My goodness, she even has a song named after her. Maria — that would be Lady Sharapova — has everything. A name with an “ova,” a bank account with a bundle, a backhand with depth and precision, endless legs, a pretty face, three Slams and that grunt; oh, that world-class, decibel-blasting, almost-as-loud-as-Azarenka's grunt.
Brand Sharapova, with its $125 million in endorsements, covers all the bases. For starters, there's the brave Sharapova backstory. Her family fled the Chernobyl catastrophe and when she looks back she thinks, 'Oh my God, I can't believe it. I feel so lucky I got out. So many didn't…I'm lucky to be alive.” Eventually, as a seven-year-old she and her dad made it, with $700 in hand, to the Bollettieri Academy, where they arrived, according to The Observer, with just “a racket bag and a suitcase full of prayers”
But there was more. Not only did Maria soon display flat deep groundies and a nasty serve, she had a certain will, “a mental toughness,” according to Mark Hodgkinson, “that would not shame a KGB agent.”
“If you hammered a nail through my foot,” Maria claimed, “it would hurt – but it wouldn't stop me playing.”And play she did. Within 10 years, the girl whose brusque father, Yuri Sharapov, told us that she was “born to be a champion,” scored one of the greatest “A Star is Born” triumphs in history, when, in 2004, at 17, she shocked Serena Williams to win Wimbledon.
Soon the mighty and not so mighty began to swoon. Donald Trump said Sharapova intimidated Serena with her supermodel good looks. When Maria walked out on David Letterman's stage, the Late Night talkaholic said “WOW! And I mean this seriously — WOW! Let me put it another way — OH, MY GOD!” And a (Vinny-From-The-Bronx-type) fan at the U.S. Open pleaded with the Russian, “Maria Sharapova, with your oh-so-short hemline, take my hand and show me to the Krem-line.”
Okay, Maria didn't take the kid to Moscow, but she generously fed the Dream Machine. Not only did she pose for Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue in polka dots, showed up at the ESPYS in a mini-skirt and was on the cover of Vogue Italy, she told us “It's all about being famous. It's all about being a celebrity.”
When asked: “What's your nickname?” Maria joked, “'Princess' pretty much sums it up.” Tiffany, Cole Haan, Land Rover, Canon — one endorsement contract after another came her way. Still, she complained (perhaps with a wink) how tedious it was to have to sniff 20 different perfumes before choosing your (just a hint of jasmine) Maria Sharapova perfume brand. And yes, she has 100 pairs of shoes, but, oh dear, there are only 15 she really likes.
Eight bodyguards, $400,000 earrings, runway dresses and to-die-for tennis outfits with 600 (or was it 700) Swarovski crystals, an NBA fiancé, MBA advisor, grand bags and a trio of Slams — that glance, such a whirl from soirees in Manhattan to the cafes of Manhattan Beach.
At times it all seemed a bit much. You can crunch the numbers ($70 million Nike contract, 4.3 million Facebook fans, $24.5 million in annual earnings – $4 million above Serena) or you can just wait to crunch her new candy — “Sugarpova” — which should be on the market soon. Some get a bit carried away. One zealous British paper described her serve as, “A moment of stillness purring with grace and seething with power…the ball tossed high and straight, the racket and right arm pulled back at full extension, the core muscles like a coiled spring — could be frozen and turned into a sculpture.”
Ova-kill?
Perhaps. And, not surprisingly, there was a certain (beauty can intimidate) blowback. Wannabes claimed they'd “kick her ass.” After beating Maria, some said they were motivated because of her haute couture dresses, and there was ex-Wimbledon champ Conchita Martinez who let 'er rip, saying, “What girls like Sharapova want to do is sell at any cost. But I wouldn't do things that she does…If they told me that I must play in a bikini top to sell…I wouldn't do it. I'd save my bikini wearing for the beach.”
But Sharapova, strong and unblinking, answered by noting the obvious: “Beauty sells,” she said. “I'm not going to make myself ugly.”
As Sharapova went on to be No. 1 four different times and to win a hefty 23 titles, including the '06 U.S. Open and the '08 Aussie Open, she continually drew hordes of fans and great admiration — yet little love.
