- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
- TAMPA BAY buccaneersENEMY lines WHAT A RIVAL COACH SAYSJune 28, 2012
- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
Let's pretend you are, say, an insurance salesman. You're damn good at your job, world-class even. You clock in every day. You miss family functions on account of work. You try like hell to improve your performance rating and keep ascending the ladder. But there are these two colleagues--siblings, no less!--blocking your progress. They seem to pop into the office only when the mood strikes. They miss all the meetings and those insufferable "team building" outings because they're off acting or designing clothes or doing Lord knows what else. They take lots of sick leave, too. But when there's money on the table, they're the best around. They swoop in, perform with breathtaking skill and close the biggest accounts. Argh!
So perhaps you can commiserate with the rank-and-file on the WTA Tour. Most of the women are full-timers, devoting their lives to tennis. Yet, again and again Serena and Venus Williams emerge, often from far off the radar, to win the biggest tournaments. At January's Australian Open, Serena entered ranked No.�81, having played just four events in all of last year, and took the title. Last week at waterlogged Wimbledon, it was Venus's turn.
Williams the Elder descended on London ranked No.�31, seeded 23rd only by virtue of her previous grass-court success. She had played so poorly last month at the French Open, failing to get past the third round, that her father, Richard, said she might as well shelve her rackets. Even at Wimbledon she was hardly the picture of single-minded focus. She read. She played with the Mac program GarageBand. She strolled hand-in-hand with her boyfriend, PGA Tour player Hank Kuehne. "I was like, 'Shouldn't you be concentrating more on your matches?' " her mother and coach, Oracene Price, says with a laugh.
No matter. On Saturday, by the time Venus had pasted her final serve and lasered her last crosscourt forehand, capping a stunning display of grass-court tennis, she had won her fourth Wimbledon singles trophy. She was the lowest-ranked female ever to take the title. She added still another chapter to her family's endlessly engrossing narrative. And none of it surprised her. "I always believe in my game," she says. "Losing never really crosses my mind."
Hear that? Plenty is made of Williams's unmistakable physical gifts, and they were on vivid display last week. It's not for nothing that Williams has won four of her six career majors on the lawns of the All�England Club, a surface that rewards movement and power. The best athlete in the history of women's tennis, Williams scurried from sideline to sideline, not only reaching every ball but also blasting it back. Her average serve for the tournament traveled at 115�mph, a speed that all but seven other female players failed to clock even once. Williams even won her share of points at the net. But ultimately this was more a triumph of will than of ability. For all her other assets, Williams possesses the most precious tennis gift of all: boundless self-confidence. Like Serena, Venus is, as she puts it, "a big-match player." To her way of thinking, self-belief conquers all, from stale form to nagging injuries.
In her first- and third-round matches Williams struggled to find the court with her ground strokes and was a few points from losing to no-names. On the brink of elimination, however, she summoned her best tennis, simply refusing to miss a ball. Then she faced three of the WTA's top six players-- Russia's Maria Sharapova and Svetlana Kuznetsova and Serbia's Ana Ivanovic--and made steak-and-kidney pie of each of them. Like most courtside observers, Williams sensed fear across the net. "No matter what [I'm] ranked, I think the other players feel at a disadvantage," she says. "They feel like they have to play their best, and I have to play not my best."
In the final Williams held off Marion Bartoli, an endearing, little-known French player who noted that Pierce Brosnan's courtside presence inspired her seismic semifinal upset of top-seed Justine Henin. Coached by her father, Walter Bartoli, a doctor who quit his practice in a rural town to travel with her, Marion plays quirky tennis predicated on angles rather than on brute force. Williams was initially thrown off by Bartoli's unconventional style and two-fisted forehand, but she adjusted, showing a knack for strategy and finesse that she's too seldom credited with having. "When she plays like this on grass, it's not possible to beat her," Bartoli said. "She's just too good, you know?"
Williams's renaissance helped salvage what was, until late in its second week, a doomed event. A column in the Guardian went so far as to suggest that this was "the worst [ Wimbledon] ever." During the first week of play there were three attempted car bombings in the U.K., leading to tightened security at the All�England Club and a palpable sense of unease. And then the rain came--so relentless that one half-expected to see animals lined up in twos near the Tube station--saturating the courts and constipating the match schedule.
The tournament cannot be blamed, of course, for terrorist sleeper cells or for inclement weather. But the organizers did themselves no favors by stubbornly favoring ritual over common sense. As a result we saw just how fine a line there is between charm and obsolescence. Despite a gloomy second-week forecast, there were, in keeping with tradition, no matches on the middle Sunday--which, naturally, was a gloriously sunny day. "It's a residential area, and we have to respect our neighbors' day of rest," said a club spokesman. The decision, which disrupted the rhythm of the tournament and deprived the common fan of a weekend session, became all the more maddening when three days of rain followed.
Again owing to tradition, the tournament insists on forgoing tiebreakers in the third set of women's matches and the fifth of men's. With clear skies at a premium and the schedule already snarled, one men's doubles match ended with the absurd score of 5-7, 7-6, 4-6, 7-6, 28-26. What's more, many of the scheduling decisions were illogical. French Open champion Rafael Nadal's contentious third-round match against Sweden's Robin Soderling spanned five days and eight rain delays, the two men marching mindlessly between court and locker room like Buckingham Palace guards. "They don't think very much about the players here, maybe," groused Nadal.