Martina's father told her she could be a champion, and hit with her for hours every day. He pushed her hard, and could be tough and analytical about her technique, but he stopped short of becoming one of those tennis fathers or mothers who try to live their lives through their children. He made sure she was having fun and would say things like "Make believe you're at Wimbledon."

Martina was so boyish, short-haired and wiry, that when she turned 9 and her father took her to meet Czech champion George Parma for possible lessons, Parma looked at her warily and said, "How old is he?" Parma took her out and drilled balls all around the court, and she chased them down. Protigi and coach developed a close relationship, and Martina developed a big enough crush to wish she was old enough to marry him.

Parma had Martina ditch her two-handed backhand, which she had been using all her young life, so she could have more reach and make better volleys. He forced on her the good advice that a mastery of routine shots makes all the difference, and worked with her on strategy and the psychology of match play. Parma wanted her to have the foundation of training he never had, and the Czechoslovak system made that possible.

"In the mid-'60s, the communists could see the value of sports as a way of making people proud and keeping their minds off the less pleasant aspects of life," Martina would later write. "The Communists more or less emphasized a different sport in each country: weight-lifting in the Soviet Union, track and field in East Germany, gymnastics in Rumania, tennis in Czechoslovakia."

In 1968 she lived through the single largest event in Czechoslovakia until the country achieved its independence during the Velvet Revolution in 1989 -- the Soviet crackdown on the Prague Spring. The Czechs beat the Russians in ice hockey in the winter Olympics in France that year, Alexander Dubcek had people believing in the possibility of greater freedom and even an 11-year-old girl felt the excitement in the air. Martina was at a junior tournament in Pilsen -- famous for its beer -- when the Soviet tanks made their move the night of Aug. 20. As much as the Czechs tried to maintain an independent spirit -- unfurling banners like "Ivan, go home. Natasha has sexual problems" -- "socialism with a human face" was history and more than 100,000 defected in the next year, many of them prominent writers, artists and athletes.

"When I was 12 and 13, I saw my country lose its verve, lose its productivity, lose its soul," she writes. "For someone with a skill, an aspiration, there was only one thing to do: Get out."

But she kept working on her tennis, and she even believes her resentment of Russians made her a better player. Offended that a Russian she had defeated wouldn't shake her hand one time, Navratilova told her, "You need a tank to beat me." The same would be true of her opponents when she hit her peak on the women's tour a few years later.

"Martina is probably the most daring player in the history of the game," legendary TV analyst Bud Collins said when Navratilova retired. "She dared to play a style antithetical to her heritage without worrying about making a fool of herself. She dared to remake herself physically, setting new horizons for women in sports. And she dared to live her life as she chose, without worrying what other people thought of her."

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It wasn't so long ago that Navratilova ruled women's tennis; it just feels that way. Saying "Martina and Chrissy" has a way of making the late '70s feel current again. Navratilova and Evert were rivals and friends, and one of the greatest sports tandems ever. "We're matched like chocolate-or-vanilla, jazz-or-classical, two champions with opposing styles competing for limited space at the top of women's tennis history," Navratilova wrote in her book.

The two women played so many memorable games, they all roll together into one endless, up-and-down carnival ride. An intense, wild tennis match between opponents who know each other perfectly can have a transcendent appeal, but the best tennis, like the best novels or movies, has characters people feel they know, personalities who make us care. Navratilova and Evert did that like no one has since.

Navratilova had been Czechoslovakia champion, and she had played in West Germany and England in the West, and Bulgaria, Hungary, Poland and East Germany in the Soviet bloc, but it wasn't until she traveled to the United States in 1973 as an unknown 16-year-old that her life in tennis really got started. Her serve-and-volley game made an immediate impression. She gave former Wimbledon champion Evonne Goolagong a good match before losing 6-4, 6-4, and in the first round of a tournament in Akron, Ohio, lost 7-6, 6-3 in her first match with Evert, who had reached the semifinals at the U.S. Open in 1971 and been a semifinalist at Wimbledon in 1972.

It was Navratilova's pairing with Evert that vaulted her into the realm of unforgettable sports stars. Evert did not just dazzle Navratilova with her talent, experience and easygoing personality, she also posed an obstacle that would eventually require the young Czech to reinvent herself. It wasn't until their sixth match, two years after their first meeting, that Navratilova finally beat Evert. But later that same year, they met at the U.S. Open and Evert won, 6-4, 6-4 -- one of many such victories in that early period that at one point gave Evert a 14-2 edge.

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