It was the best of times
...it was the worst of times
Every week, tennis writes stories. Sometimes they are Oscar worthy, other times they are appreciated only by critics or maybe even frowned upon by experts but beloved by the fans. It’s rare that a tennis story combines all three and even rarer still that two of them happen at exactly the same time and exactly the same tournament.
Victoria Mboko has grabbed the American Dream, transformed it to Canadian and by doing so has given it freshness and a new found vitality. Victoria’s parents left the Democratic Republic of Kongo due to political turmoil years ago and last night their girl triumphed on one of the bigger stages of the tennis world.
The American Dream is dead, long live the Canadian Dream! The Great Gatsby might have had a happier ending if F. Scott Fitzgerald had placed it just a bit further up North.
And then there’s Naomi Osaka. Once the best player in the world until the pressure got to her; she caused uproar by trying to protect her mental health (now that the men are doing it, it’s seemingly fine), couldn’t win a tournament anymore, gets pregnant, becomes a mom and then sets about the slow, painful journey back to the top.
Both stories are what sport audiences adore: A new teenage star who brings with her a whiff of a brighter future and a fallen comet that has picked herself up to rise again. And yet, neither of these stories were written in the past ten days. The success in Montréal was merely the reward being picked up by the protagonists - like a long forgotten package at the post office.
Earlier this year, Victoria was on a demolishing winning streak on the tour’s lower levels. She won 5 challenger titles (one of them from qualies) before she tried her luck at WTA tournaments. When you win so much, winning becomes a habit. The more you play, the more you win, the more normal big moments become. I always use the example of my younger self at 12 years old when I started playing tournaments. I would vomit before every match, that’s how nervous I got. After a few months of regularly playing, the vomiting was replaced by an average of 178 bathroom visits. Eventually, that too subsided. A match had become a match. There is still enough time to puke after one loses, no need to do it preemptively. It’s just overall bad for your stomach and teeth.
Another aspect that contributed to Victoria’s victory (you know I had to) is also the most unfair advantage of the young: Youth doesn’t doubt. Youth usually hasn’t had enough experience to doubt. While we middle-aged people weigh the pros and cons, the possibilities and probabilities, prepare plan A, B and C (just to be sure), youth and youth’s buoyancy goes straight into action. There’s no time to think when life’s coming at you at that pace!
Pair that with the X-factor that was the Canadian crowd and we had a melange of marvellous happenings unfold in front of our eyes (that have seen so much and were still surprised) culminating in an astonishing accomplishment. Amongst tennis experts, Victoria had been known as one of the sports’ possible future stars for a while now. But seeing potential and refinement hold hands so firmly in a teenager is always mesmerising. Whether that’s Carlos Alcaraz at 19 or Coco Gauff at 15 or Martina Hingis at 16.
Or Naomi Osaka when she was still a teenager. What was supposed to become a triumphant home-coming to the elite of tennis quickly turned into a sort of tragedy. She played a nearly perfect first set in terms of tactics - so disciplined, so alert - but when a few points in the beginning of the second didn’t go as planned she lost her way so disastrously that it, too, was somehow mesmerising to watch. It wasn’t the tennis that went away. It was a grand disappointment in self that turned into despondency and Naomi never recovered from it. Maybe the crowd got to her, maybe playing a younger version of herself made her miss the years when everything was still possible, maybe she wanted it so frickin’ much that clarity of mind left her like that one boyfriend of mine left me on a tramway a long time ago.
I don’t know whether the reasons are important. What I do think is important, however, is to face the human curse (that lives firmly in all of us) that renders our biggest strengths into our biggest weaknesses. Naomi has always wanted to do it perfectly, has always wanted to satisfy us all. When she felt it slipping through her grasp like water - the title that would have made her comeback journey worthwhile, that would have made it perfect - she turned inward and away from the things that needed to be done.
I don’t think that only the title would have made it worthwhile. I strongly believe it’s worthwhile already. In a few days, I hope Naomi can see that too.
Tennis is a zero-sum game unfortunately. The victory of one will forever remain the direct demise of another. The good news is, there is always a new tournament just around the corner.
For now, let’s grab the last bits of our remaining poutine, pour a few more inches of gravy on it and let’s celebrate the Canadian Dream. And with it, of course: Victoria Mboko.
P.S. Those of you who listen to the Rennae Stubbs Podcast will know that three weeks ago, I predicted that Ben Shelton will win Washington D.C.
Got the week wrong, got the form right! Congratulations to Ben Shelton.
Things that make me happy:
Every week is a struggle, folks, every week is a struggle. It’s a struggle because every Friday I have to battle the urge with every fibre of my being to turn “Things that make me happy” into “Food items Andrea tried and loved”. This is, after all, not Chef’s Table (great show). Nor is it The Great British Bake-Off (GREAT show). This week (as last week), I lost the battle and I will name multiple food items that made me tremendously happy. These Canadian biscuits! And these Turkish eggs with feta cheese! And these other Canadian biscuits from the same brand! Also, smoked meat! Lock me up with all of it and let the snow fall. I will live happily ever after.
Things that make me unhappy:
I’m a strong believer in linen and will live in it through most of summer. Every summer anew though, the easy wrinkling of the fabric will come as a shock. It’s almost like I live through fall and winter sinking into firm oblivion what next summer will bring. And then it’s there and what do I know: MORE. WRINKLES. I’ve been ironing my lung out in my hotel room’s closet but nothing ever changes. Call me Sisyphus or Iron Lady. I deserve it.
I hope this finds you well and wrinkle-less, in fabric and face. Actually, keep the laughing wrinkles, just lose the frowning kind. I will see you all next week - don’t forget to put some lemon in your sparkling water!
Yours truly, Andrea
More posts like this please! You're just as good at the keyboard as you are in the booth as a commentator & on court as a player. Great stuff.
I've never played in anything like the stratosphere of Naomi or yourself, but I felt I recognised a turning point in the second set when the frustration got too much: when you can't think of a new way to beat this opponent (chip and charge? Crush and rush? Slice and dice? Anything assonant might work) and so you just feel you don't want to be *there* any more, that this place holds nothing more for you, and the waters close over you, so warm, so welcome.
On the slice-and-dice front, things that make *me* happy include watching Aoi Ito play that game and winning at Cincinatti. Always fascinated by players who are playing to help the opponent beat themselves.