Number One, in Tennis and Life

I recently had the greatest opportunity any journalist can hope for. I had the opportunity to spend a couple of hours with the number one woman professional tennis player in the world. A lovely blonde girl, hailing from another continent. I marveled at how smoothly and quickly she moved across the court. I watched in awe as she hit forehand after forehand with punch and power I would not like to face. I marveled at how she could hit her backhand a number of ways, and how her topspin backhand just seemed to do anything she commanded.

"Wow," you must be thinking, "you just had the opportunity to spend the afternoon with Maria Sharapova?" Well, no, but I was honored to be with a player even more accomplished, and as beautiful in her own right.

Her name is Esther Vergeer, and she is the number one professional woman wheelchair tennis player in the world. She has a 151 unbeaten match win streak, her last loss being in 2003. She is, I must admit with a little teenage-style crush, as beautiful as her Russian counterpart and in many ways more sensational and stunning. Her accomplishments on the court dwarf Sharapova's, as well. Yet few have ever heard of her.

Esther has been at the top of professional wheelchair tennis for several years, and there doesn't seem to be any reason to doubt that she can't and won't be there for another decade or more. I could not believe how smooth and graceful she was moving across the court, up and back, side to side. Her forehand has great variety, and she can really let one fly when she needs to. Her backhand was especially good, and the intricacies of hitting one from a wheelchair make it even more amazing. I found myself mesmerized, forgetting that she was handicapped. I just got lost in watching how she stroked and sliced ball after ball and how effortless it looked.

As an ambulatory player myself of adequate ability, I know how hard it is to play this great game with all of your appendages functioning well. It is clear to me that her abilities far exceed mine, as it takes much more skill to play from where she does. Her hitting partner today, Frenchman Michael Jeremiasz, the number two professional men's wheelchair player in the world, had equally high praise for her game. His game isn't too shabby, either, and he can hit a serve better then 90-percent of all the college and high school players I have ever coached. It really was very easy to forget about the seat with wheels that propelled him across the court and just marvel at how complete his game was and how much variety he had in his strokes.

The truth and real shame about these two players is that while their "healthy" counterparts make millions in prize money and endorsements, these players toil in relative anonymity and might make a few thousand per tournament if they are lucky enough to win one. Esther has model-quality beauty, and should be great eye candy in advertising. Maybe her only true handicap is in the minds of the companies and people who can't see past the wheelchair to the phenomenal commodity she actually is.

I found Esther and hitting partner, Michael, somewhat hidden in obscurity on practice court number seven on the grounds of the National Tennis Center. There was no crowd when I first arrived, and I think the only reason a small crowd gathered was because there was a video camera on court and people were curious. That and the appearance of Carling Bassett-Seguso on practice court six immediately next to us, hitting with her daughter. You might remember Carling more for her performance in the 1983 teen movie Spring Fever than her 1984 U.S. Open semifinal appearance. (Bonus points for those of my readers who can tell me what the movie was about.)

The fact that the USTA had added a wheelchair event as part of the U.S. Open is encouraging, but relegating it to the last few days of the Open and to the obscurity of the far courts doesn't really do these great athletes any justice. Hopefully, my column will help them get out of the shadows and more into the mainstream of professional sports.

Oh, and Esther, I'm jealous of your boyfriend. If I was only a decade or two younger...