I didn’t set out to make this issue about endings, but there they were again as I sat down to write—staring back at me through the eyes of an icon.
Last week, I mourned the loss of a dear friend to cancer and watched the city of Los Angeles burn, all while reflecting on the legacies of Serena Williams and Jimmy Carter. The thought that kept coming back to me was simple, but urgent:
Make it count. You better make it f-ing count.
So, I’ll leave you with this, from T.S. Eliot:
“What we call the beginning is often the end, / And to make an end is to make a beginning. / The end is where we start from.”
In your corner,
The Legend:
Twenty-three Grand Slam singles titles. A record that towered over the Open Era. But Serena Williams wasn't chasing records anymore—she was chasing transformation. At 37, she had already authored one of the most remarkable comebacks in tennis history, returning to elite competition after a complicated childbirth that left her fighting for her life.
Her journey back to Melbourne carried special weight: it was here, in 2017, that she'd secured her last Grand Slam title before her comeback while eight weeks pregnant, a victory that seemed to push the boundaries of what we thought possible in sports.
The Moment:
The fingertips of her left hand brushed the court first, steadying herself after her ankle rolled. It was 5-1, 40-30 in the final set—a moment when Serena Williams had once bent the game to her will. But this version of Serena, in the green jumpsuit, was operating on old instincts in a body that could no longer keep pace.
Karolína Plíšková doesn’t need much of a window. A former world number one, she waits as Williams tries to steady herself, watches as the most dominant server in tennis history, now visibly tentative, prepares for another serve that no longer carries the same power.
The next point doesn’t so much get won as it slips away—like sand through fingers no longer strong enough to hold on. Serena takes a half-step forward, but it’s clear: she’s not the same.
What follows isn’t just a collapse—it’s as if the match reverses in an instant. Six straight games disappear. Twenty-six of thirty-three points vanish. A quarter-final that had seemed all but decided starts to rewrite itself.
The Words:
"I can’t say that I choked. She literally played her best tennis ever on those shots."
The word choice tells its own story. Not "played well" or "played great"—but "best ever." As if only the extraordinary could explain the extraordinary.
Plíšková’s words, too, capture the surreal nature of the moment: "I was almost in the locker room, but now I'm standing here as the winner." "Almost" and "now"—the two states of tennis fate, separated by nothing but a fleeting moment of opportunity and nerve.
The Truth:
The ankle roll wasn’t just a physical turning point—it was the moment when invincibility collided with vulnerability in front of 15,000 witnesses. Tennis has always been a sport of margins, but we had forgotten that while watching Serena Williams stretch those margins into canyons over two decades.
This was mathematics meeting philosophy: how a 5-1 lead can evaporate into 5-7, how certainty can dissolve into doubt with a single misstep. The same legs that had carried her to 23 Grand Slams could still betray her. The same mind that had mastered pressure could still be undone by circumstance.
The Echo:
Like Jana Novotná's 1993 Wimbledon collapse against Steffi Graf, this match joined tennis's anthology of stunning reversals. But its deeper resonance came not from the loss but from what it revealed: even the greatest champions remain human, subject to the same cruel physics of momentum and moment that govern us all.
The next morning, headlines would call it a collapse. But that word misses the point. What happened in Melbourne wasn't about falling apart—it was about the razor's edge that all athletes walk, even the ones who've learned to dance on it.
The Lesson:
We think this is about an ankle roll, about a lead squandered, about one of the greatest players in history losing a match she should have won. But it's really about the myth of certainty itself.
Every time we step onto a court, or into a meeting, or toward a goal we've prepared for, we carry two competing truths: all our preparation, all our experience, all our past triumphs—and the humbling reality that none of these guarantee the next moment. Excellence isn't immunity from vulnerability; it's the courage to keep pursuing greatness even after being reminded of how fragile it can be.
The same stadium that had witnessed Serena's pregnant triumph in 2017 now watched her grapple with a different kind of strength: the kind required to face uncertainty not as an enemy, but as the price of still being in the arena.
The Deep Dive:
📹: Serena Hits Net, Falls to Plíšková (ESPN)
📰: ‘I was almost in the locker room’ - Pliskova Shocks Serena for First Australian Open Semifinal (WTA)
Washington Commanders kicker Zane Gonzalez didn’t just make a game-winning field goal. He made it his own. Battling OCD, his pre-kick ritual is as precise as a military drill: step counts, helmet adjustments, each motion deliberate. It might seem like a distraction to most, but for Gonzalez, it’s a tool—a finely honed mechanism that cuts through pressure.
In a moment that would’ve rattled most kickers, with everything on the line, Gonzalez wasn’t scrambling or rushing. He went through his steps, one by one, like he had done it a thousand times before. And then, with ice in his veins, he drilled the 41-yard winner.
In that simple act, Gonzalez didn’t just win the game. He showed a gawking internet that sometimes the greatest victories don’t come from fighting against who you are, but from fully embracing it — no matter who is watching.
To Have a Healthy, Safe Delivery - Kim Caldwell
To Eternally Give Dudes Buckets - This Girl, Whoever She Is
To Be Put On Scholarship Like Ella Hamlin - Every Walk-On Ever
Go Deep: Without Enough Players to Compete, TCU Women’s Basketball Turns to Student Body (The Athletic)
📹: Stoic Lessons From Jimmy Carter's Legacy | Ryan Holiday Speaks To The U.S. Naval Academy (YouTube)
You could be good today. Instead, you choose tomorrow.
Holiday drives home the stoic point perfectly: You never really say you won't do the right thing - you just say you'll do it later, when conditions are better. But as Jimmy Carter's life and leadership teach us, doing good today while you have the chance is actually more pragmatic than waiting for a perfect moment that may never come.
When advised to save difficult decisions for his second presidential term, Carter was resolute: if something needs to be done, it's impossible to delay it. His legacy reminds us that the time for justice, for excellence, for doing our best is always now - tomorrow is a luxury we can't count on.
