Wimbledon, here I come.
I always knew I would win Wimbledon. I just never imagined it would be such a long and strangely irrelevant road to get there. A road of mostly not playing tennis at all for many, many years. Since high school, really.

I love to play tennis. I'm not a great player, but I'm better than horrible. When I was a kid I was fascinated with the whole sport. I followed professional tennis, dreaming of one day playing against Chris Evert, or Stefi Graf, or Gabriela Sabatini. I was in love with Andre Agassi back when he had hair and wore colored clothes to Wimbledon. Boris Becker, Ivan Lendl, Stefan Edberg- also secret boyfriends of mine. Well, not so much Ivan. I just liked saying 'Lendl'.

I picked up a tennis racket at a young age, although probably more to chase the dog around the house with it than to play any form of tennis. I vaguely remember a few tennis lessons in a group setting around the age of ten or so. I'm not sure I knew what was going on, but I do remember holding a racket and seeing my mom watching from the sidelines with the other moms. She was so proud that I held onto the racket without beating any of the other kids with it.

I played for fun every once in awhile for a few years, probably holding out for the right moment at which to let my inner child prodigy emerge onto the tennis scene, but being smart enough to know I needed to play on occassion to keep my skills up. I remember hours of hitting a tennis ball against the brick wall of the house in the backyard, which to my neighbors and parents may have seemed like an odd thing for a kid to do. But to me, I was winning match after match against Stefi Graf and a very young Jennifer Capriati. I was undefeated, of course.

My first year in highschool presented a crossroads in my athletic career. My family and I had just moved to a new city and I was beginning a new school. As I sat in the office with my mom and a school administrator deciding which classes I should take, I had a choice to make. My first love was actually basketball, and I had spent the last three years as one of the stars on two different basketball teams. But I was too late for basketball tryouts at the new school, so my basketball career would have to be placed on hiatus for awhile.

I wasn't sure what to do for my extracurricular activity. I chose band as one activity, since I was also a child musical prodigy. And since there was still time to tryout for the tennis team, I thought I'd give it a go.

Of course, never having had any real lessons or match experience didn't seem to cross my mind as something that might be important in making the team. Imaginary Stefi Graf did not actually translate into real tennis experience. Although had she and I actually played a real match, I totally would have won.

But, I showed up for tennis tryouts and gave it my best shot. And somehow, all those hours in the backyard paid off. I managed to walk onto the tennis team, and I knew this was my first step towards taking over the women's tennis circuit. Sure, I was a late bloomer compared to all those other people who were born with a tennis racket in hand. But after my first Grand Slam win, my belated rise to the top would make an even better story than the usual, boring sports hero stories. Sports Illustrated cover, here I come.

I worked hard on the team, as I discovered during our first practice that I was the second to worst player on the team. The worst person being someone who was basically there so that we had an even number of people to play practice matches with. My coach was impressed that I played as well as I did without ever having any actual instruction, but I think she also wondered if there was any real hope for me. I did not want her to think she had made a mistake in letting me on the team, especially since I would need to thank her later for giving me my start as a professional athlete. I practiced and listened to her instruction. I was determined to be better than second to last.

When matches began, I was having a blast. Granted, I didn't win many matches at first, but the whole tournament experience was really cool. We would travel in the school van to other places in the city, then watch each other play singles matches throughout the day. Of course, I watched many more matches than I played at the time. But it was a huge high to get out there on a court with people watching, and play someone while actually keeping score. Amazing.

My first tournament success came towards the end of the season. My mom was on hand to be my driver for the day, as we didn't have the van for this tournament. I actually won my first match of the day, and advanced to the next round. I knew this was it. The beginning. Next stop, US Open.

I actually made it to the quarterfinals in this tournament, with my mom on hand to witness her young tennis star's rise to fame. I blew through each round as though the other opponents weren't even there. And in fact, they weren't. I won two matches by default because the other girls didn't show. Intimidation? Maybe. But on paper, a win is a win.

This tournament would prove to be the pinnacle of my highschool career. I savored my quarterfinal status, even though I finally lost in that round. By the end of the season I was suffering from a muscle pull injury in my shoulder that effectively ended my rookie tennis season. I finished out the year, actually lettering in the sport. And then retired my racket, never again to play the highschool tennis circuit.

Years of depression followed. Drugs, alcohol, and fast living ruined any chances I had at a comeback, and I was forced into a downward spiral of shame and evil. I spent years on the streets, dressed only in a tennis skirt and a headband, attacking strangers with a muddy tennis ball I kept with me at all times. I changed my name to Serena Williams, hoping to start a new life with a new name, only to be devastated to learn that there was a real Serena Williams already winning Grand Slams. . .

Or at least that's what I would tell Sports Illustrated: Behind the Baseline when they show up to do my life story one day. In reality, I found other stuff to do, and my racket continued to collect dust in the back of the garage.

College came and went, and tennis was once again only a social event played every once in awhile.

But, I have found a renewed urgency lately to stage my tennis comeback. Last night I played with a friend, and I was amazing. We didn't technically keep score, but by my own secret calculations, I won 108 games to her 2 games. While she was a worthy opponent, had we officially kept score, it would have been a massacre. I would have emerged as the unquestionable victor.

I figure if I keep playing at least once a week for the next few months, I will be in shape for my comeback in no time at all. I'm a little rusty now, but just wait.

Next year, Wimbledon here I come.

C.T.