On the Line Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2009 by Serena Williams

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Grand Central Publishing

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub

  First eBook Edition: September 2009

  Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56402-1

  Contents

  Copyright

  Praise for ON THE LINE

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  ONE: Ride a Little, Bump a Little

  TWO: The Greatest Love of All

  THREE: Me and V

  FOUR: The Fiery Darts of Indian Wells

  FIVE: Faith, Family, Florida

  SIX: Going It Alone

  SEVEN: Fashion Statements

  EIGHT: The So-and-So Slam

  NINE: Tunde

  TEN: Change It Up

  ELEVEN: Only the Strong Survive

  TWELVE: Up from Down Under

  THIRTEEN: Play On, Serena!

  FOURTEEN: U.S. Open, 2008—My Tournament Journal

  CLOSING THOUGHTS: A Work in Progress

  Praise for

  ON THE LINE

  “In her memoir, ON THE LINE, Serena shares with us her evolution from a girl to a woman to a world champion. From the first time I met her, when she was very young, to watching her capture the U.S. Open, Serena has always amazed me with her ability on the court, her curiosity away from it, and her overall love for life.”

  —Billie Jean King

  “Ascending from nowhere to the top of the world, she has run an exciting zigzag course transforming darkest days into bright victories on her way to the International Tennis Hall of Fame.”

  —Bud Collins

  “On the court, Serena is the most challenging opponent I’ve come up against, and off the court, she is a loving sister and a true friend. Serena has been a role model for me and an inspiration.”

  —Venus Williams

  This book is dedicated to my daddy. Your vision

  and undying dedication made everything I do possible. I love you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When people congratulate me after Venus and I win a doubles championship, I always tell them I didn’t do very much—except for pick the right partner and then stand back and let Venus do all the work.

  That’s how I feel about this book, because from the very beginning I was blessed to work with good, creative people. First and foremost, I have to give glory to Jehovah God for allowing me to have this opportunity. My mom—thank you for your support, your unconditional love, your strength, and your smile. Without you this book would not have been possible! Daddy—your confidence in me has led me to become a champion not only on the court but off. I love you both!

  This couldn’t have been done without my sister and business advisor, Isha. When I wanted to give up on this project she urged me on, kept me motivated, and saw this project through from beginning to end, never missing a beat. Isha, I can’t say thank you enough!

  I would also like to thank my agent and friend at the William Morris Agency, Jill Smoller. You have been in my corner for both the ups and downs—thank you for seeing me through this project. You mean so much to me! Also thanks to Evan Levy; he is invaluable to my team.

  I also owe thanks to Suzanne Gluck, the head of the William Morris literary department. I couldn’t be Serena without my lawyer, Keven Davis, his colleague, Theresa Simpson, and my business manager, Larry Bailey. They’ve all taken turns keeping me on track since I was nine years old.

  Of course, I can’t accomplish anything without the endless support of my other sisters: Yetunde, the world’s best big sister; Lyndrea, my heartbeat; and Venus, my best friend! Yetunde, you live forever in my soul and you’re in my thoughts every day. My sisters keep me grounded and love me no matter what, even when they found out I broke their piggy banks!

  I am indebted to my coauthor, Dan Paisner. Dan ended up chasing me all over the world to put my thoughts on these pages. Yeah, we did it, Dan!

  At Grand Central Publishing, I am grateful to Karen Kosztolnyik, our editor, who did a great job helping me and Dan shape and polish our manuscript. Karen, your insights really helped make this a fun yet empowering book. I want to thank all the amazing people at Grand Central who helped behind the scenes, including Karen’s assistant, Celia Johnson; publisher Jamie Raab; editor-in-chief Deb Futter; associate publisher Emi Battaglia; production editor, Tareth Mitch; director of publicity, Jennifer Romanello; publicist, Jimmy Franco; publicist, Linda Duggins; art director, Claire Brown… and everybody else who had a role in turning me into a real author.

  Finally, I want to thank all my readers and supporters for traveling on this journey with me through these pages. Go forth with an abundance of courage and the confidence that you can do anything you set your mind to.

  “When you fail, you fail alone.”

  —Sign posted on a public tennis court by

  Richard Williams to inspire his young daughters

  PROLOGUE

  September 3, 2008

  Arthur Ashe Stadium. U.S. Open. Head-to-head against Venus. Under the lights in front of a packed house. I hate that it’s just the quarterfinals, but it’s always a battle when we meet. Last time we played was in the Wimbledon final just a couple months back. Venus got the better of that one, but I came out strong. First two or three games, I was dominant. Fearless. That’s how you have to play it on grass. You have to go for those winners early, but then I started thinking too much and the match got away. That happens sometimes, especially against a tough player like my Big Sis.

  That’s what I have to keep reminding myself going into this one: how good Venus is. How strong I’ll have to be to counter. How carefully I’ll have to defend. All week long, since I first saw the draw, I had this quarterfinal matchup with V in my head. She’s the best player on the tour—with a huge serve. When she’s on her game, no one can touch her. Well… except for me.

