The big wedding weekend kept me from seeing some of the fireworks at Indian Wells, but I did catch the second set of the women’s final and saw Maria Sharapova hammer Elena Dementieva for the title – Sharapova’s first since Birmingham in 2005. Now I understand why she was so elated with the triumph. It was a long time in the making.
Sharapova elicits very mixed reactions from fans, and is always in the crosshairs of a large number of anti-Masha Kool-Aid Drinkers – some of them dislike her in the same way that certain Apple computer users hate IBM, others resent the attention and endorsements she garners with her can’t miss formula of long legs, blonde hair, beautiful face and intelligence.
Sometimes I wonder how the “hate her because she’s pretty” crowed felt watching the ESPN telecast from Indian Wells, when it seemed that Sania Mirza’s Lotto commercial was aired every 13 seconds. Mirza hasn’t come within shouting distance of a major title, while Svetlana Kuznetsova has “U.S. Open” champ as a prefix to her name. Yet, how many clothing or shoe commercials have you seen Sveta in? Do you hate Mirza for that?
I’m not criticizing Mirza any more than Sharapova – I’m suggesting that neither should be blamed for being appealing and marketable, no matter how unfair an advantage they enjoy because of their natural beauty.
Beyond that, I was touched by how obviously elated Sharapova was to win her title. She’s extremely professional in a sport where many of her peers slide by or rest on their laurels. She gives her all on the court, and clearly loves to play the game. Ironically, those aren’t real sexy qualities for people looking for the kind of crossover appeal she enjoys. This girl is one giant mixed signal, and which part of the signal penetrates your consciousness most deeply may determine how you feel about her. But nobody who ever paid to watch Sharapova can ever say she took the money and ran.
My buddy and fellow Tennis magazine editor Jon Levey has an interesting take on Sharapova: he thinks that she’s more like a male player than any other woman. She lets herself go and gets lost in the game more than many of her female peers. She’s a grinder. She does her best to overpower opponents by applying constant pressure and keeping up a conspicuous level of pressure. This isn’t a slight of other woman players, but there’s an intensity and toughness about Sharapova that seems much more like that of male than female players.
It’s hard to love Sharapova’s game in much the same way that it’s hard to love smash-mouth football. Better yet, as I think I’ve written before, Sharapova at her best can only recite poetry; she can’t write it. But to hold her determination and will against her, because her most natural and conspicuous gifts are cosmetic is perverse.
Players who win in spite of their shortcomings and because they work hard are never inspirational, but they are always worthy of admiration. And they bring honor to the game itself.