“Nine,” I say.
“Right.”
“So you just go around memorizing your stats?” I say, even though I know I’m being a hypocrite.
Nicki laughs. “This matters to me, Carrie. Putting my whole soul into this game matters to me. These tournaments matter. I’ve dedicated my life to this.”
“Well, so have I,” I say.
“And you had your chance to shine––you were given that opportunity.”
“I took it,” I say. “It wasn’t given to me. Nobody wanted me to be the face of women’s tennis. They still don’t. I had to demand it. Just like I am doing now. So if you want it, you’re going to have to take it from me.”
“No,” Nicki says. “That’s what you don’t seem to get. I have taken it from you. I have the record. And if you want it, you’re going to have to take it from me.”
I stare at her, and she continues.
“I am the best player women’s tennis has seen,” she says. “And I deserve to be recognized for it.”
“You are recognized for it,” I say. “Constantly.”
Nicki shakes her head. “No, by you. By the person I’ve respected my entire life. The woman I’ve looked up to.”
There is no smile on her face anymore. Not even the hint of one. I look over at the TV. It’s playing sports commentary with the sound off. The closed captioning says they are talking about Nicki and me right now.
“I see it,” I say, finally looking at her. “Me hating it is me seeing it.”
Nicki sighs. “Okay, Soto. I guess I can’t squeeze blood from a stone.”
“Look, what do you want from me?”
Nicki looks me in the eye.
“Don’t worry about what I say,” I tell her. “Pay attention to what I do. I’m back, aren’t I? I’m playing here today. That’s how good you are.”
The trainer is done. I stand up. I walk past Nicki and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Good luck,” I say. “I’m rooting for you up until the last second when I play you.”
Nicki smiles. “You should be so lucky.”
I put my hand out for her to shake. And she takes it.
Transcript
SportsNews Network
Wild Sports with Bill Evans
Bill Evans: It is the first day of this year’s US Open, and Nicki Chan started it off by absolutely crushing journeyman Suze Carter this morning. Natasha Antonovich, Ingrid Cortez, Carla Perez, Odette Moretti, Josie Flores, Whitney Belgrade, Erica Staunton, and more are all heading into the second round. And now in the afternoon, Wimbledon champion and all-out sensation Carrie Soto goes up against rookie Madlenka Dvo?áková here in the first round at Flushing Meadows. It is just two weeks since her father and coach, Javier Soto, died. Carrie has said she is playing in his honor.
There’s a lot of talk about who will come out the victor over the next couple weeks. But we know one thing for sure: There may be one hundred twenty-eight players competing for that trophy, but all eyes are focused on just two of them.
Nicki Chan and Carrie Soto have made no secret of their rivalry. Each of these incomparable women wants that title and the record that comes with it.
Who will it be? The Beast or the B-I-T-C-You-Know-What?
It is sure to be a nail-biter. Stay with us over the next two weeks as we find out who makes it to the final.
SOTO VS. DVO?áKOVá
1995 US Open
First Round
I am standing in the tunnel. I lean down and wipe the dirt off my yellow Break Points. I remember the words my father wrote down. Keep her playing at the baseline. It will thrill her, but she won’t be able to keep up.
I breathe in deeply. Here we go.
The second my feet hit the court, the crowd cheers. They cheer so loudly I can barely hear myself think.
I know what the sportscasters are saying. They are telling all the people at home that I’ve just lost Dad, that I am out here playing my first match without him.
I expect the roar to die down, but it doesn’t. The crowd keeps cheering as I set up my things. It is almost eerie—the way their voices ring through the air, the way the howl of it echoes throughout the arena. Their sound is a deep rumble, shaking the net.
I look up all around me—thousands of people stomping and calling. I wave in a wide circle through each section, and I watch as people in the crowd start standing up.
Bowe and Gwen are in the players’ box. Gwen is clapping. Bowe catches my eye, and we look at each other as each section stands, rising like a tide.