Bryony GORDON
Hallelujah! After 18 months of misery, some good news at last. Emma Raducanu, the ferociously talented 18-year-old from Bromley, has reached the finals of the US Open. Her achievement has been the sole glimmer of light in a week that has otherwise left us with faces longer than the queue at Heathrow border control. What with tax hikes and the realisation that the Education Secretary would not be able to pass an 11-plus, you’d think that people would be cock-a-hoop about Raducanu. But it seems that misery really does love company, and so the young star’s success has been met with an endless stream of ‘well-meaning’ advice about not getting too big for her boots.
Jo Durie, who reached the semi-finals of the US Open in 1983, went on the Today programme to say she hoped that Raducanu was able to “keep her feet on the ground”. Writing in this paper, Judy Murray congratulated the young star, but issued a warning that we don’t “overburden Emma at this early stage of her career”. There’s been a lot of concern about the mental health of Raducanu, who earlier this year pulled out of Wimbledon with breathing difficulties. I don’t know about you, but I think it is eminently sensible to withdraw from exercise when you are gasping for air, even if the cause happens to be psychological. That’s a level of emotional intelligence that many of us don’t discover until we’ve had at least a decade of therapy; I would have been far more concerned for the mental health of Raducanu had she forced herself to play on, and then collapsed on court with a panic attack.
I find much of this apparent anxiety about Raducanu deeply patronising, not to mention completely disingenuous. Because so often, concern for the wellbeing of a person who is doing so well they’ve just reached a Grand Slam final, thank you very much, is really just a way of putting a caveat on their success. It is Tall Poppy Syndrome, a mean-spirited phenomenon so thoroughly British that it’s a wonder anyone from this nation makes it to any sporting final at all.
It would be tempting to see this as a female thing, a form of sexism, but I think it’s just a UK thing. Witness Raheem Sterling, who spent the entire Euros trying his best to look grim faced and serious, while the crowds lost their minds. Sterling knew that in public at least, and certainly in the post-match interviews, he had to let it be known that he was absolutely not getting any ideas above his station. His sole focus was on the match; everything else could wait.
Given that Sterling was only two when his father was murdered, and that his big sister would take him to training while their mum worked round the clock as a cleaner, you’d think we might allow him a moment to enjoy his success. But the striker discovered early on in his career that this was not to be his lot, with endless reports of his ‘excess’ (like, err, buying a house for his mum). It’s sad Sterling has had to edit himself to prevent criticism, but he won’t be the first or last sporting star to learn this.
Andy Murray, our most recent great tennis star, was so busy trying to keep his feet on the ground that many of us wondered if his career would ever truly get off it. Knitting at Olympic events may calm Tom Daley down, but it also serves a useful purpose in that it lets us know he’s a normal guy, who happens to be able to backflip off a diving board from a great height.
One of the great joys of watching Emma Raducanu play is not just she’s so good at it… it’s that she genuinely seems to be enjoying it. That smile could power the whole of the Arthur Ashe stadium. And if there is any cause for anxiety about this talented athlete, it’s that the British obsession with Tall Poppy Syndrome is going to wipe the smile off her face pretty damn quick. Can we let her have some fun? Could we even – gasp! – try having some fun with her?
Maybe, just maybe, Emma Raducanu doesn’t need our concern. She just needs us to cheer her on.
A star has been born, let’s allow her to light up the dark.