It seems only weeks ago that a nation's eyes bulged at the sight of Ash Barty turning her 5-1 deficit in the second set of the Australian Open final into an historic, cathartic victory.
That night, American Danielle Collins shed a tear on the podium and privately wondered how on earth such a petite and kindly opponent had dismantled her so ruthlessly.
Now Collins and other contenders eye an inconceivable opportunity of their own: at 25, with the world at her feet, Barty has retired from tennis, foregoing her zenith and trophies galore.
There is no perfect analogy for the shock this moment engenders — the death of Shane Warne, the onset of war and the ravages of the pandemic add a decent dose of perspective, too — but there is something of the first retirement of Michael Jordan about it.
For Jordan, the pressure that came with his achievements was too overbearing, the personal scrutiny too great, and the loss of freedom too oppressive.
Famously, he took off and played baseball instead, just as Barty's first tennis "retirement" of 2014 meant a switch to cricket.
Between the pair there is a more meaningful overlap: golf, with its fresh air, open pastures and barriers to the outside world. On a golf course, Barty can compete in anonymous seclusion. On Rod Laver Arena — whose concourses are lined with banners, billboards and flags featuring her image — she can never escape prying eyes and well-meaning pressure.
Jordan's biographer David Halberstam explained it like this:
"Golf became increasingly important to him, his great escape from all his other numbing on-court responsibilities, the one place other than practices and the games themselves where he could find some measure of freedom and let go. In a world where more and more people wanted something from him, his very freedom and sanity were now at stake."
Barty's career and fame are of significantly different proportions, but the parallel dilemmas are obvious: the relentless physical grind of the sport, her status as not just a city's but a nation's great hope (Australian Open organisers are currently breaking into hives) and the need to fulfil an ever-increasing set of expectations and obligations — to win, to keep winning, to always do it in her humble, perfect way.
In fact, her most important obligation, as she made clear in the video that broadcast her decision, is to herself. She admitted to feeling a little unfulfilled in the achievement of her lifelong goal — the Wimbledon singles title of 2021.
As Barty explained it, there was a heartbreaking moment in which her voice faltered and her face seemed to ask: "Is anybody going to understand this? Can I expect them to?"
Barty departs on her own terms
The hardest thing for fans to accept is that Barty has done the right thing.
To chase cheques, please the sponsors and play without the joy that infused her game is just not her. And for the uncomplicated pleasure she has already brought to millions, she owes nobody.
If anything, she went well beyond the call of duty, being not merely a rare sporting talent but an exemplary role model for a generation more comfortable with raising a hand to say: "I'm struggling a bit over here."
Lesser athletes often carp on about their "legacy". If hers is a greater understanding that sport is not life, she is a champion on two fronts.
The memory that will linger most brightly is Barty standing on Rod Laver Arena soaking up her famous victory with her inspiration, Evonne Goolagong Cawley. It was a vision of not just Indigenous sporting greatness but a different set of possibilities for Australia — fairer, kinder, prouder.
What Barty does now is her business, but it is safe to assume it'll be nothing outlandish. What Australian tennis and its beleaguered administrators can do to cover her absence is a far more vexing question, for Barty is not just the smiling face of its major event but the heart and soul of its attempts to forge a meaningful connection with fans and grassroots players.
With not a little irony, her disappearance from the tour will probably intensify the pressures faced by Nick Kyrgios. A crazy idea with many applications: could we treat him as Barty would?
There is no dilemma at all for Barty's biographers. Melbourne sportswriting veteran Ron Reed recently put the finishing touches on the third edition of his Barty book, an update that included what turned out to be her final major match.
He says the process was similar to his biography of another Australian tennis great, Frank Sedgman: there were simply no skeletons in the closet.
"There won't be one bad word said about her," Reed said.
"It makes it easier for me, I suppose, because I don't have to worry about balance. She is a wonderful role model who never puts a word or a foot wrong. It doesn't matter how much you stress that, you'll never be accused of going over the top.
"She's not perfect, because nobody is, but geez it was hard to find any fault with her. You're safe to describe her as the paragon she is."
Actually, if you remember, there was one surreal moment in which Barty faced criticism for her behaviour — for, of all things, celebrating her Australian Open triumph by quietly sinking a beer during her post-game interview.
But Australians wouldn't have it. Now, the queue to buy her another might never end.
