When you know, you know. While Venus Williams’ career started, I was interested in the vague way that attracts me to sports sometimes. I am not really much of a peeper, I prefer to do a physical activity that requires physical training rather than observe others do it. This separation between fandom and praxis is going to become relevant later in the article.
While Venus’ career was developing, I noticed her younger sister Serena in the background. They had those ridiculous and iconic matching hairstyles with the white and blue beads that took me back hard to the 1990s. I felt a kinship with them.
We had that in common, the regrettable braids phase of life. Also, behind Venus’ tall frame I saw something in Serena’s eyes. A flash. I wondered about naming and what that does to people: whoever called that child a name that alluded to serenity had a perverse sense of humour.
There was something there, something unusual. It gave me a shiver. It wasn’t about the sport: and indeed it turned out the sport itself was going to be the expression of something greater.
I have only played tennis maybe a handful of times in my life. I like it very much, it suits my competitive and relentless nature.
The focus on an individual opponent brings out the blood lust in me. I am terrible at it for many reasons but, boy, do I love it on the field! It makes me an absolute fiend. And therein lies something beyond the mastery itself.
The truth of sport is that it is one of the ways in which pure expression can happen. It is something that is impossible to explain if one hasn’t felt every sinew sing in battle, the tang of iron in your mouth from respiration, that perfect moment when everything is one and none and it dwells in you.
And the first time I heard Serena grunt into her volley, I knew. I knew she would always be strong enough. I knew I would follow her into battle.
In examining what it was about Serena that has made her the greatest of all time, I had to track down what makes people great and why. It is confusing. Partly, we can agree on who was the greatest and, partly, we will disagree about those people.
Numbers get used even though we know it is a collection of qualities beyond verification. Narrowing greatness down to a quality feels impossible at first.
The list of people who embody that for me ranges from a professor whose quiet presence felt like being in a chapel, to the heartbreaking actor Tony Leung, to the unshakeable grace of the late Chadwick Boseman facing his death, to the pain and truth and intellect of Anthony Bourdain, to the dreams of Pablo Neruda, to the absolute mastery of all the Africans I never call by name because of the powers that summon Ancestors, and onwards.
Why so many people, so many flavours, all of them certainty for me? What ties them together? And how come each one is very specific?
Yes, I have a list of greats. Every time I thought of Serena, Ella Fitzgerald came upon me. I thought of Mastery and Ella song through the volleys. I thought of points and Ella explained that winning is a collaborative effort even when it looks effortless.
It didn’t matter which angle I brought up, Ella said: Look, look. This is what it looks like.”
And so I looked at Serena and those perfect shoulders that have borne armour, gods, monsters, life, and success- and in her sharp gaze, I saw everything I dreamed of. The strength to build something greater than oneself.
I think that is where greatness comes from sustaining the brutal demands and the singular focus that dares to push things farther. And if I am honest about it, the quality that ties all these people together and everyone unnamed who is great is completion.
I want to sit next to Serena for a moment and sweat it through. I don’t want to watch her only, and I don’t want to be her. If I saw her in real life enjoying, say, a safari in Tanzania with warm waters and tour guides who can get you right up close enough to gaze into the eye of a mother elephant? I would remain silent. I want to live in the world she created, and I do, and that is glorious.
Retirement? Doesn’t happen to people who are complete. She will always be there. Upon the occasion of her change in focus, I wish her well.
And I just want to say: you put body in motion, your every move sang, and the world is now a bit better for it. Thank you, ma’am.
Elsie Eyakuze is a consultant and blogger for The Mikocheni Report: E-mail: elsieeyakuze@gmail.com