Culture
For Diana Taurasi, one last Olympic hurrah to cap a one-of-a-kind career
PARIS — Van Chancellor knew he wanted Diana Taurasi on the 2004 Olympic team in Athens. She was young, skilled, confident, brash. He expected she would be a centerpiece of American basketball in the years to come, but he also knew that she would still be able to contribute on the squad of superstars that had been selected for his team — “Dream On” members who had helped re-center the world of women’s basketball by retaking the gold in 1996 in Atlanta.
On Taurasi’s first day with Team USA that year, just the morning after she had helped UConn to a national title over Tennessee, she sat down on the bus next to Chancellor and asked him a very straightforward question: What do you need out of me, Coach?
“I need for you to act like a rookie,” he told her.
“Coach Chancellor,” she said, “if that’s all you need, I’m ready to roll. I’m ready to help this team.”
That was Diana 20 years ago. It was her four days ago, too, when after 33 consecutive Olympic starts for Team USA, coach Cheryl Reeve moved her to the bench in their quarterfinal game against Nigeria in favor of 26-year-old Jackie Young, the second-youngest player on the roster. When the team broke the huddle, Taurasi bounded back to the bench as if it were where the ball would be tipped. She sat down, rubbed her hands together and locked in.
What did the team need from her in that game? To do exactly that. Be the best leader and teammate, to pass the torch a bit and light everyone else’s fires on the way.
On Sunday, Taurasi will play in her final Olympic basketball game. It’s hard to imagine a USA Basketball world in which Taurasi doesn’t play a part. Of the 60-consecutive wins the program has had, she has been a part of 43.
“She has defined USA Basketball,” Reeve said. “I don’t know that there’s a greater competitor. … Dee is Mount Rushmore in that way.”
After the team won gold in 2021 in Tokyo, Taurasi, then 39, surprised everyone when she stared into the NBC camera and ended her postgame interview by yelling, “See you in Paris!” before she walked off. Sue Bird, who had been in on the interview, too, looked back at the camera with a laugh and remarked, “She said what she said.”
While many assumed the statement was in jest, she did not. She said what she said. And then, she did it. She came to Paris and led this team. First from the starting lineup, and then from the end of the bench.
Against Nigeria, she didn’t enter the game in the first half, and instead was the first to jump out of her seat with good plays from her teammates and coached people up when they came to the bench.
After the semifinal win over Australia, Reeve said that when this is all over, she could speak more truthfully about the burden of carrying the legacy of eight straight gold medals and the expectations of this program. She hasn’t slept much and instead has toiled in the film room imagining all the ways basketball could be unfair to one of the greatest rosters ever assembled. She said she received a message from Dawn Staley, who coached the team in Tokyo to its seventh consecutive gold medal, that read: “There’s nothing I can say to you. I know what you’re feeling. You just have to go through it.”
What do you need out of me, Coach? You can imagine Taurasi saying.
To take a benching, as competitive Taurasi is, in a way speaks to the unselfish nature of this team. To be as steady as possible in a world where Reeve must feel like Atlas at every corner. To be someone who Reeve doesn’t have to worry about when she looks down the bench. Because they have Dee. She has seen everything. Nothing rattles her.
OK, would be Taurasi’s response, if that’s all you need, I’m ready to roll. I’m ready to help this team.
In her sixth and final Olympics (that part is fact — she quipped to reporters in London ahead of the Olympics that they would see her in Los Angeles … “on the beach with a beer”), her inclusion in this roster has been argued by keyboard jockeys who couldn’t name three players on the team.
But as she was in 2004, she is in 2024 — she’s here to help this team. It looks different now than it did a decade ago, two decades ago, but it’s the same Diana. Still, at 42, she leads the guards and wings through every drill. She’s the first to stand up and clap from the bench. First to high-five teammates. First to pull players into the huddle, and first in those huddles to speak.
