Tennis for me started at Goodwood, an 18th century estate considered to be an exemplar of late-Georgian/early-Federalist architecture, a standout house in my small hometown of Richmond, Massachusetts. The property included a red clay court set on a grand field, far enough away from the house that Mrs. Buell, who lived in the manse, let the small community tennis group use it for lessons and tournaments. My earliest days at Goodwood, I sat on the sidelines watching my brother and sister battle in singles and my parents volunteer for what we called “mixed up doubles” – male/female teams composed of an adult and a child.
I vividly remember my mother clapping her hand over my mouth when I was stung by a bee during my brother’s serve.
Within a few years, I was riding my bike to Goodwood for lessons every summer, playing in the tournaments, and developing a thoroughly decent game of my own. But tennis wasn’t just something we played. Borg, Evert, Ashe, Connors, King, and McEnroe helped me fall in love with Wimbledon and the U.S. Open; Goolagong, Lendl, Edberg, Wilander, Graf, and Navratilova solidified that love. By the time Andre Agassi entered my life – his face adorning my walls, his signature shoes on my feet – I knew I was a lifer.
While Wimbledon has always been a highlight, these last few weeks solidified for me why the U.S. Open is my favorite of the slams. What it lacks in tradition – no grass, no all white tennis garb, no strawberries or cream or Pimm’s – it makes up for in spirit, from the electric night matches in Arthur Ashe Stadium to alcohol-soaked melon balls in the Honey Deuce, available for purchase in a souvenir cup at the bar.
This year, of course, there were more eyes on the Open than ever before – Serena Williams’ final match shattered ESPN’s records, peaking at 6.9 million viewers. It took three sets to get the legend to finally put her racquet down, two matches more than most anyone expected from her, with the roars of the record-setting crowd ensuring that her opponents understood they would be all alone while on the court.
There was something about Serena’s run that captivated me, already a pretty passionate tennis fan, in unprecedented fashion. And not just with her matches – with all the matches. Knowing that the legend – and yes, that moniker is not something I’m arguing, but rather something I’m insisting on – had chosen the Open as her last likely stand set a fire in me, pushing me to stay up late into the night to see epic five-setters, and to keep a small window open on my laptop at work to watch day play.
To be clear, I always watch the Open – sometimes from my couch, sometimes from a decent seat at Ashe. But this felt different, and while it could have been the so-called end of COVID or hot sun and blue skies, I know, for me, it was Serena.
There are a lot of ways to measure Serena as GOAT; diverse ways to define greatness. There are always, of course, the stats: the 23 slams, the 319 weeks – SIX YEARS – at number one, the Olympic golds, the Serena Slams, and the head-scratching record she and sister Venus compiled in doubles finals, 14-0, a record with no peer in tennis. But greatness isn’t just about the numbers or the most powerful serve or the most perfect toss – although, seriously, that toss, right? It isn’t just about the glittery costumes or the Queen Latifah intro or the Oprah-narrated montage. Greatness is not just about being a trailblazer, but also about taking the path broken by the likes of Ashe and Althea Gibson and, even closer to home, Venus, and making it her own, making it matter, making it have meaning far beyond the lines of a tennis court. It’s about being and looking strong in a sport that prefers dresses to skirts, and skirts to shorts. It’s about her accepting a grand farewell hug from a sport that often held her at arm’s length or worse, letting it embrace her, envelope her. It’s about her giving the sport the privilege, the honor, to claim her.
Yes, when Serena left the stadium, it was the end of an era – her era. Tennis will continue to thrill – the new number one on the men’s side is just 19 years old; on the women’s side, just 21 – and continue to change. Indeed, with the likes of Coco Gauff, Frances Tiafoe, Naomi Osaka, Sloane Stephens, and Ons Jabeur still on the circuit, we can be sure that tennis will continue to evolve, continue to matter in ways no one ever could have predicted. Thank you, Serena. Thank you.
Amy Bass is professor of sport studies and chair of the division of social science and communication at Manhattanville College. Bass is the author of ONE GOAL: A COACH, A TEAM, AND THE GAME THAT BROUGHT A DIVDED TOWN TOGETHER, among other titles. In 2012, she won an Emmy for her work with NBC Olympic Sports on the London Olympic Games.
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