The racial division carries over into stereotypes of class as well. As we highlight Williams's noisy exuberance and Hingis's quiet containment, we reinforce stereotypes of raucous lower classes and reserved upper classes. Even though the Williams family has lived for years on an estate in Florida, the media still emphasize Venus's origins in the inner city. In contrast, they portray Hingis as connected to nowhere more particular than Europe, as a citizen of the world, perhaps a baroness of some kind, unconcerned with the degrading details of place.

And a still broader basis exists for this rivalry: the long conflict, on court and off, between the Anglo-Europeans and the Americans, recognized and nurtured by both players and fans.  Henry James would have seen it: Californian-Floridian Venus Williams is the naively, dangerously determined Daisy Miller, an Isabel Archer set on creating herself. Swiss by nationality, Martina Hingis, irritatingly secure in her identity, is a young version of Mrs. Costello, who regards Daisy Miller and her ilk as "the sort ... one does one's duty by not -- not accepting."  With these different backgrounds and attitudes, the two athletes will find respect for, even tolerance of, one another a challenge.

The tennis maiden

Attitude and hauteur

Hingis's inbred assurance can make her hard to like. Her face, with its aggressive lower jaw and short upper lip, often displays a smile many have called sly. She walks with the athlete's composed swagger – stride collected, shoulders swinging. According to Tracy Austen, "She never shows she's worried. She acts extremely confident – and probably is." During competition, she "plays within herself." Her supreme control allows her to make "her angles ... more and more acute cross court," pulling her opponent to one side. Then, as Austen explains, "she drives the ball down the opposite line."

Hingis has reason to be confident. She's won four grand slams. She's #1 in the rankings – before her loss to Seles in the French, she was 2500 points ahead of her nearest rival – and she has won more than six million dollars in prize money. She says that Venus might get to be #1 "one day if I'm probably not playing anymore." Veteran players from both sides of the Atlantic would like her to display more "respect," but Hingis remains undaunted.

Williams, too, appears confident: she enjoys "watching my ranking progressively get better" and, like Hingis, she has offended some of the older players, who claim that Venus and Serena snub them. Yet her attitude seems less natural, more fragile than Hingis's hauteur – her composure newly, carefully constructed.

Venus, it seems, needs approval; Hingis does not. On court,
Williams's expression is often grave, even sad. Occasionally, her eyes, above prominent cheek bones, swim with tears. In their match at the French Open, when she hit the ball, Williams uttered grunts that sometimes sounded like cries; Hingis was silent.  While Hingis relies on control and placement, Williams depends on power and athleticism. Called the biggest hitter on the women's tour – her serve has been clocked at 118 mph – she goes full out for all shots, covering the court with what Austen calls "big loping steps."

A respectful rivalry

So perhaps there is an inevitable, historical rivalry between the controlled, composed, and haughty European in her casually untucked shirt and the extravagantly powerful American in her gold chain and spandex. Those of us who love tennis can hope for a competition that celebrates rather than obscures the game, that emphasizes not so much the players' personal differences as the contrast in their play.

We enjoyed such a rivalry between Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova, for whom Hingis was named. We saw it again in the French Open matches between Seles and Novotna as well as Seles and Sanchez-Vicario, when we celebrated the players' skill and their courtesy to one another during and after the match. Let's hope that the sports industry, the media, and we as fans can allow the contest between Hingis and Williams to ripen into such a respectful rivalry.

Judy Hunter grew up in Rhode Island, graduated from Brown University, taught high school English in New Jersey, and then one day was surprised to find herself in Grinnell, Iowa, where she and her family have now lived for almost two decades. For most of those years, Judy has taught in the Writing Lab at Grinnell College, improving and appreciating students' essays, and enjoying the students themselves. Judy is also deeply involved in her community, serving on and chairing a staggering number of committees. And speaking of serving, she finds time to keep up her excellent tennis game and to play league volleyball, among other sports.