  We’ve gone back and forth in these matches. In the beginning, V beat up on me pretty good. Then I beat her up in the finals of four straight majors. Now we’re back and forth again. We’ve played against each other so many times, we know each other’s games so well, there aren’t too many surprises. Venus tends to strategize a lot more than I do before a match, so I know she’ll mix things up; she’ll go another way with her shots; she’ll work a new set of angles; she’ll show me something different on her serve, some new disguise. I tend to react more than V, so I plan to be ready for whatever she throws at me.

  Warming up, I’m thinking she’ll have to completely reinvent her game if she hopes to win. I’ve been playing so well. All year long. Solid. Consistent. No, I haven’t won a major, but I’ve come close, and I’ve won a bunch of tournaments along the way. I even won a gold medal in women’s doubles with Venus at the Beijing Olympics. And I’ve been healthy. This is key. This appearance at the Open is the first time I’ve played all four majors in back-to-back years, so I’m happy with my fitness and my energy and my focus. It spills over into my game, because the more I play, the better I play. Venus knows that about me, too. She knows she has to bring… something. And I know that she knows. And she knows that I know. Like I said, there
are no surprises.

  My plan is to start fast, maybe catch Venus before she’s locked in. A lot of times, even top players fumble through the first few games of a match. I’m guilty of it, too. It’s like we’re sizing up our opponents, afraid to make a mistake, so we play tight until things loosen up. These early games are a little like a boxing match: two fighters circling in the ring, each waiting for the other to make the first move. It’s a tentative dance, but my thing is to pounce. Doesn’t always work out that you get that chance, because sometimes the game doesn’t give you what you need, but that’s the idea.

  We’ll start on my serve. That’s huge. A big serve like mine can set me up for the whole match. Already I’m thinking, Okay, Serena, here’s your edge. But then I step to the line and I don’t get the ball quite where I want it on the toss, and I end up hitting my first serve into the net. It lets out a little of the air from my game plan. Not a lot, but some. I try not to place too much weight on the first point of a match, or the first serve, because it’s not like they’re worth any more than any of the other shots you’ll need to make to get the win. You take that first point, you’ve still got to grab a hundred more. Some players, they’re just the opposite. They want to get on the board first and start playing with a lead, but I don’t worry about that. I don’t even worry about the first game—unless, of course, I’m serving. Then I’m all over it. Then I can’t let the other girl break.

  Venus takes my second serve deep to the notch at the baseline, forcing me to short-hop the ball on my return. It’s a shot I’ve been working on in practice with my dad—and I guess Venus has been working on it, too. It’s a difficult shot to defend because it’s right at your feet, with pace, and you’re a little off balance coming out of your serve. There’s not much I can do but wrist the ball back over the net, where Venus is waiting. Luckily, she tries to do too much with it and goes for a sideline winner to my forehand side, missing wide.

  I take a deep breath. Doesn’t matter to me if I beat my opponent or if she beats herself. As long as she’s beat. Even if it’s my sister. I love her dearly (she’s my best friend!), but that gets tossed while we’re playing. For now she’s just like any other girl on the other side of the net, trying to keep me from what I want. She feels the same way. We tell each other we can be sisters later.

  Venus gets the point right back. I basically give it to her, on an unforced error off her return, right into the net, so I take another deep breath to settle. I think, Come on, Serena. You can’t be giving it away like that on a nothing shot.

  At 15-all, I’m caught flat in the middle of a long rally. Venus powers a low return that looks to me like it will catch the net, so I don’t move toward it the way I should, and I end up paying. Actually, I don’t move toward it at all. You only get a split second to move toward a shot, and here I let that split second pass, so Venus’s ball falls softly to the court, just out of reach. I want to smack myself on the head with my racquet—that’s how disappointed I am in my own effort. I know better than to give up on a point before it’s done.

  One of the great things about tennis is it doesn’t give you any time to dwell on your mistakes. Spend too much time on one and you’ll make another. And another. There’s always a next point to occupy your full attention, so I set that mental error aside and step to the line. Now it’s V’s turn to give it back with a mental error of her own—a long return that knots the game at 30–30. Next, she gets the ball where she wants it but tries to be too fine and sends it wide to the same sideline where she’d missed that previous shot, putting me up 40–30.

  Here I take an extra beat before serving… then, a rifle shot, nearly on the T, curling away from V’s forehand. My first ace. Glad to get that out of the way, along with this first game, but once again there’s no time to dwell on it because there’s no changeover. We change sides, but that’s it. I try not to make eye contact with V as we pass. I have this mean, steely look when I play, so I’ll just stare down my opponent if our eyes happen to meet. No big thing. But with V, I worry I’ll smile or break out laughing, so it’s better not to look and maybe cut the tension. Better to let it build and tighten and try to use it to my advantage.

  Usually, I don’t think about this. In fact, during the first game of the match I make a special point of crossing on the opposite side of the court, as far away from my opponent as possible. I’ve never seen anyone else do this, but it’s become a ritual for me. My thinking is, What’s the point of crossing in front of the umpire if there’s no changeover? I’d rather steer clear, unless I feel like I need a sip of water or some type of equipment change, so that’s the way I play it here.

