She was just too good. But you can be better.
*
In the Royal Box, Billie Jean King and Martina Navratilova dissected the first set.
“Sinjin played some beautiful serve and volley tennis in that set,” Billie Jean said. “No one plays like that anymore. It’s a shame her effort couldn’t have been rewarded. She did everything right.”
“Except win the last point,” Martina replied. “But Viktoriya looks like she’s slowing down a bit, doesn’t she? She was starting to labor toward the end of the breaker. All the emotional energy she expends even after routine points is bound to catch up with her eventually.”
Billie Jean nodded. “It could bite her in the butt in the third. If there is a third.”
“Sinjin’s serving first in the second set. If she can hold her serve and sneak out an early break, she’s right back in this. If it goes to three, I like her chances.”
Laure, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, broke into a grin. Sinjin’s plan was working. If she stuck to it, she could still pull off a miracle.
*
A lull settled over the court in the early stages of the second set. It was to be expected. Players and fans alike needed time to recover after the excitement of the opening stanza.
Sinjin easily won the first game of the set. When she changed ends, she sought out her friends and family for the first time since the match began. Gabrielle, Kendall, and Nicolas, who knew from experience the jumble of emotions swirling through Sinjin’s body, immediately stood to offer her their encouragement. Stephanie followed suit. “You’ve got the heart of a lion,” she said, pointing toward the sky. “Show it.”
Sinjin turned to Laure. She had avoided looking into the Royal Box, afraid of being intimidated by the slew of dignitaries she would see staring back at her. At the moment, there was only one face she wanted to see. Only one face that mattered. Laure’s.
“Right now,” Laure said, her face a study in determination. “Make your move right now.”
Sinjin stepped up to the baseline and prepared to receive serve. If she didn’t break in the next game, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She would be fine as long as she kept her nose out front. Then the pressure would fall on Viktoriya’s shoulders instead of hers. The pressure to keep up. To come from behind.
Some players fared better when they were ahead. Others were able to go for their shots only when they were climbing the mountain instead of standing on top of it. Sinjin liked operating with a lead. Viktoriya preferred to fight her way back from the brink.
In order to claim her fifth Grand Slam title, Viktoriya would have to do something even more difficult than coming from behind. She would have to come from ahead.
After winning the first set in a tiebreaker, she quickly fell behind 5-0 in the second. She held serve to avoid being bageled but Sinjin served out the set in the next game.
Gabrielle, Kendall, Nicolas, and Stephanie exchanged high fives in the Friends Box. Compelled by her surroundings into being more muted, Laure settled for a discreet fist pump.
“One more set like that and we can all go home happy.” After watching Viktoriya smash her racquet on the ground, she quickly amended her statement. “Well, maybe not all of us.”
*
“Code violation. Racquet abuse. Warning, Miss Vasilyeva,” Helen Rhys said.
Viktoriya shot daggers at the chair umpire with her eyes but held her tongue. If she received another code violation, she would lose a point. A third would cost her the match. Sinjin didn’t think Helen had the guts to disqualify Viktoriya in the finals of Wimbledon, but after watching Serena Williams get tossed from the U.S. Open semifinals for her profane tirade, Viktoriya would be foolish to take the risk.
“Bathroom break,” Viktoriya said through clenched teeth. Then she quickly left the court. A tournament official accompanied her to make sure she didn’t receive any input from her coaches along the way.
The break wasn’t against the rules, but Sinjin doubted its legitimacy. She recognized the ploy for what it was: Viktoriya’s attempt to stall her momentum. She knew she had to be ready for anything. Viktoriya would pull out every trick in the book if she thought it could help her win. Then again, she already had.
Sinjin used the respite to banter with her supporters.
“I hope everything comes out okay.”
“I’m so glad to see you’re not too sophisticated for bathroom humor,” Laure said.
“That was awful.”
“Was it any worse than any of yours?”
“You’ve got a point.”
As the break stretched on, the fans began to get restless. Anxious to see more tennis, they broke into rhythmic applause. Sinjin obliged them. She armed one of the ball girls with a racquet and, to the delight of the crowd, they played a few points. Sinjin won the first one when the ball girl dumped a forehand into the middle of the net.
