Maria Sharapova lifted the Venus Rosewater Bowl to the skies and then
collapsed in a fit of schoolgirl giggles.
It was almost as if she could not believe that she had just beaten defending
champion Serena Williams 6-1 6-4 to become the first Russian woman to win the
Wimbledon singles title at the tender age of 17.
No wonder. Because this was not just a sporting adventure up there with the
day Boris Becker lifted the men's title at the same age almost two decades ago.
On Centre Court on Saturday we witnessed one of the greatest Russian stories ever
told.
It was up there with Yuri Gagarin's first orbit in space. Hell, in
sporting terms it was a tale to rival Tolstoy's 'War and Peace'.
No nerves, no respect for the achievements of an illustrious opponent who had
started the match as a virtually unbackable 6-1 on favourite.
Williams was simply out-hit, out-manoeuvred, out-thought and eventually
outplayed by a willowy 6ft blonde and number 13 seed who single-handedly has
injected panache and excitement to a women's game which was in danger of
expiring from lack of interest.
Not here; no-one present will ever forget the moment of victory.
The way Sharapova sank to her knees, sucked in a huge lungful of air and hid
her emotions behind clasped hands. And then rose and raised both arms to the
heavens.
She skipped to the net and embraced Williams and to her credit the American's
hug and smile seemed genuine and sensitive.
Then Sharapova was searching for her dad Yuri, up in the player's box. He
clambered to meet her, she rushed with Bambi-like steps and disbelieving eyes to
greet him, all gawky and bewildered, and they met and embraced in a euphoric
blend of smiles and tears.
And then a first for the Centre Court. For as Sharapova returned to the court
she remembered her mum Yelena back in Florida and motioned for dad to throw his
mobile phone.
She tried to dial but could not get through - it was the only move at which
she had failed all afternoon.
"We've done this together through my whole career," said Sharapova in a
moving tribute to her parents.
"I owe dad so much. Mum and dad I owe you everything, thank you so much."
How fitting that in her moment of glory she should turn to the parents who had
sacrificed so much so that she could pursue her sporting ambition. How ironic
that here was a Russian living the all-American dream.
After all, she had to endure two years away from her mum in Florida while
Yelena awaited a visa back in Russia.
Dad Yuri arrived in the States with just 600 US dollars in his pocket and dug
roads, an hour-and-a-half's ride away from his daughter, to scratch a living.
And the family mode of transport? One second-hand bicycle.
Yet out of such struggle has emerged the most exciting talent to hit women's
tennis since the Williams sisters themselves burst on to the scene to dominate
the game seven years ago.
And make no mistake, this was no fluke. This is no one-hit wonder. Sharapova,
with the telescopic arms, the outrageous angles, the cat-fighting determination,
is going to be back for more year after year.
After Anastasia Myskina's victory at the French Open the Russians are coming
and they will take some stopping.
Today Sharapova, the second youngest women's champion after Martina Hingis,
was a thrilling explosion of power, a fearless blur of lithe and fluid action
and such a welcome contrast to the muscle-bound blows of Williams, which we have
admired for their might if not their beauty these past years.
She took the first set with such poise and maturity that it was difficult to
believe that she was just 17 and still studying for her sociology exams.
Twice she broke the most fearsome serve in tennis as the unforced errors
flowed from the Williams racket.
That was impressive but not nearly as remarkable as the mental toughness of a
girl whose separation from her family appears to have added an old head to the
youngest of shoulders.
Williams fought, as you would expect from a champion, especially in the final
game of that first set when Sharapova tried desperately to close it out and
eventually did so on her fourth set point.
We waited for the Williams game to ignite, but the truth is the defending
champion, whose knee operation 11 months ago has stripped her of the match
toughness we used to associate with her, has not been in control of her wayward
forehand throughout this tournament.
Still, she managed to achieve the first break of serve in the sixth game when
a rare Sharapova error on the backhand dumped low into the net.
The door was ajar but just when we thought it might burst open it was slammed
shut by a series of forehands from Sharapova which announced the fact that this
maiden, like a certain Iron Lady before her, was not for turning.
Williams could not shake off her opponent and her next service game went to
four deuces before Sharapova broke her again to give her the chance to serve for
the match.
The knees of more experienced players might have turned to jelly at such a
moment. Not Sharapova. She simply blasted away with those precision
groundstrokes, ratcheting up the pressure, strangling the life out of the
Williams challenge.
And then the final Williams forehand was in the net and Sharapova had
triumphed. It had taken just one hour and 13 minutes to write glorious history.
"Thanks for giving me a tough match," Sharapova squealed towards Williams.
"Sorry I had to win today."
The rest of us were not. We were still busy trying to take in one of the
greatest tennis stories ever told.
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