  Venus opens with her first serve, and I manage only a short return, which she crushes for her first winner. I can barely get my racquet on her next serve, and as she goes up 30–0 I think, Dang, V, you keep serving like this, I’m in trouble.

  At some point during Venus’s first service game I reach up and notice that one of my earrings has fallen off. (Hardly a fashion emergency, but worth noting, don’t you think?) Working with my Nike designers, I’d put together a dynamite outfit for this tournament—a fun red dress, topped by a wide red bandana and highlighted by these giant hoop-inside-a-hoop-inside-a-hoop earrings. I love the look, but of course that’s no edge when I’m up against my sister, who loves her look, too. I glance across the net and see she really does look great, in one of her own designs. Black. Stunning. I think, Okay, so that’s a push, V. All even on style points.

  I reach up and touch my left ear, where those giant hoops had been. Nothing. But I leave the other earring in place, and as I turn momentarily from the net I take time to laugh to myself and think, Better be careful, Serena. These earrings are heavy! Don’t want to list to one side!

  I turn back to the game, and it starts to feel to me like neither one of us wants to stamp this first set. It’s early, but we’re just trading miscues. I take the next point, when Venus sits back on my return and hits it long. I take the next point, too—on a double fault. I’m happy to have it, but I can see V is frustrated, and when she gets frustrated she usually follows with an extra effort—and that’s just what happens here. Another monster serve that I’m fortunate to reach, but that’s about it.

  Now Venus is up 40–30, but she double-faults on the next point to put us at deuce.

  Deuce. It’s such a compelling point of pause in a close game. When I’m receiving, I always think it puts me in a good position to break; one mistake and my opponent will be backed to the wall. And yet when I’m serving, it feels to me like I’m in control. We’re on different sides of the same stalemate, but it means different things depending on your perspective, and here my perspective is that Venus is struggling. It’s early, I know. We’re both a little sluggish, I know. But she’s already double-faulted twice, and kept me in a game I don’t seem to particularly want or deserve, so it’s a good time to make a move.

  Venus doesn’t give me a chance: she reaches back and delivers a big serve, and then on my weak return she finds some funky new angle to my backhand side that I don’t anticipate, passing me for another winner. Then, on her advantage, she hits another big serve to take the game.

  I think, So much for Venus struggling. I also think, Can’t sit back and wait for Venus to give it up, Serena. You’ve got to take it from her. Now.

  These are my marching orders to myself as I approach the baseline—but I’m still not sharp. Venus catches me leaning the wrong way on a miss-hit, and I don’t have time to recover, so she takes the point to go up 0–15, but then another ace brings me right back. (Love those aces!) I go up 30–15 on the next point, when Venus hits another return long, and I start to think neither one of us will ever get it going tonight. We’re just a couple games in, but the match has no personality, no rhythm, no excitement. We’re trading points, taking turns.

  Can’t be a whole lot of fun to watch, I realize. I think this way a lot, I’m afraid. About wanting to play thrilling, high-level tennis. About giving t
he fans something to cheer about. Don’t misunderstand; I want to win. That’s the single most important thing, but I want to win in an exciting way. I love playing in front of big crowds. I love that all these people spend their time and money watching me play. It’s such an honor, especially here in New York, where the fans have always been so supportive. They appreciate good tennis here, and I feel a certain responsibility to give them a memorable effort, to get them on their feet—and this match is starting out like a snore.

  It’s probably not a good idea to think along these lines while I’m out here trying to win a tournament, but I can’t help myself. Plus, I guess I’m not just worried about the fans losing interest. I’m worried about me. I’m like a lot of players in this way; I need to be dialed in to play well. I need to be focused, charged. I can’t just go through the motions and expect to prevail. I started out feeling all jazzed and pumped, but ten minutes later we’re just lulling ourselves to sleep. If I get bored, I’m done, so I tell myself to power things up—also, not a good idea, because you can’t get an awesome rally going on your racquet alone. It’s a two-way deal. There’s a give-and-take, an ebb-and-flow. Every match takes on its own personality, and a part of me knows I just need to give this one some time to find it, but another part hurries my next couple serves and I end up double-faulting, to even the score at 30–30.

  I think, Aw, Serena, now look what you’ve done.

  I miss my next serve after that, and on my second serve Venus hits a return that I’d handle easily nine times out of ten—but here on this tenth time (apparently), all I can do is hit it weakly back into the net to go down 30–40.

  Here’s another thing I love about tennis: it switches gears on you double-quick. I don’t love it so much when it takes me on a downshift like the one I’m nearly into here, but you’ve got to take the bad with the good, right? All of a sudden, I’m in a hole, but I don’t get a chance to dig out: Venus catches the net on the next point, and the ball deflects onto my side in a crazy way and I’ve got no shot, so just like that she’s got her first break. On a lucky bounce.