PARIS -- Neither the spring chill nor the intermittent rain nor his own impending puberty -- the kid is, after all, almost 16 -- could obstruct the inevitability of Richard Gasquet at the French Open.

	Richard Gasquet earned his French Open wild card after he became the youngest player to win a match at tour level in 14 years in Monte Carlo.

They've been waiting for him for what seems like an eternity, of course -- they including not only his peers and patrons but the city, the country and in many ways the sport itself. At 9, he was on the French version of Tennis Magazine. At 12, he won the Petit As tournament, the same unofficial junior world title that Grand Slam champions such as Michael Chang and Richard Krajicek had held -- when they were two years older. Last fall, he and his family gave up their home in a tiny village of Languedoc-Roussillon province in the South and moved to a one-bedroom apartment in Paris (mom and dad slept in the living room), so he could train right here on the grounds of Roland Garros. Then in Monte Carlo last month there was that stunning debut where he defeated Franco Squillari and nearly took a first set off Marat Safin. Suddenly on Monday afternoon, there he was bounding onto the red shale cauldron of the big time -- The Gas Man (uh, Boy) Cometh -- Righteous Richie Gasquet running off his first four games of his first round at his first French Open before the wily clay-court veteran, Albert Costa, knew what had bludgeoned him.

Gasquet went on to win that first set and at least temporarily confirm the hope and promise that not many of his tennis-playing forebearers have ever been obligated to do. One of those players' names graced the court he debuted upon, and if Gasquet can recover soon enough from his 3-6, 6-0, 6-4, 6-4 two rain-delays, defeat to the belabored, bethankful Costa, he could possibly go on to have something approaching a Suzanne Lenglen-like career. At least, the expectations are that outrageous.

"I don't think about the (famous) names, the predictions, the pressure," Gasquet says through a translator (he speaks little English), phhsssing his lips with that characteristic Francophilian dismissal. "I just play the matches."

But Costa (the 20th seed here), an exquisite clay specialist from Spain, who has won 11 tournaments on the soft stuf -- more than any active player except the defending French champ, Gustavo Kuerten -- was more vocal. "(Gasquet) has unbelievable game, unbelievable shots. It was like playing one of the top guys," he said. "I expected more mistakes, but the kid doesn't miss. He was taking control of me early. I'm just lucky it rained. For sure, no doubt, he will be a great player."

Following an athletic infancy of Tigerish proportions, it's no wonder Gasquet has been considered Europe's most accomplished prodigy since Boris Becker nearly two decades ago. Some -- well, Lionel Faujare of the French Tennis Federation for one -- go a bit further. "No technical flaws. Always gets the ball in. Never misses. How good a player is (Richard)? He is like Mozart," says Faujare, and he wasn't talking about Howie Mozart who runs that dry cleaners over on the Left Bank.

	“	It was like playing one of the top guys. I expected more mistakes, but the kid doesn't miss. He was taking control of me early. I'm just lucky it rained. For sure, no doubt, he will be a great player. ”
		— Albert Costa

Moreover, Gasquet is a lank and lean, 5-foot-11, 180-pound mass of quick-strike moves with plenty of room, not to mention years, to expand into his loose-limbed frame. Having grown up on the eight cement (rather than clay) courts of a small-town club in his Mediterranean hometown of Serignan (population 6,000) where he was coached by his father, Francis, and his mother, Maryse, the kid became an all-court player with an innate sense of both touch and tactics. His hallmark one-handed backhand -- prepared with his arm and racquet saluting as one high above his ear at a direct right angle with the ground -- is the result of his innate talent as well as a serious hole card. But Gasquet can bring formidable gas from both sides, and his second serve is already dynamite.

Not that the 15-year-old -- brown curls and pimpled visage lending him the look of the poor kid who always gets it the worst from That Teen Flick Slasher -- doesn't know he's terrific. Gasquet moves about the court with a maturity and confidence that belies his shy, quiet manner off the playing surface. Still, he seems somehow surprised everything is happening so soon. "I'm afraid to imagine how big all of this is and if it can get better," he says. "I expected players in the top 100 to hit the ball harder and to serve faster. But they do keep the ball in court for longer, which means you have to run much more."

Back in Serignan, so near the Spanish border the native patois is as close to Catalan as any French dialect, Gasquet's parents never forced him into the game. He took to hitting the tennis ball against the practice wall on his own. At 3 ½ years old! They also didn't send him away to one of the French Federation's residential centers because, says Maryse, "he is our only child and we like to have him around." Little Richard -- imagine drab old tennis coping with that new nickname -- grew up so modest he wouldn't let his school publish his tennis results in the school bulletin.

Even before the Gasquets moved to Paris so their son could train at Roland Garros and partake of the national coaching of Eric Winogradsky -- Yannick Noah and Amelie Mauresmo have also bunked out on the grounds -- those results had become too impressive to hold him back. Wild-carded into the qualifying in Monte Carlo in April, Gasquet absolutely embarrassed Nikolay Davydenko 6-1, 6-1 (when the teen saw his opponent in the locker room afterward, the Russian was in tears) and Adrian Voinea. With his subsequent victory against former French semifinalist Squillari in the main draw, he became the youngest player to win a match at tour level in 14 years.

In Paris, as Gasquet became the second youngest to play in the men's draw (Francois Errard in 1983 was three months younger), he faced another inevitability, as well. In ironic melancholy he exited his first French just minutes after his idol, Pete Sampras -- sadly clay-whipped once again -- may have exited his last.

Looks like The Gas Man -- or Boy -- cometh just in time.

Curry Kirkpatrick is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at curry.kirkpatrick@espnmag.com.