If that sounds cliché and unimportant, then perhaps it’s because the pressure this team exists underneath is entirely its own. Other teams don’t need a Dee because other teams don’t operate in this unique space of perfection.
Perhaps there’s no better endorsement of Taurasi than the fact that the two best players in the world — A’ja Wilson and Breanna Stewart — cede their space, their speaking time, their ability to “be first” to someone else.
“The biggest thing that I love about DT is that she does not change,” Wilson said. “She is always so consistent in what she does — that is a sign of greatness.”
Taurasi’s greatness has been on display through these Games. In moments big and small. In how she has handled herself. In her graciousness in understanding her role, and how it has changed. In how she has remained constant in who she is not just in these six games, but in her last 43.
“Think about that — two decades not two Olympics,” said Geno Auriemma, former U.S. national team coach and Taurasi’s college coach at UConn. “The commitment and passion, the love of the game — all these in and of itself would be monumental. But add in that for two decades she was the face of the team, the best player, best teammate and the greatest winner in the history of the game.”
With that commitment and that time has come age. For several years now, Taurasi has made efforts to take care of her body in a different, more focused, way — went vegan, did lengthier pre- and post-practice stretching and treatment regimens longer than the practice itself. She has sacrificed to continue to play, to continue to be here for not just herself but her teammates.
On Sunday, Taurasi will put on her No. 12 USA jersey one final time in an Olympic setting. No athlete has done what she has done before, and it’s hard to imagine it happening again. Nearly half of her life has been spent representing the U.S. on an international stage. But before Taurasi came around, it was hard to imagine 60-straight wins or eight-straight gold medals. Now, Team USA is on the precipice of just that.
Her legacy is cemented, and has been, but in these final Games for her, she has shown what’s possible to both her teammates and the next generation of players. Stewart calls her the “gold standard” of USA Basketball, and she’s just that. And not just because she already has five gold medals to her name.
Every Olympic coach she has had has asked her to do something different for her team — be a rookie, be a scorer, be an elite passer, be a leader, be a veteran, come off the bench, use your voice more than your passing skills. In short: Be Dee.
“I’m here to compete. I’m here to play at a high level. I’m here to give to my teammates and I’m here to win a gold medal — that’s it,” Taurasi said when she arrived in Paris. “I don’t care about the last 20 years. I’m worried about the next 20 years.”
The next 20 years of Team USA are in good hands. Taurasi has made sure of it. Just ask Young. Or Wilson. Or Kahleah Copper. Or Sabrina Ionescu.
And four years from now, when this group is going for a gold medal in Los Angeles, she’ll hopefully be on a beach somewhere, drinking a cold one. She has more than earned it.
GO DEEPER
Can the rest of the world catch up to Team USA? Our women’s basketball experts debate.
(Top photo of Diana Taurasi during Friday’s semifinal game against Australia: Daniela Porcelli / Eurasia Sport Images / Getty Images)
Culture
The Books We’re Excited About in Early 2025
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A new year means new books to look forward to, and 2025 already promises a bounty — from the first volume of Bill Gates’s memoirs to a new novel by the reigning Nobel laureate, Han Kang, to a biography of Rosemary Woodruff Leary, the wife and psychedelic collaborator of the counterculture pioneer Timothy Leary.
On this week’s episode, Gilbert Cruz and Joumana Khatib talk about some of the upcoming books they’re most anticipating over the next several months.
Books discussed:
“Stone Yard Devotional,” by Charlotte Wood
“Silence,” by Pico Iyer
“Onyx Storm,” by Rebecca Yarros
“Gliff,” by Ali Smith
“The Dream Hotel,” by Laila Lalami
“The Colony,” by Annika Norlin
“We Do Not Part,” by Han Kang
“Playworld,” by Adam Ross
“Death of the Author,” by Nnedi Okorafor
“The Acid Queen: The Psychedelic Life and Counterculture Rebellion of Rosemary Woodruff Leary,” by Susannah Cahalan
“Tilt,” by Emma Pattee
“Dream Count,” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
“Hope: The Autobiography,” by Pope Francis
“Jesus Wept: Seven Popes and the Battle for the Soul of the Catholic Church,” by Philip Shenon
“The Antidote,” by Karen Russell
“Source Code,” by Bill Gates
“Great Big Beautiful Life,” by Emily Henry
“Sunrise on the Reaping,” by Suzanne Collins
We would love to hear your thoughts about this episode, and about the Book Review’s podcast in general. You can send them to books@nytimes.com.
