Page 112 of Carrie Soto Is Back

Gloria Jones:Carrie is headed to the semifinals! At this point, the fact that she is still a force of nature is undeniable. Briggs, call her whatever you want, but you have to admit this is fun to watch. This is a player giving audiences a rip-roaring good show as she fights her way to the finish.

Briggs Lakin:Look, I am the first to admit when I’m wrong. I said earlier this year that Carrie wouldn’t make it to Wimbledon, and I stand corrected. But in hindsight, it seems obvious, doesn’t it? Of course this was Soto’s move. Of course Wimbledon would be her only real shot at a title this year.

Hadley:And can she do it? Gloria?

Jones:I think it’s going to be hard. She now has the three best players in the game ahead of her. She will go up against Antonovich next. This is Carrie’s best surface, but this is also Antonovich’s.

Lakin:In some ways, it’s an interesting match, these two. Natasha Antonovich, her style of play—the quick pace, the great volleys—owes a lot to Carrie Soto. We saw that back in Paris. I said, “Natasha is the new Carrie.” It’s almost as if this is Carrie’s chance to play her old self on her best surface.

Jones:If Carrie wants to prove there is only one Carrie Soto, well, this is the chance.

I am sitting in thelocker room with my eyes closed, listening to the waves of my breath. I pick up my cellphone and dial my dad.

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Don’t think about strategy now,” he says. “The time for that is over. This is the time for instinct.”

“I know,” I say, taking in a deep breath. “I know.”

“You are prepared. Trust your preparation.”

“I know.”

“Don’t listen to Self 1,” he says.

I laugh without opening my eyes. “You’ve been listening to Bowe.”

“Be Self 2.”

“Don’t think,” I say. “Just act.”

“Don’t think,” my father says. “Justplay.”

SOTO VS. ANTONOVICH

Wimbledon 1995

Semifinals

Natasha Antonovich hovers on theother side of the court, adjusting her visor. She’s steady now, both feet firmly on the baseline. But we both know the second she wants to, she’ll go flying across this court.

She hits a kick serve. It bounces high, and I hit it back over the net. I watch her dive, but it bounces too low for her to get it.

Love–15.

I smile up at Gwen and Ali in the players’ box as I walk back to the baseline.

I know my father is watching. I know Bowe is with him. I know they are cheering for me, even if I can’t hear them.

—

Less than an hour later, I’m at break point on the first set. I’m up six games to five. It’s her serve.

She sends a fast flat one my way, and I race to it. I notice shehasn’t moved toward the center of the court. She’s anticipating a cross-court forehand.

I take the ball out of the air quick, sending it right down the line. She dives hard for it, slides across the grass. She can’t return it.

The first set is mine.

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