Well, I'll say this much: Maria Sharapova handled the match with which she wiped out the "One Slam Wonder" label much better than the ceremony celebrating the achievement. Did you see the way she lost the lid of the trophy? I guess the "hands of stone" rap isn't entirely unjustified, although if you ask me, there's a different reason that Po' doesn't hit the drop shot. She hasn't figured out how to shriek when doing it.
The other memorable moment in the presentation occurred when CBS's Dick Enberg gave her a nice, smooth lead-in to acknowledging her father, Yuri, and Po' suddenly went all girlish and said, "I love my daddy." It could have been a touching moment, I guess, but a kind of embarrassed silence fell over the assembled crowd and it didn't help that when they the camera went Yuri, he appeared to be too busy talking on his cell to notice.
Story of her life, in a way. That's what I think. For despite all the frilly and floozy bits cooked up by designers (ever notice how often their main ambition seems to be to get even rather than get right with women, which would be your ultimate passive-aggressive statement), Sharapova is still very much the gangly, slightly out-to-lunch, literal-minded girl whose mission in life thus far seems to be pleasing daddy. Forget the glam bits and all that money, the "real" Maria still may be the awkward poorly-dressed waif with dirty knees, chasing after forehands and backhands on some gritty, badly lit outdoor court on a hot Florida night.
I actually prefer that one to the Nike model, but maybe I'm just being sentimental.
Given the flow of events here - I mean at TennisWorld - I think this result speaks volumes about fans and passions and just what constitutes a good tennis player. I don't care how "good" Justine Henin-Hardenne is, aesthetically speaking; if having a pretty game were the whole point, they would score it with judges awarding points for things like the break-point pirouette, forehand follow through, and the all-important "overall presentation." Meaning, does the color of her dress match her complexion?
Instead, we have two players tacitly agreeing that they're going to hit the ball and count who hits it between the lines more often, and the only determining factor is going to be which one keeps it there more often. She is then called the "winner," which is sports-speak for good player. Or, at any rate, Gooder player than the other girl.
You would think that having such a simple, universally accepted standard of judgment would make things easy. It ought to. But it appears to make things harder; I guess, in the immortal words of Jack Nicholson "You can't handle the truth!"
Tonight, Sharapova was the better player, in a match suffused with and driven by the spirit of payback - of fairness, something in which we all are interested, if you want to make a morality tale of it. Payback for all those sacrifices made by a 19-year old who doesn't really appear to have much choice in the matter (yes, daddy). Payback for all those hours spent on the practice court, honing a limited game with the strop of ambition, day-after-bloody-day, for years on end, knowing that there were a few ways she could win, but on talent, with ease and grace and aplomb, was not one of them.
And those blood-curdling shrieks? Let's not kid ourselves, we know exactly what they are: cries for attention and acknowledgment, a petition for validity. See, see how hard I can hit the ball? See, see how hard I'm working? See, see how godawful hard this is and how good it feels and how terribly much I need to let loose and experience the sheer thrill of abandon, the one thing I can never afford to do when I see that ball coming toward me because - because, lacking the talent of Justine, lacking the flair of a Serena, lacking the versatility of an Amelie, this is the only way I can experience a little bit of what they have, and still somehow be good. And without being good - without winning that last point, I'm nothing.
At some point, Sharapova must have come to grips with that grim reality. If not, Sharapova would never have hoisted the trophy, even though she ended up bonking herself in the head with its lid. I'm tempted to ask, is it worth it? I guess that's a question better asked of Maria by Maria, but we all know the answer, don't we? There isn't a player in this universe who would rather have been Justine than Maria after that last, winning point. Not even Justine.
I'm watching and listening to the presser here at the desk as I write this, and there's a nasty little bit of business going on in there, with the reporters challenging Maria's decision not to discuss the on-air images of Yuri and the now notorious banana, and hitting partner Michael Joyce holding aloft four fingers in what may have been some kind of coaching signal - which, of course, would be yet another violation of the endlessly violated rules against coaching. You can check the transcript for the prolonged, testy exchange. The original question about the issue came from Liz Clarke of The Washington Post, the unfortunate back-and-forth later was an exchange between Sharapova and Bill Simon, of the regional NoCal publication, Inside Tennis.
I'm not much interested in that controversy, if that's the right word for it. I saw no great change in strategy or technique developing out of it. On the other hand, the first thing Sharapova said when she walked into the presser was something like, "Okay everybody, let's keep this positive, okay." I took this to mean that somebody had already told her to be on guard.
I sensed all along that there was something pre-determined in tonight's clash, which ultimately seemed to me a triumph of will, effort and execution; to combat it effectively would have taken a player with an equal degree of hunger, something that seemed conspicuously lacking in H-2.
Whatever else you think, it would be mean-spirited to deny that she earned this moment. It didn't even last that long, as the trophy presentation showed. As Sharapova said in her presser: "I thought to myself, the second it happened, I thought, that's Maria, typical Maria. I just knew something like that was going to happen."