Culture
Grand Slam prize money is enormous. The economics of tennis tournaments is complicated
Four times a year, one of the biggest and most important tennis tournaments in the world sends out an announcement full of dollar signs and zeroes with the words “record prize money” scattered liberally.
The four Grand Slams, the first of which begins Sunday in Melbourne, are the high points of the tennis calendar. Players at the 2025 Australian Open will compete for $59million (£47m) this year — over $6.2m more than last year. In 2024, the four tournaments paid out over $250m between them, while their leaders spent the year aligning themselves with the players who make their events unmissable, whose gravity pulls in the broadcast deals and sponsorships, with their own dollar signs and zeroes.
Led by Australian Open chief Craig Tiley, the Grand Slams led the movement for a so-called premium tour which would pare down the overloaded tennis calendar and guarantee top players always being in the same events, let alone time zones. It would also lock swaths of the globe out of the worldwide spectacle that tennis represents.
The great irony is that despite the largesse and the cozy relationship, the players get a smaller cut of the money at the Grand Slams than they do in most of the rest of the rest of that hectic, endless season — and a fraction of what the best athletes in other sports collect from their events. The Australian Open’s prize pool amounts to about a 15-20 percent cut of the overall revenues of Tennis Australia, the organization that owns and stages the tournament, which accounts for nearly all of its annual revenue. The exact numbers at the French Open, Wimbledon and U.S. Open vary, but that essential split is roughly a constant. The 2023 U.S. Open had a prize pool of $65m against earned revenue from the tournament that came out at just over $514m, putting the cut at about 12 percent. The U.S. Open accounted for just under 90 percent of USTA revenues that year.
The explanations from the Grand Slams, which collectively generate over $1.5bn (£1.2bn) a year, run the gamut. They need to dedicate hundreds of millions of dollars each year to fund junior tennis development and other, less profitable tournaments in their respective nations — an obligation pro sports leagues don’t have. There is a constant need to upgrade their facilities, in the silent race for prestige and primacy of which the constant prize money one-upmanship is just one element.
That dynamic is not lost on players — least of all Novak Djokovic, the top men’s player of the modern era and a co-founder of the five-year-old Professional Tennis Players Association (PTPA).
“I’m just going to state a fact,” Djokovic said during a post-match news conference in Brisbane last week. “The pie split between the governing bodies in major sports, all major American sports, like NFL, NBA, baseball, NHL, is 50 percent. Maybe more, maybe less, but around 50 percent.
“Ours is way lower than that.”
Since 1968, the first year in which the four majors offered prize money as part of the Open Era’s embrace of professional tennis players, the purses have only grown. The 1968 French Open was the first to offer prize money, with Ken Rosewall earning just over $3,000 for beating Rod Laver in the final. The women’s singles champion, Nancy Richey, was still an amateur player, so could not claim her $1,000 prize. By 1973, lobbying from Billie Jean King helped convince the U.S. Open to make prize money equal for men and women through the draws; it took another 28 years for the Australian Open to do so year in, year out. Venus Williams’ intervention helped force the French Open and Wimbledon to follow suit in 2007.
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‘I think we deserve better’: How and why tennis lets women down
Fifty years after Rosewall’s triumph in Paris, the 2018 men’s champion Rafael Nadal took home $2.35million, an increase of over 73,000 percent. The year-on-year increases at each major are more modest, usually between 10 and 12 percent, but that percentage of tournament revenue remains steadfast, if not entirely immovable.
