Venus and Serena Williams meet for the 27th time in the quarter-finals of the U.S. Open on Tuesday. One sister is looking to make history. The other is trying to stave it off. Somewhere in the middle is their mutual, still inscrutable, goal.
When we say their names together, as we do less and less often these days, we say it in that order – Venus and Serena. Maybe it's the rhythm. More likely, it's how we got used to it way back when. It was a pecking order.
Their first professional encounter came early in the 1998 season, at the Australian Open. Venus, at 17 the older by a little more than a year, won. She won a lot early. She won their first final together (1999 Miami Masters). She won their first really-big-deal match (2000 Wimbledon semi-final). She won their first meeting in a Grand Slam final (2001 U.S. Open). No two women have met in more major finals (8).
Venus was, by consensus, the better. Also by consensus, we knew it wouldn't last. Their own father had predicted that Serena was the real standout. Eventually, she passed Venus. By now, she's lapped her several times.
Serena Williams will be remembered as the greatest women's player of all time. Were her last name different, Venus might be mentioned in the same general vicinity. But mostly, she'll now be remembered for being Serena's sister. They are more conjoined in the imagination than any twins.
Vulnerable to age in a way Serena has never been, hobbled by injuries and a rare auto-immune disorder, Venus has been in slow decline for years. Occasionally, she will pop to the surface, and then recede again. She's been on an unusual run of form here in New York. You would still not find a single person who believes an upset is possible.
Scratch that. There's one person.
"I'm playing, for me, the best player in the tournament," Serena said after another scant hour spent crushing someone's hopes and dreams in the Round of 16.
"We have a very similar game. We've had the same coach for a long time. It's like playing a mirror."
This is Serena's usual line about Venus – we're the same person, but in two bodies. First off, it's a lie. The kindest sort of lie, but everyone knows it. It doesn't bear up to inspection.
Venus's game has become one of increasing finesse as she ages. She will try to outwit you (knowing she can no longer overawe you). She needs to play within narrow precision limits to win.
Serena is still pure power. She's a complete player, but she bludgeons you. Mostly it's a psychological assault – she wins most matches in the tunnel mouth. The first few rounds here threw up a steady series of prematch interviews with relative nobodies saying something like, "Gosh, I'm just happy to be here. Gonna try my best." This is sports talk for, "I know I don't have a chance in hell. Do they wire you the prize money or do you have to pick up a cheque?"
Serena can play terribly and still take anyone in the world.
The sisters have spent a long time trying to convince the rest of us they are the same. Perhaps in their minds, that's equivalence.
But they aren't at all.
Serena is brassy; Venus is demure. Serena is an emotional typhoon on the court; Venus looks like tennis is part of her entry exam to the monastery. Serena is not loud, but she speaks with total self-confidence; Venus fairly whispers, shoulders hunched in toward microphones.
Asked if there's anything that bothers her about her sister, Venus said: "We have a family gathering every year, and every year I don't get much to say. She always picks the theme, and so that bothers me."
She laughed as she said it, but you suspect that it's a) true, b) that Serena knows it's true and c) that no one's really all that bothered about it. It's just the way.
You suspect that what really links them isn't tennis, but a deep, wholly natural understanding and acceptance of the other's differences.
Were they really the composite person Serena claims – and here she appears to be transposing a slightly askew image of herself onto her less accomplished older sibling – they'd hate each other by now. These matches might really mean something. I know if I played my brother in a Grand Slam quarterfinal, it'd end up with one of us beating the other to death on the main court.
He's a great guy and all, but … you know.
Back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, everyone assumed they were fixing these meetings. That's not because there's any suggestion they were or did, but because that's what other people figured they would do. Why ruin family harmony for something as dumb as an Australian Open? I mean, Wimbledon, maybe. But let her have the Australian.
Their rivalry never felt that way. Nor has it been much good. Since Venus began to flag nearly 10 years ago, Serena's heart hasn't been in it. Her on-court personality becomes as muted as Venus's, and her game goes with it.
It can occasionally be competitive. Venus can still win (as she did last year in Montreal), but never when it really matters. Serena hasn't lost a slam match to her sister since the 2008 Wimbledon final – perhaps their last truly gripping encounter.
These days, the big tilts have have a "rip the Band-Aid off" quality. Both players are working as efficiently as possible to minimize the pain.
Asked if she wants to end her sister's run toward the Grand Slam (all four majors in a calendar year), Venus slipped around for a bit: "I don't think anyone wants to be a spoiler. I think people love to see history being made. I think."
She finally got to the pat answer: "At the same time, you're focused on winning your match …"
To me, that translates as, "I don't want to be the one who takes this away from her." But like everyone else, I've spent years trying to figure out how this relationship works. I have no idea how they manage it. In some ways, it's just as impressive as their tennis.
Cathal Kelly