But why?
Perhaps it was due to her cool, at times haughty, aloofness, her unblinking (“Hey, my childhood hood was in Siberia”) ferocity, her unyielding game face casino online or her pass-the-earplugs yelps, that drew controversy and comment at every grunt.
“Sharapova,” according to one report, “broke her old mark with a shriek of 103.7 decibels, the equivalent of a pneumatic drill.”
After one match in which Maria looked tired, Greg Cote suggested that her fatigue was “brought on by excessive grunting.” Another time Mary Carillo's quipped that Maria was “not hitting as hard as she's sounding. She's overgrunting.” Even Maria conceded she hears her own grunt — “I'm not deaf.”
Ultimately, it's easy enough to dismiss the highest paid athlete in women's sports as a pretty, nose-a-bit-in-the air, almost imperious and oh-so-loud diva with dangling diamond accessories.
But hold on, Sparky. Remember, she's a reflective thinker and a UN Goodwill Ambassador who's done extraordinary work on behalf of the Chernobyl survivors. A woman of many interests — fashion, architecture, design, the street cultures of the world — she has created her own bustling business empire. Just 24, she adores her craft and is intensely dedicated. She has successfully navigated a potentially treacherous relationship with her not-so-cuddly, old-school dad. Plus, Our Maria could have packed it all in and simply retired when her chronic shoulder problem flared in '08. Instead, she survived surgery and a tedious rehab, switched her racket and her coach and patiently re-tooled her serve despite devastating double faults and a ranking that dropped to No. 126.
Of course, over the years, there has been no greater (yes, beauty does sell) international icon in women's sports than Maria, who has graced almost a thousand magazine covers (like ours) and draws a flurry of Internet activity. More than anything, her career has been about resolving one curious contradiction after another.
l While she's trim 'n tall, she's not that much of a natural athlete. Simon Barnes noted, “There is a strange kind of awkwardness about Sharapova…She's a rare mixture of grace and clumsiness, like a young horse that forgets how to count up to four in legs.”
• At first some foolishly dismissed her as just a newer, taller Anna Kournikova, a “glamazon” with an elegant line. But, since she first made waves at 13, Maria has always been defined by a tennis-first hunger for titles.” Being a tennis babe doesn't do it for me,” she insisted. “If that's what people are hoping for, then I'm afraid they're going to be disappointed.”
But many felt the greatest breakout phenom of the past eight or nine years would surely suffer a free-fall like so many others. Carillo suggested that Maria would “screw it up, not personally, but she'll screw it up the way Capriati did and Kournikova did. Phenoms tend to get their lives screwed up, whether they want to or not. [But] she'll come back though.”
And Maria — the Wimbledon finalist, now ranked No. 5 — indeed has come back, not from some psychic (“what's it all about?”) walkabout, but from her devastating injury and that lowly triple digit ranking.
• With Maria's breezy, sassy 'tude, her “retail therapy is good” mindset, her iPod and that Facebook following, she is far more of a (“latte-da, latte-da”) American gal than any other Euro star who's crossed the pond. The most successful of any of the dozens of Russians who've long crowded the tennis landscape, she's a hero in her homeland and said to be the leading example of the New Russian woman —powerful, independent, successful, willing to take on the world.
The New York Times' C.J. Chivers observed that, as a Russian celeb, Sharapova has “a special place: she actually earned her spot, unlike so many of the others with their big black cars, about whom it is a popular article of faith that they…piled up their fortunes through graft, swindles or theft. [But] this is not the [old] nation Ms. Sharapova left behind…Moscow [now] has more billionaires than Manhattan…It is also a city where you cannot help but notice Sharapova, whose face gazes down from everywhere on billboards for the products she hypes.
And unlike so many of the other millionaires, Sharapova is authentically popular. It is not only because she has a composed presence that seems ahead of her years, or because she is an athletic perfectionist, or even because she wins. Her story appeals.”
Why not? After all, she's got it all: beauty and brains, swagger and sweat, glory and grunts.
