The scores don't show it, but your eyes,if they're anything like mine, saw it. Venus Williams and Marion Bartoli played one of the most entertaining matches in recent memory at Wimbledon. Never mind that Bartoli never led, or failed to force Williams to dig deep into her reserves or repertoire. The kind of tennis Bartoli played was reward enough.
She has gone where Fabrice Santoro, her stylistic sibling, failed to go - a major final - and left the Centre Court lacking something that her role model, Monica Seles, never captured, either: the Wimbledon title. Who cares, it was not a day not for a changing of the guard but for changing the menu. It was compelling to watch two players who are so good in such different ways.
I held out hope that Bartoli might mount the kind of comeback she crafted against Justine Henin yesterday, all the way until the critical sixth game of the second set. She was already trailing by that point, 4-6,1-4, but she had repeatedly showed signs of steel, while Venus periodically revealed moments of trepidation. Bartoli fell behind, 15-40, while serving that sixth game, but she fired a few of those laser-like groundies (the trademark belongs to Seles) to work herself back to deuce. But then the superiority of Momma Lightning re-asserted itself.
The most striking element in Bartoli's performance was her ability to handle the occasion. There was no temerity, no sign that her legs had been loaded up with concrete and her arm petrified by the atmosphere of Centre Court, or the quality of her opponent. I'm not a WTA pro, but I sure wouldn't want to walk onto a tennis court anywhere in the world and look across the net at lean, lithe, long-legged Venus Williams in hot pants (as a man, though, the sight has its rewards), especially knowing that she had tucked away this particular trophy on three previous July afternoons. Some of the mannerisms Bartoli adopted suggested that she had no desire to gaze upon and ponder Venus, either.
Bartoli also wore a visor pulled down tight to her brow. And between points, she turned her back to Venus, a gesture saved from seeming rude by the fact that she immediately got busy taking practice swings - as if she might forget how to do one when she turned back around and things really counted again.
Bartoli also trotted out a novel move that made many observers alternately snicker,or scratch their heads, befuddled. Often, before she served, she would hop in the air, in place, getting not quite Michael ordan-grade air. When she landed, she finished with a quick, one/two foot shuffle, executed with her feet parallel. Undoubtedly, it was meant to keep her loose, but it looked like she was rehearsing a step for a forthcoming Paula Abdul music video.
This girl is an original, and it doesn't end there. While Venus was getting her left thigh wrapped, Bartoli encouraged the crowd to do the Wave. When they obliged, she joined in each tim, flinging her arms in the air each time the Wave came around. At the end, before play resumed, she gave the crowd a big hand. Moments later, when some cheap-seats comic shouted the obligatory "Come on, Tim (Henman)", she laughed and waved a hand in the air as if to say, "Not today, folks. Today it's all about me."