“Choke up a little,” she advised the blushing youngster. The ball girl followed the suggestion and, to the delight of the crowd, “won” the next two points. When Viktoriya finally returned to the court, Sinjin jogged to the net and shook the ball girl’s hand. “Nice job.”
Provided with a memory she would never forget, the grinning ball girl resumed her position on the side of the court.
Viktoriya’s eyebrows knitted in rage. After her piss-poor showing in the second set, she was obviously in no mood for what she used to refer to as one of Sinjin’s kind-hearted displays. Sinjin already had the crowd on her side. Now she had them wrapped around her finger, too. Playing patty-cake tennis with the ball girl had been an impulsive act on Sinjin’s part, but Viktoriya glared at her as if it had been premeditated. As if Sinjin had done it to show her up. To embarrass her.
Sinjin could feel the fury rolling off Viktoriya in waves as anger helped her refill her rapidly diminishing energy reserves. Sinjin knew she would continue to add fuel to the fire. In Viktoriya’s eyes, she had committed a cardinal sin: she had dared to have fun at Viktoriya’s expense. Viktoriya wasn’t about to let her get away with it.
As the third set commenced, the second set began to seem like an anomaly. Viktoriya cut down on the unforced errors that had plagued her in the second set, her level of play returning to the high level she had established in the first set. Sinjin’s level had never dipped. In fact, it seemed to increase exponentially in each set. The longer the match went, the better she seemed to play.
Viktoriya hit the wall in the eighth game. She looked fine during the points. Between them, she looked half-dead. One minute she was limping noticeably as if her legs were cramping. The next minute she was chasing after balls like a gazelle.
Sinjin struggled to maintain her focus. Across the net, Viktoriya was doubled over as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Don’t fall for it, Sinjin cautioned herself. She’s just trying to play with your head again.
But in the back of her mind, she wondered if Viktoriya’s distress was real. Seeing her in as much pain as she appeared to be in was difficult to watch—and even harder to play against.
Up 0-30 on Viktoriya’s serve, Sinjin lifted her foot off the gas when she should have pressed it to the floor. Viktoriya won four straight points to pull out the game, then called for the trainer.
Down 5-4 in the third set, Sinjin would have to sit and wait. And think.
The trainer, after taking several minutes to arrive on court, began her two-minute medical evaluation. At the end of that time period, she could ask for a five-minute medical timeout or defer treatment until the next changeover.
Asked to indicate her area of discomfort, Viktoriya pointed to the back of her right leg.
From Sinjin’s point of view, Viktoriya’s timing couldn’t be worse. Or more intentional. Viktoriya’s leg had seemed to be an issue since the fourth game of the set. Why hadn’t she called for the trainer then? Because she wasn’t a game away from the match then. Because at 2-all or 3-2, a service break was something Sinjin would be able to recover
from. At 5-4, a break meant the match.
As the trainer worked on Viktoriya’s balky hamstring, Sinjin tried to keep her muscles warm and her mind free. Thoughts of losing were not allowed to enter her head. She visualized her next service game, scripting it like a football coach planning the first quarter of a game. When she got to the line, she didn’t want to have to think about where to direct each serve. She wanted to be on autopilot.
The physiotherapist wrapped a bandage around Viktoriya’s leg and secured it with trainer’s tape. Viktoriya tested her leg and the tape job. After performing a few knee lifts, she pronounced herself fit to play.
Raucous applause greeted their return to the court. Fans shouted encouragement to Viktoriya and Sinjin in equal measures, Viktoriya’s apparent injury garnering her a few sympathy votes.
On the first point, Sinjin served out wide to Viktoriya’s forehand to test her leg. Viktoriya passed the test with flying colors, rifling a winner down the line.
“Sí.” Viktoriya clenched her fists and stared across the net to assess Sinjin’s reaction to her shot.
