We've all had a friend who's hard to bear. The friend who's better than you at everything. The friend who makes all your life choices seem pointless and dim-witted.
Serena Williams is that sort of friend.
Coming into the women's final on Sunday, nobody seemed terribly concerned about the result. Everyone had already decided that Williams was going to bulldoze her best pal, Caroline Wozniacki.
Instead, we were charmed by the Spike and Chester nature of their friendship. Williams is really, really good at tennis and pretty good at life. Wozniacki is the Miss Congeniality of the tour, a bubbly, surpassingly decent Dane who's just, like, okay at tennis. Life's been a little unfair to her recently.
They'd spent several days this summer conspicuously cavorting together in Miami, shortly after Wozniacki was dumped by her fiancé, Irish golfer Rory McIlroy. Apparently, McIlroy did the shabby business over the phone.
"To this day, she has nothing bad to say about her former fiancé," Williams told The New York Times. "Which I find remarkable … she actually never has anything bad to say about anybody, and that made me a better person."
Maybe. But one does get the strong sense that if you dumped Serena Williams via phone, she'd have a few things to say about you. Also, you should be prepared to get the ring back taped to a brick, thrown through your front window.
Williams is the sort of friend who's happy to give you a loving push. Off a steep incline, or out of a moving car.
There was something in all this about decent people and the baser instincts required to win titles with regularity at this level. Most truly great athletes aren't particularly nice. Very few predators are.
Greatness in competition requires the capacity for cruelty. In that sense, Sunday's match was an exercise in sadism. It was something much more than a beating. This was an evisceration. This was the sort of loss that can will make you want to sit down and have a long think about things.
Functionally, Williams had no opponent during the 6-3, 6-3 drubbing. At her best, Williams does not lose to other people. She only loses to herself. This was Williams at her best.
At the outset, there were flashes of the nervy player who'd stumbled through the Grand Slam season.
But the Dane, playing in only her second major final, looked even more out of sorts.
"I tried to push her back," Wozniacki said. "That really didn't work for me."
So it was over before it began.
That feeling was so pervasive, the crowd didn't even bother to cheer Wozniacki's intermittent flashes. They were already booking a late dinner back in town.
How bad was it? Wozniacki hit only four winners in the entire match, and three of them were aces. Williams hit 29. Forget about not being close. This contest wasn't within range of telescopes.
This was the third U.S. Open won by Williams in which she didn't give up a set. It's more than that – she didn't lose more than three games in any one of them. This was as dominant a run to a title as we've ever seen.
Once it ended, Williams collapsed flat on her back. Later, she wept. One of her gifts is making each one of these seem like a revelatory experience. She has 18 Grand Slam titles now, tying Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert.
In what must be the most cringe-inducing ritual in all of sport, they allowed Wozniacki to speak first once it ended.
"You're an inspiration to me both on and off the court. You're an unbelievable friend," she gushed. "You definitely owe me drinks later."
Laughter from the crowd, and a pitying look from Williams that screamed, 'Kids these days.'
Williams was equally complimentary, but in duller tones. She has no inspirations. She's embodies the core principle of all the originals – only the mediocre have heroes.
"She's such a great person, a nice friend," Williams said. "I know you're going to be winning very soon."
We're glad someone does. Wozniacki didn't quite look convinced.
Some functionary from a bank wandered out and handed Williams an envelope containing a cheque for $4-million (U.S.). She folded it up and stuck it in her jacket pocket like a phone number she was planning to lose. She's not in this for the money any more. She's in this for figurative blood.
A great deal of Williams's mystique lies in the two very separate people we've watched over these many years.
Off the court, she's a lot like Wozniacki – smiley, breathless, and a bit scattered in a lovable way. All her sharp edges are padded.
On the playing surface, she's a serial killer in a well-cut dress. She has the habit of taking a long, appraising look at her opponent just before she tosses the ball for her serve. It's a wonder she's never lit anyone on fire with it.
There is a controlled darkness in Williams that she uses to destroy her rivals. The best word for her style of play is 'merciless.' Wozniacki doesn't have any of that, not even a little.
Maybe that's why they get along so well. They are a marvel to each other.
Wozniacki looks at Williams and sees the player she would like to be.
Williams looks back and admires the happy acceptance of human weakness that she could never countenance within herself.
Cathal Kelly