The Grand Slams argue that there are plenty of hungry mouths at their table, many more than just the 128 players that enter each singles draw each year.
“Tennis Australia is a not-for-profit and a business model built on significant investment into delivering the event and promoting the sport to drive momentum on revenue and deliver consistently increasing prize money,” Darren Pearce, the organization’s chief spokesperson, said in a statement this week.
Money from the Australian Open also helps fund tournaments in Brisbane, Adelaide and Hobart, as well as the United Cup, the combined men’s and women’s event in Perth and Sydney. Pearce said the prize money increases outpace the revenue growth.
The Grand Slams also point to the millions of dollars they spend on player travel, housing, transportation and meals during tournaments, though team sport athletes receive those as well. Eloise Tyson, a spokesperson for the All England Lawn Tennis Club, which stages Wimbledon, noted that overall Grand Slam prize money had risen from $209million in 2022 to $254m last year, a 22 percent increase.
“Alongside increasing our player compensation year-on-year, we continue to make significant investment into the facilities and services available for players and their teams at The Championships,” Tyson wrote in an email.
Officials with France’s tennis federation, the FFT, which owns the French Open, did not respond to a request for comment.
Brendan McIntyre, a spokesman for the United States Tennis Association, which owns the U.S. Open, released a statement this week touting the USTA’s pride in its leadership on player compensation, including offering equal prize money and the largest combined purse in tennis history at the 2024 US Open. A first-round exit earned $100,000, up 72 percent from 2019. Just making the qualifying draw was good for $25,000.
“As the national governing body for tennis in the U.S, we have a broader financial obligation to the sport as a whole,” the organization said.
“The USTA’s mission is to grow tennis at all levels, both in the U.S. and globally, and to make the sport accessible to all individuals in order to inspire healthier people and communities.”
None of the organizations outlined a specific formula for determining the amount of prize money they offered each year, which is roughly the same as a percentage of their parent organizations overall revenues. That may be a coincidence, though the Grand Slams also have the benefit of not facing any threat to their primacy.
The USTA’s statement gestures at how the structure of tennis contributes to this financial irony. In soccer, countries and cities bid to host the Champions League and World Cup finals; the Olympics changes every four years and even the Super Bowl in the NFL moves around the United States, with cities and franchises trying to one-up one another.
The four Grand Slams, though, are the four Grand Slams. There are good reasons for this beyond prestige: the infrastructure, both physical and learned, required to host a two- or three-week event at the scale of a major year in, year out is available to a vanishingly small number of tennis facilities around the world. There is no opportunity for another organization or event to bid to replace one of the Grand Slams by offering a richer purse or other amenities.
GO DEEPER
A year ago, tennis was broken. It’s more broken now
This dynamic has been in place for years and has become more important in recent months. The PTPA has hired a group of antitrust lawyers to evaluate the structure of tennis. The lawyers are compiling a report on whether the the sport includes elements that are anti-competitive, preparing for a possible litigation with the potential to remake the sport.
The ATP and WTA Tours, which sanction 250-, 500- and 1000-level events as well as the end-of-season Tour Finals, give players a larger share of revenue. There is some disagreement between players and officials over how much it is and the methods of accounting; some player estimates hover around 25 percent, while tour estimates can be in the range of 40 percent. Both remain short of the team equivalents in the United States.
On the ATP Tour, the nine 1000-level tournaments have a profit-sharing agreement that, in addition to prize money, gives players 50 percent of the profits under an agreed-upon accounting formula that sets aside certain revenues and subtracts certain costs, including investments the tournaments make in their facilities. The WTA does not have such an agreement. It outlines a complex prize money formula in its rule book with pages of exceptions, not based on a guaranteed share of overall tour revenues.
The tours have argued that because media rights payments constitute a lower percentage of revenues than at the Grand Slams, and because the costs of putting on tournaments are so high, a 50-50 revenue share would simply turn some tournaments into loss-making entities and make tennis unsustainable as a sport.