Undaunted, Sinjin continued to follow her script. She directed the next serve to Viktoriya’s forehand as well. Set up for a kick serve to her backhand, Viktoriya watched Sinjin’s twenty-ninth ace fly by. The shot tied Sinjin’s personal best for the most aces she had ever hit in a match.
The crowd erupted, but Sinjin didn’t react. There was still work to be done.
Viktoriya’s passing shots began to find their mark. Another huge forehand brought her to 15-30. A bruising backhand to 15-40. With Queen Elizabeth watching over her shoulder, Queen Viktoriya had double match point.
In the Friends Box, Gabrielle, Kendall, Nicolas, and Stephanie held hands, forming a united front. In the Royal Box, Laure and her parents did the same.
“It can’t end like this,” Sinjin said under her breath. “Not like this and not to her. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life. Don’t let it pass you by.”
She served another ace to save one match point. Then she waited for the applause to die down.
She knew she was taking part in a classic match, one that would be talked about for years to come no matter who won, but unless she pulled out the victory, she would never be able to bring herself to watch it. She didn’t know which was worse, losing the match or losing to Viktoriya. Again. Neither scenario held great appeal.
She hit a booming serve and waited for a short ball so she could work her way into the net. Viktoriya’s deep ground strokes kept her tethered to the baseline. Finally, fifteen strokes into the rally, one of Viktoriya’s backhands landed close to the service line. Sinjin sliced a backhand and followed it to the net. The shot stayed low but landed short, giving Viktoriya a good look at the passing shot.
Sinjin’s heart sank as Viktoriya drew back and loaded up her two-handed backhand. By protecting the sideline, she had left a sizable hole on the other side of the court. If Viktoriya’s crosscourt backhand landed in, the match was over.
“Out!” the linesperson called.
Viktoriya raised her hands to her head in disbelief. “How did you see it?” she asked the chair umpire.
“It was on the far side of the court. I can’t overrule my linesman. Would you like to challenge the call?”
Down to two challenges, Viktoriya couldn’t afford to waste one on a point she might not win. But if she gambled and won, the trophy was hers. She waved her racquet dismissively. “Challenge.”
“Miss Vasilyeva is challenging the call on the left sideline,” Helen Rhys said. “The ball was called out.”
Sinjin toweled off while she waited for the replay to appear on the screen. She thought the ball had landed just out, but she didn’t know if she were seeing the ball with her heart or her head. She turned to Laure, who had a better view than she did. “In or out?”
Laure held up her thumb and index finger a half inch apart. “Just wide.”
The replay confirmed her call.
“You promised me a bottle of champagne if I won,” Sinjin said. “I think I’m going to need a whole bloody case.”
“That can be arranged.”
Sinjin fanned her shirt to show the relieved crowd her heart was beating out of her chest. The gesture drew a laugh, but Viktoriya obviously didn’t see the humor in it. She was the best closer in women’s tennis—and she had just blown two match points.
*
Sinjin outplayed Viktoriya from the net and the baseline to pull even at five-all. A huge grin on her face, she soaked up the atmosphere as the crowd roared its approval.
Laure and her mother exchanged sighs of relief.
“You’re right,” Laure said. “She does look like she belongs here. She used to say she was going to play until she was thirty and then call it a day, but I don’t know. Look at her. She’s like a kid out there. She may keep going forever. Everyone dreams about going out on top. Pete Sampras won the U.S. Open when he was thirty-one and never played again aside from exhibitions. It would be incredible if Sinjin could do something similar—if her last match were her best match—but I don’t know if she’d be able to walk away that easily. I know I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think I can endure matches like this for another five years,” the Queen said.
Laure laughed. “You and me both.”
*
The most dangerous opponent was a wounded opponent. Sinjin had Viktoriya on the ropes but couldn’t finish her off. In an epic game reminiscent of the twenty-minute, thirty-two point, thirteen-deuce affair Steffi Graf and Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario played in the penultimate game of the 1995 final, Viktoriya and Sinjin traded body blows for nearly half an hour. The game lasted longer than the entire second set.
On the forty-third point, Sinjin earned her seventh break point. If she won it, she could serve for the match.
