle is arguably the most promising Miami-Dade talent since Mary Joe Fernandez was a perennial top tenner in the early Nineties. Yet as the world's best pros headed for Key Biscayne, the African-American player was going in the other direction.

"Tomorrow it's Redding," she said, referring to the Northern California town where tournament prize money totals $10,000, a fraction of NASDAQ's $3 million-plus purse. Moments later she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her tennis bag. "Then there's Hammond, Louisiana; Jackson [Mississippi]; Pelham, Alabama. I need 60 points," she concluded, flashing a glance at the looming stadium, "to get into the big tournaments."

Life in the minor league of tennis is nothing new to Rolle. She's been doing it full-time for two years now, and though she doesn't mind tennis's unglamorous underbelly — the Comfort Inns, the small crowds, the low pay (winning Redding equals $3000) — it all must end. Soon.

Ahsha's voice softens when she talks about her parents' sacrifice. Sharon and Leon Rolle, who have bankrolled her thus far — spending hundreds of thousands of dollars — are tapped out. Six months ago, she explained, Mom cashed in her 401K. "They've already burned through their retirement for me," she said. "I need to win."

This fate, according to Don Petrine, long-time tennis pro at Pinecrest's Royal Palm Tennis Club, is typical. "The harsh reality is you can't play this game professionally if you're middle-class. It will crush you financially."

The Rolle family is middle-class. They own a four-bedroom, 3000-square-foot house in a comfortable Miami Shores neighborhood. Ahsha's father is a retired lawyer. Her mother, also now retired, was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company.

But that middle-class comfort existed before Ahsha and younger sister Tiya, who followed her sister into the game, developed an interest in the sport.

It all began innocently enough in the summer of 1994, when nine-year-old Ahsha peered out of the Miami Shores rec center window and saw folks playing tennis next to the railroad tracks. Then Sharon and Leon sent her to a local pro. She took an immediate liking to the sport and soon was a nightly fixture on the courts at Miami's Moore Park, on NW 36th Street in Allapattah. By the time she was twelve years old, Ahsha was ranked 104th in the state.

To compete with the state's top-flight talents, Ahsha began making weekend trips to Orlando and Tampa. But that wasn't enough. To reach the next level, a pro advised the Rolles, Ahsha needed a full-time coach.

In summer 1996, the Rolles got extremely lucky. Gibson Beautelus, a former star player at Miami Jackson Senior High, who was teaching kids at Morningside Park, agreed to coach the twelve-year-old full-time for free. (Leon estimates this saved the family at least $10,000 a year.) Beautelus worked with Ahsha for six hours each day. Within four months, her ranking soared to fourth in the state.

But then the Rolles learned a maxim about tennis: "The better you get, the more expensive the game becomes," Leon said. Ahsha was no longer satisfied with regional competition; she was a national player. To raise her ranking, she had to compete with top juniors: the Easter Bowl in Palm Springs, the Fiesta Bowl in Phoenix, the Super National Clay Courts, the ITF grass courts in Philly, the ITF hard courts in Jersey. "Those are musts," said Leon, "and there's the Peach Bowl. And they're kids. You have to travel with them.

"It cost us 30 grand a year — conservatively," Leon added. "And we did that for four years."

When she was in her late teens, Ahsha's ranking wavered around fifteenth in the nation in her age group. She was recruited by colleges across the country. Nearly 50 inquired, including Florida, Georgia Tech, even Harvard.

But Ahsha was too hooked on the game.

"My goal with Ahsha, and all kids, is to get them the scholarship," Coach Beautelus said. "She was there." Her parents were there too — excited about her college options.

Ahsha insisted on going pro, though, hitting the circuit full-time in 2004. She played 26 tournaments that year, logged hundreds of thousands of air miles. Her ranking inched up. She ended the year in the 600s.

But money again was a problem. Aside from an equipment deal with Wilson (rackets and strings), Ahsha didn't attract any sponsors. "I was just thinking they would come to us," Leon said. "We heard about these girls making two million up front, but the big companies never called. They seemed to go for the young European girls."

In addition to the steep travel costs of the circuit — "it's at least $60,000 a year," Leon said, "double that of the junior tour" — the family had to, at one point, invest in a "hitting partner." Beautelus, working pro bono, couldn't leave Miami regularly. So they hired a pro for $3000 a month to travel with Ahsha.

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