Delaney Ricciardo is fierce and her determined to win at any cost has not made her well liked. But by the time she retires from tennis she is a twenty four grand slam winner and regarded as the greatest tennis player the world has ever seen.
But si...
The air of Roland-Garros is like no other court in the world.
It is earthy and humid, the air almost feels heavy, which gets even worse during a game from the clay being kicked up.
As I walk toward the locker room in the morning, preparing for my first match, I am struck by how intense the memories are.
Each time I've played here comes back to me all at once.
The early two thousands to the late two thousands. Great wins and crushing losses.
I spent the first five or so years here desperate and frustrated, pushing myself to rise up the ranks. I love to Holmes in '03. I defeated her in the semis in '04, only to loose in the finals. I lost in the finals in '05. Lost in the semis in '06. The semis again in '07. The finals in '08. The quarter finals in '09. And then in '10, I finally won the whole thing.
Was I the greatest then—at that very moment? Even though I'd also failed here many times before? Which matters more? The wins or the losses?
Despite how hard I am seeking some unimpeachable label of greatness, it doesn't really exist. I do know that, on some level.
But then I walk into the locker room, full of players - Swift and Wade talking in the corner, Brenda Lomal pulling on her shoes, Violet Jackson opening a locker-and suddenly, I am pulled out of my head back into the world I know best.
The world of winners and losers.
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