I Can Never Be Venus or Serena Williams

“Tennis is a prejudice game. ... People are prejudiced in tennis. I don't think Venus or Serena was ever accepted by tennis. They never will be. But if you get some little White no good trasher in America like Tracy Austin or Chris Evert who cannot hit the ball, they will claim this is great.”

—Richard Williams (Father of Williams Sisters).

“They… don’t know what to do in Tennis with people like the William Sisters. The announcers don’t know how to report on them, they don’t know how to talk about them.”

—Award-winning Sportswriter, Dave Zirin.

Yesterday morning I watched Venus and Serena Williams both defeat their opponents in peculiar ways.  

Serena’s match was more demanding, inching close to three hours as she forced through a majestic win after trailing 6-7 in the first set. She ended up winning the subsequent sets 7-5 and 8-6. It was a game for the story books. History made. Through self-motivation as never-before-seen, she conquered her way into a fifth appearance at the Wimbledon final, scheduled for tomorrow. She has previously won the 2002 and 2003 tournaments.

Venus’ match couldn’t be more different. Wrapping-up in less than an hour—51 minutes to be exact—she laid barren her opponent, the world no. 1 seed (B.S.), with straight sets of 6-1, and 6-0. Venus, coming on the heels of her junior sister’s victory, strolled unchallenged, head held high, into her eighth Wimbledon final. As winner of five past Wimbledon titles (2000, 2001, 2005, 2007, 2008), there’s a strong likelihood of Venus adding a sixth this coming Saturday.

More importantly, what was established yesterday is the unflinching dedication and discipline these two beautiful, mannered, diligent sisters have nurtured since entering professional Tennis in the mid-‘90s. The intelligent observer would assume that, for this, they have been compensated with respect and reverence, but such a person would come as close to the truth as the Devil is to God.   

From day one, both have been treated as outcasts—suspects—aliens—Niggers. Raised in the streets of Compton, and trained on Crenshaw grounds, Serena and Venus Williams are anomalies in the guarded world of professional Tennis. No big names are behind their success, beyond “Mommy,” “Daddy,” and “Sisters”—one of which fell victim to a 2003 gang-inflicted homicide.

Rarely are they reciprocated with the mutual and natural warmth, from players and fans and coaches and staff and commentators, which they exude effortlessly on-and-off court. Commentators have used up all clean racial derogatives in the English language to describe the Williams sisters; of late, “scary” and “intimidating” have taken prominence. Players are more cordial, but unwilling to challenge the racist atmosphere under which the sisters operate each time they step unto a Tennis court. Fans are a different case.  

In March 2007, at the Sony Ericsson Open, Serena Williams was heckled and dehumanized by a White fan who demanded that she “hit the ball into the net like any nigger would.”

Serena Williams took a pause during her sets and protested to an umpire. She described the experience as “nerve-wrecking.” He said some “evil things,” she later added. She asked that he be immediately “removed,” never to return to any of her future matches. It was only when the match was stopped, and the cameras beamed in the direction at which she was pointing, that fans nearby ousted the culprit, signaling that they were willing to sustain his racist insults, insofar as he did not cause a scene. And, even then, the umpire seemed to be expressing doubt about the validity of her claims.   

The Williams sisters have endured countless incidents like that relayed above, many of which were never reported or revealed. They have been forced to suck it in and play under conditions that no human being should ever be subjected to.  

But I can never be Venus or Serena Williams. I just can’t.

For all those times when fans cheered on my opponents, as incompetent as they were, simply to get under my skin, I probably would have had a hard time maintaining composure. For all those times when umpires disregarded me, and closed shut their ear-drums to my legitimate complaints, some unkind words might have flown out of my mouth. For all those times when fans jeered at me, cursed at me, hurled racial epithets to intimidate me, I would have, as Jackie Robinson similarly wished a century ago, taken up my racket and carved a dent on the forehead of my imbecilic attackers. For every time some uninformed TV and Radio commentator disconnected their lips to pass judgment on my appearance, suggest better outfits, ridicule my wardrobe, I would have written three scathing letters; one to the FCC, one to the broadcasting company involved, and one to the anchor himself/herself; all three containing disparate levels of venom—depending on individual merit.    

On Saturday, a match would be played, and a winner of the Wimbledon 2009 tournaments crowned, but these two brave, audacious, bodacious sisters, regardless of the outcome, would always be winners in my book. They have carried a great burden, sacrificed their innocence, and bore insurmountable pain, just to reach the no. 1 spot.   

For that, I’m thankful. For that, I’m humbled. And, for that, I am constantly reminded that courage and composure are the essential pillars that hold erect a champion. Venus and Serena Williams are the finest examples of that ilk.