Viktoriya rubbed her right hand. According to the speed gun, none of her last five serves had topped one hundred miles an hour. She had been serving so long her fingers were undoubtedly starting to cramp. Her arm muscles had to be screaming from overuse.
As the match neared the three-hour mark, Sinjin sensed something she had never seen in Viktoriya: vulnerability. Viktoriya’s fans sensed it, too. They chanted her name, their voices accompanied by the sound of rhythmic applause. Then Sinjin’s fans got in on the act. If the retractable roof had been closed, the din would have blown it off.
“Quiet, please,” Helen Rhys said. Her request only made the crowd get louder.
Each time Viktoriya stepped up to the line, she had to back off because the fans wouldn’t stop cheering. She turned her back to the court and wiped her face with her wristband. Just before Viktoriya turned away, Sinjin could have sworn she saw tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Quiet, please,” Helen Rhys repeated. “The players are ready. Quiet, please.”
The crowd reluctantly complied with her request. It amazed Sinjin how Centre Court could sound as loud as a football stadium one minute and as silent as a library the next. The onlookers were transfixed. Some clutched each other as if they were in need of comfort or solace or both. Some had their fingers crossed. Some had their hands clasped as if in prayer. All were ready to erupt.
When they trained together as teenagers, Sinjin and Viktoriya had often discussed strategy. Forgetting that Viktoriya could one day use the information against her, Sinjin had once confided to Viktoriya that, if given a choice, she would rather hit a backhand than a forehand. Her backhand was a formidable weapon. Moreover, it was reliable. Her forehand was sporadically brilliant but inconsistent at best. When she was nervous, she decelerated through the shot instead of hitting out like she was supposed to.
Sinjin knew where the ball was going even before Viktoriya began her service motion. Her forehand. No doubt about it. Even though she expected the shot, she still had to pull it off. She tried to swallow and she felt like she had a golf ball in her throat.
These are the moments that define a career. If you want y
our career to be complete, you’ve got to seize this moment, not run from it. Don’t wait for Viktoriya to miss. Take it to her.
Her body and mind focused on what she needed to do, she stood with her heels on the baseline and settled into her return stance.
Viktoriya frequently pronounced herself one of the smartest match players on tour. Sinjin was the most skilled. Everyone knew Sinjin was a brilliant strategist, but her immense talent was often her downfall. When given a choice between a routine shot and a spectacular one, she went for the flashier shot every time. In practice, she could hit every shot in the book. Could she do it when the pressure was on?
Viktoriya’s serve didn’t have much on it, but it was struck with tremendous spin. Sinjin resisted the urge to take a big cut at the ball. To try to end the point with one swing. Exercising restraint, she blocked the return back to get the ball in play.
As they settled into an exchange of ground strokes, Viktoriya directed all of hers to Sinjin’s forehand, trying to draw an error. The shot not only held up but began to pay dividends.
Ten shots into the rally, Sinjin’s slice forehand landed just inside the baseline and barely bounced. Too leg weary to bend her knees to get down to the ball, Viktoriya bent from the waist and took one hand off her racquet to extend her reach. Grunting with effort, she barely dug the ball off the turf.
Sinjin moved forward to hit a forehand volley, the weakest shot in her repertoire.
Punch it. Don’t swing.
Her technique perfect, she volleyed the ball into the open court.
“Game, Miss Smythe,” Helen Rhys said. “Miss Smythe leads six games to five.”
Sinjin was one game away from ending the drought.
Happily breaking the unwritten rule prohibiting cheering in the Royal Box, Laure and her parents joined the rest of the delirious Centre Court fans as they clapped, stomped, and chanted their way through the changeover. Even the Queen tapped a sensibly shoed foot.
While an exhausted Viktoriya sank into her chair as if she couldn’t wait to get off her feet, Sinjin stood by hers as if she couldn’t wait to get back on court. She drank greedily from a bottle of Gatorade as she tried to prevent the onset of the cramps that were threatening to form in her left thigh. Though she was sufficiently hydrated, nervous tension had her muscles in knots.
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