Tuesday, February 1st, 2022
As a professional footballer, I always get asked the question, “Who was your role model growing up?”
And the question, “Did you have a favorite soccer player as a kid?”
As today is the first day of Black History Month, I can’t think of a better time to expand upon my answers.
No, I didn’t have a football-kicking icon as a kid. In fact, I really didn’t watch soccer that much altogether. Sure, we had Dare to Dream saved on our DVR (which I watched so many times that I can still quote it to this day), but that was about all the soccer I was exposed to back then. The stories of these women impacted me significantly. I marveled at them and their legacy– but, remember, I was born in 1996. So when the ‘99ers shook the world, I was too young to watch or comprehend the magnitude of that moment.
Like most Black American households, when I sat down with my dad to watch sports, the TV was tuned to either the NBA, NFL, or men’s college hoops during March Madness. Because I also played basketball, my favorite male athletes were players like Chris Paul, Steve Nash, and Ray Allen.
Outside of the Olympics, there were very few televised women’s sporting events. With that said, my parents always made sure to tune into tennis when either Venus or Serena Williams were playing.
With their braids, beads, and fits– the Williams sisters were unapologetically Black, and I loved them for it. They rocked the same hairstyles I wore. While I grew up in white suburbia and was– admittedly– embarrassed of my hair at times, they wore theirs with pride and on the biggest (and whitest) of stages.
Hear more from Mariah on this subject on the Shea Butter FC Podcast
As a brawny kid, I was always drawn to Serena (I literally came out of the womb with biceps and thighs y’all). While Venus was tall and slender, Serena looked like me; she was brown-skinned and muscular. She dominated the game of tennis with such power and dynamism. Every time she served an ace, returned an unreachable ball, yelled “Come on!”, or flexed her bicep in victory, I thought to myself– I want to do that. I dreamt about bringing that same fire to the soccer pitch. Serena was my sports icon.
As I got older, I began to appreciate Serena for more than what I saw. I started to pick up on how she was treated, discussed, and even compensated. From getting booed and called the n-word, to the umpires’ calls at US Open after US Open, to how magazine editors wrote about her body, to how her competitors mimicked her body, to how cartoonists depicted her body, to the amount of endorsements and tournaments earnings she received.
Serena succeeded despite the hate, disrespect, and inequality. Her ability to win Grand Slam after Grand Slam in the face of sexism and racism made me admire her all the more.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the impact of Serena’s activism. Throughout her career she directly and indirectly sought to better the lives of women and address racial inequities.
Remember the times she called out umpires for having sexist double-standards? Or her fourteen year boycott of Indian Wells after being subjected to racial slurs, where on her return in 2015 she partnered with the Equal Justice Initiative to combat discrimination and injustice? Then in 2017, when on Black Women’s Equal Pay Day she penned an article in Fortune that brought to light the pay inequalities Black women face all across America? Yes, in addition to fighting against personal attacks and micro-aggressions, Serena fought for folks on the margin in all ranks of society.
Most recently, Serena shared her experience of giving birth to her daughter, Olympia. In the 2018 docuseries Being Serena, she gave viewers an intimate look at her pregnancy journey, which chronicled serious complications in the aftermath of her daughter’s birth. Serena nearly died after developing a blood clot in her lungs, which when she brought to the attention of her doctors went dismissed.
Her blood clot was eventually treated, still Serena continued to incur more complications, including a ruptured c-section and a hematoma in her abdomen. In all, it would take her six weeks to recover. Serena’s story shed light on the disproportionately high maternal mortality rate facing Black women.
Her lived experiences show that no amount of money or acclaim can protect someone from the thralls of sexism, racism, and the unique combination of both that comes for Black women. Despite this, Serena continues to thrive. She’s the undeniable G.O.A.T., and I am honored to be able to witness her shine throughout my lifetime.
Can you tell she’s still my idol?
Happy Black History Month.
