Tennis was once described to me as "boxing without the punches." The game may be more associated with the upper class and its country clubs, strawberries and cream and tea socials, but the analogy is still true: With the exception of boxing, there is no other sport like it. There are two people fighting. There was no assistance. There weren't any timeouts. There were no friends. There is one winner.
Since Serena Williams' announcement in Vogue earlier this month that she will be retiring from tennis after the US Open -- after 27 years, 23 singles majors, 14 in doubles, two more in mixed doubles, and, for good measure, four Olympic gold medals -- the air around her has been a The individual is represented by Williams, who has been a professional for nearly 30 years. Her time from braces to baby has created nostalgia and reflection for her and her fans. Her sponsors, the kits, the looks, and the blonde hair remind her fans of her victories and her rivalries. She's been their constant.
Serena has been the center of attention in tennis for the past three weeks. She will face Danka Kovinic on Monday night.
There are people watching and people doing things. The customs of this narrative are that Williams is the great champion making her last stand at her home major. She won the first major of her career at the Open. The watchers looked to the future when Naomi Osaka beat Serena in the US Open final. The elegiac poetry of time is seen by them.
There is no poetry for Serena Williams. The champion, the lion in winter but still a lion, plays along. It is against the fighter's nature and that of their successors to leave the throne. Transition is a fairy tale. For those who live and die in support. While her leave from the sport may be voluntary, Serena's viselike grip on excellence is not going to be loosened. She's 410th in the world. She's played four matches this year and won one. She has lost to an opponent ranked 100 or worse three times over the past two years, and technically a fourth when she withdrew with injury in the second round of the French Open. The last time Serena played 10 tournaments in a year was seven years ago.
She lost in the first round to the world's 115th ranked player at Wimbledon. She did not win a set against top players in the first round. The final seven games of the match were won by the home team. Serena isn't choosing her successor according to the comforting language. She is not considered a favorite. The torch isn't being carried. She doesn't have control over the torch.
When the Vogue article appeared, in addition to the tears and emotion of Serena fans, one recurring thought was the sadness of watching Serena take a beating at the hands of players she once dusted in her sleep. It was hard to watch the greatest champion losing to an average player.
Tennis is a sport. I thought back to October 2, 1980, and June 10, 2016 when I saw it. In Las Vegas, LarryHolmes destroyed Muhammad Ali, in Louisville, at Ali's funeral. The fight was sad carnage. Ali had sparring partners in the early years of his career. He trained with Ali before he defeated George Foreman in the 1974 Rumble in the Jungle.
The torch was not passed from the master to his successor. The fight between Ali andHolmes was not fair. The way he would cry at the funeral 36 years later was the same way he would cry when he was battered by his younger charge. He was a big fan of Ali. He was his hero. This was not a ceremony. Ali was removed from the throne. It was not love at first sight. It wasn't like a ritual where each combatant plays a role and emerges with their dignity. It was heartbreaking. It was worse than the last moment of Ali's career. It was a relief when Berbick decimated what was left of the movie. The torch wasn't passed. It was a kind gesture.
ritual and its language are needed by watchers. One's time has passed and the passing of the torch means cooperation and acceptance. For the watchers, this defeat is part of their journey and there will be other matches in the future. The idea that torch-passing requires players to be in on the ritual is what collapses the language. The watchers want it both ways: to celebrate the obdurate, championship mettle, to watch them fight to the end as they always have, but then also to surrender their position to the future. The final stage of the ritual is being beaten badly because it does not work. There is no third way to win a championship or leave the stage.
Serena admitted in her Vogue essay that she was not comfortable with her role in the drama. She doesn't want to use the term "retirement" because it's exactly what she'll do soon. She says she is not going away. She likes the term "evolving"
Her talent level is so high that a dedicated Serena could still be a Top 40 player, but only if she plays to win. It was all of them. She doesn't expect to lose, to be average, or to get to the second week of a major and hope for the best. She doesn't seem to be willing to suffer defeat as her sister Venus, the once-great, seven-time major champion who now routinely loses to players who will never achieve an eighth of what she did at her beautiful best.
I covered baseball full-time for the first time in 1998. Serena was young at that time. She wouldn't win her first major until a year before Steffi Graf did. I was a sports reporter for the San Jose Mercury News. Rickey Henderson was the greatest leadoff hitter of all time and he was headed to the Hall of Fame. Rickey was no longer good. It was amazing to see how much fire he still had to compete against pitchers who had no chance against him back in the day. Art Howe was aware that Rickey couldn't play anymore. He's been there before.
I played until I was 39 years old. Howe told me that you are the only one who knows how much you are slipping. I'd foul a ball off and tell him to kill it. What is going on with you? It was frustrating in more ways than one. It makes it simpler to say farewell. You are not yourself.
This phenomenon of winning matches that were once unthinkable can be useful and positive. These final matches are an exercise of grief and healing for both Williams and her fans. She is playing by knowing that the flashes of her brilliance and belief in herself will produce questions that can only be answered by stepping onto the court. They are not comfortable. Time is waiting for them all. Roger Federer's last match at Wimbledon ended with a straight-set loss to Hubert Hurkacz, weeks from his 40th birthday. She knows that she may not be able to bend the tennis world to her will, but she also knows that new challenges await.
She may be hurt by the fact that the days of crushing the Harmony Tans of the world are over, or she may not be able to overcome the old dominance. She is giving her fans the service they've been looking for by announcing her retirement, not surrendering a stage that has been hers for more than 25 years.
There is an enormous gap between those who emphasize narrative and story and those who do the fighting. It's a myth that torch-passing is a thing. There is only one way to go at this stage in the journey, and that is to be defeated by younger, better opponents or time. The Hingises and Davenports were sent to Serena at the other end of the ritual. Knowing that there will be no more comes at a heavy price. As a professional athlete, the end never ceases to be an end. Serena, who is already throwing herself into the world of venture capitalism, fashion, business and expanding her family, is not at the end. The beginning is near.
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