Yet 2006 has been an incredible year for her. Amazonian Mauresmo, unadorned and broad-shouldered and square-jawed, wearing her plain fluorescent sports kit, has never fitted the stereotypes.
AMELIE MAURESMO BABY BOY CODE
More so these days when dangly earrings and some cleavage seem to have become part of the unofficial dress code on court. They wondered if she had the self-belief needed to win.Īs for the snipes about her looks, women's tennis has always had a narrow view of what is feminine. She'd choke on a baguette, they'd say behind the scenes.
AMELIE MAURESMO BABY BOY SERIAL
She was the serial semi-finalist, the edgy, emotional one whose nerves would get the better of her.
She had always won titles, to be sure, but until this year she had never won one of the four grand slams - one of the handful of players to reach the world number-one spot without having done so. Twelve months ago, apart from her sexuality, Mauresmo was famous mostly for two things: losing grand-slam tournaments that she should have won and her muscular physique. On the image-conscious women's circuit, where there is a tacit agreement that lesbian players keep quiet, only one (secretly) gay player has ever thanked her for her candour. French Prime Minister Lionel Jospin pointedly invited her and Bourdon to a high-profile International Women's Day reception.īut not everyone was so positive. Martina Navratilova, whom she had never met and herself had waited until the best part of her career was over before coming out, sent a message of support. Teenage girls wrote to thank her for helping them to come out. Hingis went on to win 6-2 6-3, although Mauresmo survived six championship points before she was finally beaten. When she met Mauresmo in the final the words hung in the air. (She later apologised, but the damage had already been done.) Not known for her friendly diplomacy, Martina Hingis pitched in. However, some might say that while she may have been naive it was her fellow players who were clumsy and even brutal.ĭavenport, possibly in a fit of pique at having been knocked out, said playing Mauresmo was like 'playing a guy'. She searches for the right English word and chooses a French one instead: maladresse, which means clumsiness. But I didn't realise what a huge story it was going to be.' I could have done it in a much easier way. I have never regretted the fact that I came out, but I do regret how I said it.
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