The GOAT, tennis, and the search for a perfect word
How do I love thee, Martina Navratilova?
I’ve been thinking a lot about tennis since Serena lost in the U.S. Open this week. She announced in August that she was moving away from tennis, and I scanned many stories, both before and after the loss, about her “GOAT” status. Many current articles are discussing Serena’s place in tennis history. Since I haven’t followed tennis much since the early 90’s, I can’t place Serena’s position in the recent history of tennis.
I imagine I’ll become a huge Serena fan after the fact, which I’m prone to do. I became an Amy Winehouse fan reading the stories about her a few months after her death. It’s very possible I’ll read about Serena and watch her matches on YouTube, regretting I was not part of her tennis journey as it unfolded. Or perhaps I’ll tap into her life as she steps away from tennis. Regardless, the GOAT stories have rekindled my early love of the game of tennis.
This week I’ve been thinking about how very much I love Martina Navratilova. Love is not quite the word, and I’ve chosen to write about her this week as I examine the limitations of the English language. Martina did something in 1981 that left such a powerful impression on me that I get special feelings in my heart, even today, when I think about it. Serena’s match reminded me to revisit and enjoy those feelings.
The feeling is not exactly love. It’s not only admiration. It’s a powerful combination of feelings where the sum is greater than the parts. I feel inspired to pinpoint that combination, even if there is no single word to encapsulate it. And those feelings are not just about Martina. In 1981, I felt a collective, unifying expression that cemented my feelings for Martina.
I began this week’s journey by revisiting the moment. I searched for videos to remind me why I hold Martina in such deep, high, loving regard. (Those are not the right words either!) So far I can only find a photo taken in those moments that Martina pierced my psyche. What did she do? She lost the 1981 U.S. Open Women’s finals to Tracy Austin. I had to look it up to verify the year and the score. 6-1, 6-7(4), 6-7(1). Two hours and forty minutes. Martina double faulted on the final point. Parts of the match itself are available on YouTube, but not the moment.
Before the moment, I was mostly focused on men’s tennis. Watching a women’s tennis match was something to do while anticipating the men’s. I loved Bjorn Borg. I know those precise words, actually. I was crushing on Bjorn Borg. He had a scruffy face and long hair. That’s pretty much all it took, combined with stellar tennis acumen and my teenage hormones. (I feel the need to mention that I did actually play tennis during this period, but saying more would start an even longer ramble.)
So in 1981, I was watching the U.S. Open women’s final. Tracy was playing Martina. I was rooting for Martina. She’d been #1 in the world on and off, so she was hardly an underdog. But she had never been embraced by the fans the way that Chris or Tracy had been. She was not one of the feminine, golden-locked, “Team USA” ladies of tennis.
Martina had moved to the U.S. as a Czech defector. The press had made fun of her weight gain after declaring her excitement for McDonalds. And when she hired a fitness and psychological coach, they had begun to call her a robot. It seemed she couldn’t win the affections of the American press, so in my mind, she was the emotional underdog. She had just become a U.S. citizen and it seemed only right that she should capture the title just after this milestone.
But she didn’t win. She double faulted. She quickly wiped tears as she packed up her racket. I could see a chink in that fierce armor of focus, determination, and athleticism. And then something amazing happened.
They called the women up for the trophy ceremony. Martina was introduced as the runner up. And the crowd absolutely ERUPTED in support of this newly anointed U.S. citizen. Martina stood there, stunned. And she wept. And wept. And wept. The crowd stood. And cheered. And cheered. And cheered. I felt shivers. I wept. And wept. And wept. Oh my god, I loved that woman, that crowd, and that moment of unity and support.
I would love her forever. Surely I admired her. She was a ferocious player. She changed the women’s game with her serve and volley style. She could be so consistent, dispatching opponents point by point. She was determined, hiring a trainer, changing her diet, and sculpting her body to become perhaps the GOAT. This was all true before the moment, but before the moment, I was simply a fan.
What was the missing ingredient that pushed me over the edge? Certainly the surprising coalition of the crowd was part of the magic. I wanted to be part of it, cheering her on. But it was her tears. Her astonishment at the crowd’s genuine display of support. And dare I say, at the risk of sounding like Brene Brown: her vulnerability. Brene has said that the power of vulnerability lives in those moments that we “let ourselves be seen.” Martina wept and we all saw it.
Is there a word for what I feel for Martina based on that moment? It’s been 40 years and I still feel that way. Perhaps if I knew her, or if she attended my fantasy dinner party, I would feel differently about her. But that moment. It was, and is, precious.
The math geek in me tried to create a formula for what she displayed that day, and how it has affected me.
f + d + V = ?
The formula stands for ferocity + determination + Vulnerability. What did that combination stir in me?
I’ve been googling for several days to find a word that matches my feeling, and I find none. I found two words, “profound admiration.” But there’s something missing. And I think it’s the V word that’s missing.
I learned of a Greek word thauma, which is mostly used in religious texts. It is approaching that feeling I have. Various definitions include the words revere, wonder, admire. But the V part is still missing, and I think that’s the profound part of it. Perhaps I shouldn’t search for one word and simply steep in the feelings.
Brene has said, “Stories are data with a soul.” In that spirit, I share this story. I feel enlivened when I think of those tears that Martina, me, and some of the crowd at Flushing Meadow shared.
She later said the tears were tears of disappointment, joy for the crowd’s acceptance, and frustration. “I tried too hard. It would have meant so much more to win [the U.S. Open] as an American. But it didn’t turn out that way."
I enjoy thinking about my heroes. Not just the heroes I know personally, such as family, friends, coworkers, or mentors. But the distant people who not only inspire me, but have connected with me in some profound way that they will never know.
The world can be magic when we tap into feeling, whatever it’s called, and carry it forward.
Tribute to that two hour and forty minute match.
Postscript: Martina’s been in the news in recent years for comments about transgender athletes and about the Williams sisters. I can still love her, though. It would be interesting to meet her and understand if she’s been misrepresented in the media or if her tweets have been interpreted differently than her intentions. I find magic in those 1981 tears and her subsequent domination of women’s tennis.