All the women in my (tennis) life

Part I: Serena, the idol

There are people out there who live in your head, nestle there like birds about to lay eggs, that don’t even know you exist. And yet, your entire world revolves around them. It may be a crush from fifth grade who’s classroom is across the hallway, hair disheveled, that one shy character from your favourite TV series or maybe even a teacher. For me it was Serena Williams.

The first time I saw Serena was in 1999. She was 17, I was 12 years old. Every day after school in the late summer of 1999 I would turn on the TV to catch the highlights of the US Open whose best matches would run in the middle of the night in Europe due to the time difference. On a Friday in round 3 two teenagers faced each other. The announcer sounded surprised by the quality of play they were producing. Kim Clijsters was one of them. The other wore a yellow dress and beads in her hair. When she ran close to the microphones at the edge of the court you could gently hear the beads clicking. It was Serena Williams.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was transfixed by the intensity of her gaze and the way she pounded her thigh with her fist during changeovers to keep herself going. Every emotion a tennis player goes through during a match - joy, anger, desperation - I could see in her face. It was all there. The gestures those of an opera singer who has to fill the entire theatre.

The next day, I tried the splits on court like I had seen Serena do. I didn’t get out of them for a while and just sat there groaning but it felt like this was one way to be close to her, to live in her spirit somehow. I registered her winning the US Open that year and it made me happy but it didn’t really matter to me beyond the aura I had felt rush all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and into my room under the roof.

Now, if you knew me you’d know that half of my personality consists of me telling people that I discovered the Arctic Monkey, Adam Driver and Serena Williams. It’s outrageous, I know, a random German girl discovering some of the biggest stars in the world but it’s also true. I saw the Arctic Monkeys when they were 17 years old, the singer covered in acne, in a 300-people venue in Frankfurt. After a few songs I turned to my friend who was with me and said:

These guys are going to be big.

I called my sister when I saw Adam Driver for the first time in Girls and told her I had discovered the next big acting star. And well, Serena. I know she technically won the US Open 1999 and discovered herself but this is the world I choose to live in. Leave me be.

adam driver - crying

The second time I saw Serena, really saw her, was a few years later in 2002 in Paris. It was the year of the World Cup (for Americans: it’s soccer) and Serena’s outfit matched the colours of the national team of Cameroon. She wore a green dress with knee-high yellow socks and she had blonde hair to fit the yellow details. I had never seen anybody dress like this on a tennis court. She had caught my interest at the US Open, my attention and admiration, but now she crawled into my brain, pushed and squeezed futile memories away, only to occupy it for the next 15 plus years. I knew by now that I wanted to become a tennis player hence the way I watched her this time was not for her fashion and, frankly, coolness but for the way she played my sport. Her sport if we’re honest. I watched, stunned, how clean her technique was, how early she took her racket back, the open stance on both forehand and backhand. How she apparently had the capability to alter the geometry of a tennis court. Her side seemed to be smaller, her opponent’s bigger. She created spaces on the other side with angles and placements and closed said spaces on her side with superior athleticism. It was the year I started taking runs in the forest and jump-roping incessantly in between practice sessions. This is clearly what it took. I saw it on Serena’s body.

serena - wearing the best tennis outfit the world has ever seen

For the final of the French Open in 2002 Serena exchanged the Cameroon dress for a simple little black one as if she wanted to say to the world: Now that I have your attention, we can focus on my tennis. And that was smashing. In the truest meaning of the word.

The first time I played Serena was in Rome. I was 19 years old and had come through qualifying. I was slowly making strides in my own ways but this was arguably the biggest match I had ever played until this moment. In the meantime Serena had become the biggest star on the tennis tour and beyond it. She had managed something only a few athletes achieve. She had seeped into pop culture. Michael, Lebron, Roger, Tiger. Serena. Athletes so big you knew who was meant by merely saying their first name. Not many women had accomplished this status.

She was out there living her life, winning and thriving, but she was also in my brain, had found her spot in a polished corner where things where clear and comprehensible, the rest a mushy mess of chaos. I had studied her so meticulously that I knew how my only chance of winning this match looked like. Sometimes, in the beginning of tournaments Serena had slow starts. She was so much better than everybody else that she could afford to. I knew she didn’t know who I was and that she would underestimate me. My goal entering the court was to disappear in the background and hope Serena would only notice I existed after the deed was done.

I almost pulled it off. I was up a set and had break point in the second and here’s when I made a colossal mistake. I got cute and high on my own awesomeness. I hit a drop shot, a short ball just behind the net. It was a good drop shot, too, I was sure no mortal woman could get to it. But Serena was not mortal. She was a superhuman. She got to the ball, smashed it past me, raised a fist and yelled:

COME ON!

More like: COME OOOOONNNNN!

We were 10 feet apart. We looked into each others eyes. I knew it was over.

I didn’t win a game after that and I never won a set against her ever again. In my mind she had taken note of me and had decided that I was good enough to from now on deserve her full effort. But in my mind I also think I discovered the Arctic Monkeys and Adam Driver so do with that what you will.

It just so happened that Serena and I retired at the same time at the same tournament. It was really hard for me to not compare my career to hers and to realise, cold and wet panic grabbing hold of me, that I had accomplished nothing. History will remember Serena forever. History has already forgotten me. As a tennis player. Heck, I have already forgotten me as a tennis player.

One day during said US Open, I saw Serena in the locker room. Her face seemed grey, sadness in her eyes. I thought I saw grief in her face. The same thing I was feeling for my own tennis career. And all of a sudden, I was able to let it go. In the grand scheme of things we were just two people coincidentally going through the same process - albeit on different levels. Finally, I was able mourn Serena’s career as a fan. As a teenage girl that one day had decided that Serena Williams was going to be her idol. Her north star, her heroine.

I thank Serena for all that she’s done for tennis and all that she’s done for me.

I suppose I do have a tiny little advantage after all. When people meet Serena, they meet Serena. When people meet me they don’t know who or what they have in front of them.

Consequently, I introduce myself as: Andrea Petkovic *dramatic pause* - writer.

andrea petkovic *dramatic pause* writer

Things that make me happy:

I’m currently watching the 3 Body Problem on Netflix and thoroughly enjoying it. The novel The Three-Body Problem by Liu Cixin has been on my reading list forever but I never got around to it. I’m watching the series now and as a wise man (Rafael Nadal) once said: It’s more fast.

Things that make me unhappy:

The fact that I’m watching a series before I read the book. Don’t be like me. Be better.

This piece about Serena is the first part of a mini-series on the most important women in my (tennis) life. Next up: Barbara, the mentor.

Thank you for indulging me and may your days be filled with the cold harsh sun of spring. Harsh sun is better than no sun. Until then!

Yours truly, Andrea