James Quinn, one of the antitrust lawyers hired by the PTPA, said he saw serious problems with the model, describing a structure that prevents competition from rival tournaments.
Some events outside the 52-week program of tournaments — which see players earn ranking points as well as money — have official status (the Laver Cup is sanctioned by the ATP). But the remainder, such as the Six Kings Slam in Riyadh, which debuted this year and offered record prize money of over $6million to the winner, are not sanctioned, for now providing only a peripheral form of competition to ruling bodies’ control of the sport.
The Grand Slams, ATP and WTA insist this is for the best. They see themselves as caretakers of global sport trying to bring some order where chaos might otherwise reign.
Djokovic doesn’t totally disagree. He understands tennis is different from the NBA. He’s led the Player Council at the ATP, which represents male professionals, and he has seen how the sausage gets made and how complicated it is with so many tournaments of all shapes and sizes in so many countries. At the end of the day, he still thinks players deserve more than a 20-percent cut, especially since the Grand Slams don’t make the kinds of contributions to player pension plans or end-of-the-year bonus pools that the ATP does, nor do they provide the year-round support of the WTA.
“It’s not easy to get everybody in the same room and say, ‘OK, let’s agree on a certain percentage,’” he said of the leaders of tournaments.
“We want more money, (but) they maybe don’t want to give us as much money when we talk about the prize money. There are so many different layers of the prize money that you have to look into. It’s not that simple.”
(Photos: Kelly Delfina / Getty Images, Steven / PA via Getty Images; design: Dan Goldfarb)
Culture
6 New Books We Recommend This Week
Our recommended books this week tilt heavily toward European culture and history, with a new history of the Vikings, a group biography of the Tudor queens’ ladies-in-waiting, a collection of letters from the Romanian-born French poet Paul Celan and a biography of the great German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. We also recommend a fascinating true-crime memoir (written by the criminal in question) and, in fiction, Rebecca Kauffman’s warmhearted new novel about a complicated family. Happy reading. — Gregory Cowles
One of Europe’s most important postwar poets, Celan remains as intriguing as he is perplexing more than 50 years after his death. The autobiographical underpinnings of his work were beyond the reach of general readers until the 1990s, when the thousands of pages of Celan’s letters began to appear. The scholar Bertrand Badiou compiled the poet’s correspondence with his wife, the French graphic artist Gisèle Lestrange-Celan, and that collection is now available for the first time in English, translated by Jason Kavett.
NYRB Poets | Paperback, $28
Wilson’s biography of the German polymath Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) approaches its subject through his masterpiece and life’s work, the verse drama “Faust” — widely considered perhaps the single greatest work of German literature, stuffed to its limits with philosophical and earthy meditations on human existence.
Bloomsbury Continuum | $35
Through a series of vignettes, Kauffman’s fifth novel centers on a woman determined to spend Christmas with her extended family, including her future grandchild and ex-husband, and swivels to take in the perspectives of each family member in turn.
People love the blood-soaked sagas that chronicle the deeds of Viking raiders. But Barraclough, a British historian and broadcaster, looks beyond those soap-opera stories to uncover lesser-known details of Old Norse civilization beginning in A.D. 750 or so.
Norton | $29
Fifteen years ago, Ferrell gained a dubious fame after The New York Observer identified her as the “hipster grifter” who had prowled the Brooklyn bar scene scamming unsuspecting men even as she was wanted in Utah on felony fraud charges. Now older, wiser and released from jail, Ferrell emerges in this captivating, sharp and very funny memoir to detail her path from internet notoriety to self-knowledge.
St. Martin’s | $29
In her lively and vivid group biography of the women who served Henry VIII’s queens, Clarke, a British author and historian, finds a compelling side entrance into the Tudor industrial complex, showing that behind all the grandeur the royal court was human-size and small.
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