With Two Hands on History

“The amazing moment in Australia was filled with joy, happiness and extraordinary sense of accomplishment. The task of finally making a decision to hang up my racquet felt a lot more difficult than winning seven matches in a row in the Australian heat. It took me several agonizing months to finally come to the decision that my chronic (knee) injuries will never again let me be the tennis player that I can be. Walking away from the sport, effective immediately, is the right decision for me and my family.”—Li Na, the two-time Chinese Grand Slam champion, on her victory in Melbourne Park at the start of the year and her decision to retire, announced on Friday in China.

It says something about Li Na that when a journalist sits down to wrangle with the news that she is retiring from tennis, he feels as if he’s writing an obituary. So many details that demand attention, so much to put into perspective. There is her remarkable record—503 wins, 188 losses—in a career spanning ten years of Grand Slam competition (considerably less than that of many of her peers in the history books). There also is the enormous impact she had on the global game to weigh and ponder. And the accomplishments: So many accomplishments to sift though, as well as the arresting personality so intriguingly balanced on a razor’s edge between folksy charm on one side and edgy and witheringly honest on the other.

Li Na has retired. To me, the announcement is like finding a few boxes in the attic filled with items that trigger memories that bring a smile to your face. I’m not all that eager to rush through them and put the boxes away for good.

We will have plenty of time now to put her record on the scales and make our shrewd judgments about just where Li fits into tennis history (you can get a good start on that here). We have all the time in the world to analyze and toast the impact she had on tennis in Asia, and how the entire fall WTA calendar has migrated from Europe to China and other nearby nations. China had two WTA tour events in 2007; this year it has five, including two prestigious Premier-level tournaments and three at the International level.

There will be room for debate on whether Li’s two-handed backhand deserves a place among the Top 10 of the Open era. We will mull over her puzzling tendency to sabotage herself, either by allowing (if that’s the right word) her concentration to waver or succumbing to the temptation to become distracted—thereby having an excuse to lose. What a complex picture it all creates, the sum of the parts somehow resistant to adding up to a whole. Li stands just 5’7”, but she is an outsized character.

I first saw Li closely at Wimbledon, in 2006, a quarterfinalist in her first try at the main draw. Her game was so clean and compact that I felt I was watching a Chris Evert for the globalization era. The Chinese player moved just as nimbly over that lime green court, and her poker face was just as striking. How could it be?

Remember how she sat on that dais in the press room at the Australian Open in 2011 and struck a blow for disgruntled housewives the world over when, referring to her husband and coach Jiang Shan, she groused, "I didn't have a good night last night. My husband was snoring. I woke up every hour."

How can you forget the moment when Li, baking like a pie in the heat of the moment, lost her serve after winning the first set of the 2011 Australian Open final from “Aussie Kim” Clijsters? Suddenly, it was 4-3, Clijsters to serve. A match that had been within grasp after Li won the first set appeared to be slipping away.

Some Chinese fans near the court, sensing the imminent disaster, were becoming increasingly voluble, shouting advice to Li. Finally, she marched over to chair umpire Alison Lang and asked, “Can you tell the Chinese (fans) don’t teach me how to play tennis?” She would wilt from the pressure and lose the match, even as she won so many hearts.

Can you still recall the delight you felt watching Li glide across the terre battue in Paris in 2011, smoothly as the pointer of your mouse on the computer’s screen, to become the first Asian woman to win a Grand Slam singles title? It was gratifying to see it happen just months after her heartbreaking loss in Melbourne, and even more so because in Paris she sliced through four consecutive Top 10 opponents (in order, Petra Kvitova, Victoria Azarenka, Maria Sharapova and, in the final, defending champion Francesca Schiavone).

New Yorkers pride themselves on their city, and while they’re a fairly jaded bunch, they love the way visitors press their lips to Gotham’s collective butt and kiss away. Not so for Li, who thinks of herself as a little country girl from a small town (Wuhan, after all, is a Chinese city of a mere 10 million). When Li was asked asked at the U.S. Open about how she liked New York, she gave it to them straight: "People in China say: 'If you love your children, send them to New York. If you hate your children, also send them to New York.’”

Has any player deserved more sympathy in a recent Grand Slam final than Li at the 2013 Australian Open—the second time she failed to win a major title bout after having won the first set? The catastrophe began right after Li broke Victoria Azarenka back to 1-3 in the second set. In the next game, she rolled her left ankle, hopped to her chair, and took a medical timeout to get taped. She still managed to level at 4-all, but ended up losing the second set.

Li had just taken a 2-1 lead in the third set when the annual “Australia Day” fireworks display in Melbourne interrupted the match for nine minutes. Upon resumption, Li promptly went over on her ankle again. This time, she also cracked her head on the rubberized asphalt surface and appeared slightly groggy during the ensuing medical timeout. Next thing, Li was giving the runner-up speech.

Good as her runner-up speeches were, it was hard to beat the one she made after she finally won the Australian Open this year, with a refreshingly drama-free 7-6 (3), 6-0 victory over Dominika Cibulkova. She made a number of classic, blunt and edgy comments as she stood beaming on the dais, none more well-received than the thanks she offered her husband, Jiang:

“Thanks for my husband, famous in China,” she said. “Thanks for him give you everything—hitting partner, fix the drinks, fix the racquet. Thanks a lot, you a nice guy. Also—you so lucky to find me.”

We were too. Happy trails, Li Na.