PARIS—Whether she knows it or not, Maria Sharapova is the consummate mistress of mind games in tennis. It begins with the banshee shriek she discharges each time she hits the ball. It continues with the glacial pace she imposes on a match, as if to send the message that the court belongs to her—and by golly, you’ll play by her terms.
And then there are the little things, like the cold stare across the net at her opponent before she serves. What, like she doesn’t know exactly where that service line is?
Or the time she takes between points—interludes so lengthy that Rafael Nadal could tug at two stray locks, pluck at six different areas of his shirt, and rearrange a chorus line of liquid-filled bottles before she’s ready to hit a second ball.
Or her willingness to look right at her opponent right after she hits a winner and scream, “Come on!”
Strictly speaking, none of these things is a violation of the rules (except, occasionally, the time-violation rule). But none of them is without significance, either. Added together, they are a lethal accessory to Sharapova’s game and they help shed light on the extraordinary way Sharapova doesn’t just out-hit, out-think, or out-last opponents, but the way she mentally destroys them. It’s something close to a telepathic gift, and the day may not be too far off when she just stays in the player lounge, knits her brows and purses her lips and—presto!—the scoreboard gives her the win.
It sure would save us a great deal of time and anxiety.