By Bill Simons

I remember.

I remember on one bright Sunday morning in ’97, coming down from my New York hotel room, only to walk into a lobby transformed by gloom. "What's wrong?" I asked. "She's dead," mumbled a friend. "Princess Di was hit in a French Tunnel."

I remember in Boston in '99, when the death of John F. Kennedy Jr. marred the celebration of the 100th anniversary of the Davis Cup. I remember in '98, during the Open, when Swiss Air 111 plunged into Long Island Sound, killing all on board including the Babalot CEO.
Last year at the Open, just as Russian tennis was soaring, news arrived of the mind-warping slaughter of 371 at a Russian elementary school — an astounding horror. And, of course, I'll never forget in '01 when, just after the Open, two towers imploded, leaving us ashes: ashes that gave rise to a troubling new world, where fear and division inform with unsettling constancy.

Every August, tennis wraps itself up in a thrilling but tightly wound bubble, that insular U.S. Open universe known for its laser-like focus on backhands, break-points and baubles. Yet how curious it is that, with such uncanny regularity, the world's messy realities intrude to disrupt the splendid isolation of the USTA's dandy, life-is-good summer happenings.
Still, this year was different. For Katrina was not the poignant passing of a singular hero, an inexplicable crash or a disaster in a distant land. Nor was it a colossal implosion just as the Open closed.

Rather, the furious winds of the most horrific natural disaster in the history of this land closed in just as the Open was finding its much ballyhooed mojo. As New Orleans' waters rose, Serena was busy detailing the wonders of her new lipgloss (called “Flirt”); Sharapova proudly informed us that yes, she herself selected the fragrance of her (now-in-fine-stores-near-you) perfume, and, not surprisingly, the Open's jolly nonstop chatter focused on critically important dress-to-impress fashion issues, the art and craft of reality shows, whether or not Venus actually ventured into the mosh pit at Green Day's Miami concert, and the prevailing existential question of our day: Can any girl on tour worth her accessories survive without both her own publicist and personal stylist? Gone, it seems, are the days that Serena's dimestore beads fell to the court without notice. Rather, these days, the buzz is all about her borrowed $40,000 earrings that tumbled to the court or the mysterious origin of her $100,000 necklace.

“The sisters fed nearly every bad stereotype about self-absorbed athletes...the reason Venus and Serena deserve to be singled out is that no one has called attention to their conspicuous consumption like the Williamses...But the horror of the past few days have made things feel different. They beg for perspective.” —Johnette Howard
Venus Williams said “I don't really watch the news. ... It's better not to know.” Never mind that her nation was reeling, her people were the prime victims, and her Dad was the son of a Louisiana sharecropper.
“We're mired in a timid era, in which spinmeisters reign while glitz ‘n’ glamour hucksters evoke a dumbed-down world of puff and nonsense.”

Sure, there were cautionary notes. Bud Collins observed, "Serena was armored by enough diamonds to choke a pawnbroker." A more severe critic suggested, "Someday Serena Williams, B-list actress, bad reality-TV star and clothes designer, is going to want some of the summers back from her tennis prime." But never mind, the headlines blared "Bling It On."

Unfortunately, into this ("you're so vain, you probably think this Open's about you") world blew a most imperfect storm, which shattered dreams and crushed the sweetness of memory, only to leave behind tears, hunger, despair and the searing instinct for home and survival.

Amidst the (can this be America?) stench and chaos, the New York Daily News headline read "Shame of a Nation". The deaths and wall-to-wall imagery were haunting. Still, the Open, preoccupied with its games, was painfully slow to react. "While thousands of homeless waited for food and water on rooftops," writes Ohm Youngmisuk, "there were lines 16 deep waiting to enter the Ralph Lauren store to peruse the latest Polo attire."

As the Gulf Coast was reeling, Serena made her underwhelming offer to contribute $100 per ace. (She hit two in her next match.) Worse yet, Venus had breezily seemed to turn the channel on the hurricane as she flipped from the Cosby Show to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and later "informed" us that she didn't know about the devastation. "I don't really watch the news. …In some ways, I'm very unaware of the latest happenings in the world. I kind of leave it like that, because sometimes it's better not to know." Never mind that her nation was reeling, her people were the prime victims, and her dad was the son of a Louisiana sharecropper.

