By Harvey Araton

Nobody was waiting to take Brad Gilbert's picture or ask for his autograph yesterday afternoon out on Court 9 at the National Tennis Center. Word got out that Andre Agassi was scheduled to hit there, probably bare-chested, and that sure was one alternative to Karel Novacek and Jaime Yzaga on the Stadium Court.

"They're waiting for Andre?" Gilbert said, of the growing crowd and the fidgeting newspaper photographers. Gilbert was roaming the men's locker room,looking for someone to hit with. He had booked Court 9 in Agassi's name, the way you would drop a name making reservations for dinner. His protege, Agassi the United States Open savior, happened to be taking the afternoon off.

Nobody has ever squealed when Brad Gilbert removed his shirt, or carried his own racquets onto the court. Gilbert is 33 years old, has been on the tennis circuit forever, the junkballing Tommy John of tennis. He has won 20 career titles, was ranked as high as No. 4 in 1990 and no one who has ever spoken his name has used the word underachievement in the same sentence.

Once, Gilbert sliced and soft-balled John McEnroe out of the 1985 Masters in the first round at Madison Square Garden. McEnroe ended the match with an absolute tantrum, screaming that losing to the likes of Brad Gilbert was about all that he could take. So McEnroe took most of the next year off, which for him was really the beginning of the end.

Gilbert was not insulted. He kept cutting his shots, working his points, setting his traps. He banked almost $5 million in career winnings. He wrote a book last year, "Winning Ugly." No one accused him of writing fiction.

One day last March, Gilbert was in Key Biscayne, Fla., playing the Lipton International, when Agassi, Mr. Image is Everything, walked up to him and, in so many words, cried, "Help!" Gilbert blinked to make sure he was seeing straight. Beyond being right-handed and always appearing badly in need of a shave, Brad Gilbert and Andre Agassi had about as much in common as Stephen Hawking and Donald Trump.

On the tennis court, their differences broke down to what Agassi said after outlasting Michael Chang in a five-set match on Labor Day and what Gilbert recycled yesterday afternoon.

"I've won a lot of matches I shouldn't have won," Gilbert said, "and he's lost a lot of matches he shouldn't have lost."

The two went to dinner. Gilbert remembers Agassi saying that his career was drifting and he didn't quite know what to do. Gilbert's immediate response was something to the extent of "Cheez." The conversation soon moved to what Gilbert thought of Agassi's game. He thought that Agassi's basic game plan, under the tutelage of his former coach, Nick Bollettieri, amounted to hitting the ball as hard as he could, without regard for his position on the court or the score in the game. In other words, Agassi played dumb tennis.

"When I played him, I always felt that if I hung in there, something good would happen," Gilbert said. "He was just hitting the ball. I told him, 'At 30-love, you're playing with the casino's money. That's when you go for a big winner. At love-30, that's when you've got to be patient, build your point. You don't go for some wild shot.' "

After his dinner with Andre, Gilbert suddenly discovered himself in the coaching business. Agassi, his ranking having bottomed out after a year of injury and indifference, made the Lipton final. He decided that Gilbert knew what he was talking about. The Open, which Gilbert has skipped while nursing a chronically sore hip, is their 11th tournament together. Agassi finally looks like a player with a purpose.

He not only physically wore down Michael Chang earlier this week, he also made Chang jettison his own inexhaustible supply of patience. In the quarters the other night, Agassi tore into Thomas Muster's weak backhand, never let him find his baseliner's rhythm by mixing smart and potent approaches in with his own heavy ground strokes. He has begun to work on his serve.

Next comes tall Todd Martin, in tomorrow's semifinals. Poor Martin. He is tall, handsome, decent. He is an American in his third 1994 Grand Slam semifinal. But the other night, when the USA Network had time to kill after Agassi wiped out Muster, instead of showing highlights of Martin's afternoon quarterfinal, it went into the can for Jimmy Connors versus Paul Haarhuis, 1991.

That's tennis, where grunge sells, where Agassi is the great blight hope. If he can solve Martin's serve-and-volley game, if he can go all the way, Coach Gilbert will finally be a star, the man who reinvented Andre Agassi, who added soul to rock-and-roll.

Agassi, of course, has been to the semifinals and even the finals here before. Even with Pete Sampras out of the way, he still has to win. He still has critics who believe his one Grand Slam title, Wimbledon 1992, was the result of one sweet draw and a final against Goran Ivanisevic, a more accomplished gagger than Agassi.

"I've always said that a lot of guys choke when they're young and when you're 33 because you know your chances are limited, like Lendl," said Gilbert. "Between 22 and 25, that's when your brain becomes capable."

In Agassi's case, at 24, maybe he just became smart enough to ask for help.

Copyright 1994 The New York Times Company