Illustration by Bee Johnson
A tennis player has a home but is hardly ever there. At times it can seem that she lives in hotel rooms, in suitcases, in the pages of her passport. She moves from Moscow one week to Singapore the next; she travels from Miami to Rome. Perhaps she has a training base in Monte Carlo, where there are the tax breaks, or she has a house in Los Angeles, where there is sun.
But she is not without a country. It fol- lows her everywhere. Her flag is waved in the stands and painted on the faces of her fans; it appears next to her score in the bottom cor- ner of the television screen. Her nationality is reflected in the gaggle of press that follows her from country to country, round to round. It is manifest in her speech and sometimes even in her playing style. For some players it doesn’t matter much. Her allegiance can be an accident of birth, or the result of a fed- eration offering the most wild cards, better coaches, money. For others, it can be a source of pride. It can offer an identity, a sense of belonging. Tennis can be lonely at times.