Venus Williams: Wir lieben Sieger
The New York sun is slanting over the stadium, just peeking over the roof. It hasn’t set yet, the game on the field was over so quickly. The sky turns pink, then purple. Darkness can already be seen in the far horizon. On the field, a winner, a champion as they say in sports, performs her rituals to bid farewell to the audience. A slight bow, her left hand raised, the right hand with the tennis racket pointing downwards, a pirouette, her pleated skirt gracefully floating around her, a moment of weightlessness, a regal wave with her left hand, and she’s gone. Disappeared into the dark catacombs.