All this got to be too much for writer Johnette Howard, who, in an unsparing commentary, let 'er rip. "Serena had just played her second straight match dripping in diamond earrings, and, as an added touch, a necklace of all diamonds," observed Howard. "As the rest of the country shudders about Katrina, the Williams sisters fed nearly every bad stereotype about rich, spoiled, self-absorbed athletes ... the reason Venus and Serena deserve to be singled out is that no one has preened more about their nouveau riche status or called attention to their conspicuous consumption like the Williamses have at this year's Open or in their vapid reality show before.

It's one thing for the rest of us to wink and politely play along when athletes...prattle on about their latest conceits such as the jewels they wear, or the new tennis dress or expensive watch or scent they've personally "designed" as if they really did all the work. But the horror of the past few days have made things feel different. They beg for perspective."

Fortunately, tennis' reigning philosopher king was on hand.

"Listen — none of us can leave the TV on very long," noted Andre Agassi. "How long can you watch without being devastated? You've got families starving, no food, no water, no electricity — power lines in the water. Nobody knows where to go, what to do. [How do I feel?] Helpless is a fair word to use. I'll be a part of anything that might make a difference. [But] what do you tell those people that are sitting there, waiting to be rescued. ...We need to stay for the long haul."

James Blake, long an admirer of Arthur Ashe, took it another step, saying, "In terms of the government's reaction, I know I'm probably not supposed to talk politics too much, but I feel this is a crisis that deserves a lot of attention, and if possible more attention. I don't want to contradict our president too much, but [long, cautionary pause...], actually, I'll leave it at that. I don't want to contradict our president because, you know, we have to follow him."

Blake's ("oh, never mind") no-comment commentary drew the attention of writer William Rhoden, who noted that Ashe would have expressed his thoughts with grace and restraint and just "let the chips fall where they may." But now we're mired in a pervasively timid don't-ask-don't-tell era, in which spinmeisters reign supreme while glitz 'n’ glamour hucksters evoke a dumbed-down world of puff and nonsense.

How ironic that, more than any other duo, it was the Williamses who endured threadbare practice balls and racism to emerge out of the inner city to prove that, no matter your background, you can overcome a maze of obstacles and thrive in the splashy world of tennis. None other than Billie Jean King mused on their infatuation with celebrity. "It's because that's what they're fed,” noted Billie Jean. “It's part of being put up on a pedestal, the culture. Look at what girls and boys are fed every day. Look at the magazines, the paparazzi. Look at TV, with all the entertainment programs. Who gets the attention? You ask a group of young people — especially girls — what they want when they grow up, and 70 percent of them say 'fame.' Then look at the information they're fed."

Not surprisingly, as the brouhaha at the Open grew, Serena took umbrage. She noted her significant charity work and said, "I actually made a very kind gesture out of nowhere. ... I've never been spoiled. ... I want a Range Rover very bad, but I don't feel I deserve it. I refuse to spend the money. ... I don't have all those elaborate things athletes have. I don't have the elaborate life. ... People should honestly look at themselves before they judge another person."
Venus (who King says is "very kind and particularly great with children") did, in fact, later speak of Katrina's devastation and explained, "I don't watch the news because my life has been touched severely by violence. [Her older sister Yetunde was murdered in L.A.] When you watch the news, all you hear are reports of violence. It's heart-wrenching. So-and-so got gunned down, somebody got murdered. I just can't deal with it."

What a poignant explanation. And it also must be said that, in the end, the USTA generously gave $500,000 and players (think Roddick, Clijsters, et al) not only went on-air to call for donations but made hefty contributions themselves. And, yes, Serena did put up her earrings for bid. Yet, in the messy aftermath of Katrina at the Open, the questions, my friend, were blowin’ in the wind:
•Is it true, as commentator Dick Enberg contended, "One is measured by what one gives back?"
•In a dizzying world of celebrity blather and eyes-wide-shut denial, where, according to Johnette Howard, athletes "think a sacrifice for tonight is not getting a reservation for Per Se," is it simply unrealistic to expect many athletes to deal with issues with any social or political gravitas?
•Is the combination of sublime athleticism and reflective thought a nostalgic dreamer's remnant of the past or some kind of sweet rarity (think Agassi)?
•Then again, doesn't every citizen have the basic responsibility to be as aware as possible? Is innocence, as they say, a form of laziness?
•And beyond this, as Enberg suggested, is it fair enough to suggest that “people who live in the public eye and reap the benefits are going to be held to a higher standard?"

Tennis players, in fact, raise millions for great causes, and the sport is a lucrative charity vehicle. But, sadly, the vain, insular side of the sport reared its head at a time of unsparing devastation. Let’s hope this unsettling coalescence will prove to be a compelling wake-up call.