Comment All the celebrity tributes and voice-over videos were artificial, trash, compared to the public acclaim for Serena Williams, the pure cascades of applause that thundered through Arthur Ashe Stadium. It came in waterfalls, for the greatest women’s tennis player in history, for the brave thrust of her game and the extent of her now-completed dominance. Beneath the shouts and stomps were so many emotions that could hardly be expressed as the 40-year-old did one last twirl and wave before walking away. It’s been a long, sometimes contentious, journey with many obstacles from chipmunk to all-time champion who radicalized with her presence one of the whitest and craziest sports. She won her first US Open title at age 17 in 1999, the start of a modern record 23 Grand Slam titles. She found the edge of her racing heart and guts on Friday night when, just three weeks shy of her 41st birthday, she battled with her trademark toughness for three sets and killed off five match points with a series of huge and grueling cuts on the tennis ball before losing. to Ajla Tomljanovic, 7-5, 6-7 (7-4), 6-1, in what was almost certainly her last major championship match. Just two days earlier she had upset the No2 player in the world, Annette Kontaveit. As Serena Williams proves, retiring from tennis can be complicated “I tried,” he said simply, afterwards. No one in the history of the game, perhaps no game, has ever tried harder or for longer. “I mean, there are so many things to remember. Like the fight. I’m such a fighter. I don’t know,” he said. “I feel like I really brought something – and I did bring something – to tennis. The different look, the punches, the just insane intensity. Obviously passion I think is a very good word.” It was such a complex career spanning 27 years that it was difficult to include. “Her legacy is really big, to the point where you can’t even put it into words,” said Naomi Osaka, her rival and friend. Its impact could be partially illustrated by two bracketed images. On August 9, Williams announced her impending retirement, or her “evolution,” as she called it a less painful term, by striking a majestic pose on the cover of Vogue magazine’s August issue in a queenly blue dress with a train. Twenty-four Augusts ago, in Williams’ breakthrough year of 1999, Vogue’s “cover girl” for that month was Carolyn Murphy, a typically thin, linen supermodel who wore a size 4. Williams would redefine feminine beauty with a new model of power, defying the traditional strictures of tennis, opening it up to more diverse audiences. She has appeared in Vogue four times — the first black athlete to appear in its pages. It was no mean feat for a strong black athlete to make the glossy magazine her home organ. Not to mention a showcase for the accessories she so happily wrapped around her muscles, right down to the diamond studs on her boxer sneakers. “I feel grateful to be able to have this impact,” he said earlier in the tournament. “I never thought I would have this impact, ever. I was just a girl trying to play tennis in an era where I could develop that impact and be a voice. It was so authentic because I do what I do. And I just do it authentically [as] my. I think people could really relate to that.” Williams’ career on and off the court has been an exploration in power—her tremendous completion of strokes was accompanied by control, a deep precision that allowed her to brush the lines. Through the ebbs and flows of victories, she made no apologies for her towering character and gritty play and voice and her origins on the hard, cracked and battered public courts of Compton, California. “I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t go through – and I didn’t go through – what I went through,” he said at Wimbledon earlier this summer. “I love who I am. I wouldn’t change it for anything.” Anything he did “wrong” or inconsistent with tennis tradition was inevitably magnified, criticized or scrutinized. But instead of being timid about it, she made huge statements, about body image, ideas about what tennis clothing could be, and how strong a woman could compete. Typically, the tennis world had put subtle pressures on women to keep their ambitions and voices within a certain range, to suppress. It was Williams who imposed her own pressure on tennis with the force of her competitive personality. He got all the advantages of the tennis world and none of the disadvantages. Avoid the burnout, frustration, overplay injuries that plague most young champions. And finally, she became not only the most enduring champion of the modern era but also its most respected. Last week, she was lionized by Oprah and Queen Latifah, but she was spurred on by a crowd roar with an intensity and quality of affection unheard of for any other champion. Not even the longest tennis watchers had heard such applause. “That’s not tennis noise,” noted commentator Mary Carillo. The Serena Effect changed every aspect of women’s tennis Williams could feel contractions in her chest, she said. Her first-round opponent, Danka Kovinic, said: “At times during the match, I couldn’t hear my shots.” As Williams fought against Tomljanovic, the crescendo rose and rose. In one game in the second set, she forced her opponent to fight for a full 15 minutes just to hold her serve. When Williams took that set, she let out a scream of her own, so loud it bent her double. But in a late-game siege — one that lasted 22 points — as the contest entered its third hour, she alternated her jabs and volleys toward the net, shots that landed like uppercuts, errors in hand. The final shot was a tired forehand that clipped the white tape. And suddenly it happened. Afterwards, in a court interview, as she thanked her family and friends, she wept in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. “Those are happy tears—I guess,” he said. “I do not know.” And then she thanked that crowd, who had finally learned to appreciate her. “I’m grateful to everyone who said ‘Go Serena’ in their lives because you brought me here,” she said.
