COLUMN: Let the best 'mother' win: Taylor Townsend, Barbora Krejcikova and the many faces of motherhood in tennis

When American Taylor Townsend and Czech star Barbora Krejcikova step onto Arthur Ashe Stadium for their U.S. Open round-of-16 clash on Sunday, the match will carry with it a narrative far deeper than rankings, seedings, or statistics. It will be a story about motherhood—literal and figurative—and the ways in which women in tennis have defined, redefined, and deeply embraced that role both on and off the court.

Krejcikova, 28, has long been a darling of the tennis meme crowd, where she’s affectionately nicknamed “mother.” It’s not because she has children, but because of something ineffable—her demeanor, her presence, her groundedness—that makes her feel like everyone’s mom. The internet, with its sly shorthand, often adopts this kind of label as a wink: “she’s mother” means “she’s iconic,” “she’s got authority,” “she’s serving life lessons along with baseline winners.”

But in Krejcikova’s case, the moniker carries deeper resonance. Her own mother, Hana, encouraged her to reach out to Jana Novotná, the late Wimbledon champion who would become Krejcikova’s mentor and guiding star. Novotná’s influence, coupled with her mother’s unwavering belief, gave Krejcikova the courage to pursue a path that culminated in a French Open singles crown and multiple Grand Slam doubles titles. The “mother” theme is not only a meme—it is a lineage, a legacy of strong women lifting other women toward greatness.

On the other side of the net stands Townsend, 30, whose story has been one of defiance, resilience, and now, motherhood in its most literal sense. A decade ago, she was the prodigious American junior once told by Patrick McEnroe, whom tennis should have made irrelevant decades ago, and the USTA player development program that her body type wasn’t suitable for the future they envisioned. Too heavy, they said. Not fit enough. In other words: not their version of “right.”

Townsend didn’t fold. She forged her own path. And when she became a mother herself, to son Adyn in 2020, many wondered if her career would fade into the background, as it has for so many women athletes juggling the dual demands of sport and family. Instead, Townsend soared. She has played her best tennis since becoming a mom, rising to No. 1 in the world in doubles this year and, improbably, pushing deeper into singles draws than ever before.

For Townsend, motherhood was not an end but a beginning. It has sharpened her, given her purpose, and made every moment on court feel like both work and gift.

Neither Townsend nor Krejcikova were penciled in for the second week of the U.S. Open this year. Krejcikova has battled injury after injury, struggling to string together consistent form. Townsend has been balancing tour life with toddler life while also dealing with setbacks of her own.

That both are here is itself a triumph. It’s a reminder that women in tennis, far from the pristine narratives of endless success, often endure winding roads paved with sacrifice, doubt, and tenacity. For Krejcikova, it has meant honoring the voices of the mothers and mentors who built her. For Townsend, it has meant embodying motherhood while proving she belongs among the sport’s elite.

The women’s game has long been intertwined with stories of motherhood. From Evonne Goolagong’s comeback in the 1980s, to Kim Clijsters’ fairytale return to win the 2009 U.S. Open as a mom, to Serena Williams redefining what was possible by making four Grand Slam finals after giving birth—these women have shown that motherhood and elite competition need not be at odds.

Yet the sport has also stumbled in supporting them. Williams famously fought for protected rankings for mothers returning to tour. Victoria Azarenka once broke down explaining how custody battles limited her ability to compete. The infrastructure of tennis has rarely made it easy.

Townsend’s rise, and Krejcikova’s embrace of her maternal legacy, show that “motherhood” in tennis is evolving—not just as meme or inspiration, but as a recognition of strength, community, and identity.

Sunday’s match, then, is not just a battle between a Czech technician with one of the tour’s most versatile games and an American southpaw with daring net skills. It’s a clash of two women whose journeys have been marked by the many shades of motherhood: the actual, the symbolic, the cultural, and the personal.

Krejcikova will bring her quiet authority, the motherly calm that belies the steel beneath. Townsend will bring her fire, the urgency of a woman playing not just for herself but for her child, rewriting what it means to succeed after being told she couldn’t.

And whichever way the score tilts, the takeaway is already clear: motherhood in tennis is not a constraint but a force multiplier. It is meme and metaphor, burden and blessing, a role that has been underestimated but never extinguished.

As fans, we’ll count the aces and tally the breaks of serve. But we’ll also be watching something bigger—a testament to the ways women carry stories, carry legacies, and sometimes carry children, all while carrying the weight of expectation on the world’s biggest stages.

On Sunday, the U.S. Open round of 16 will be about forehands and footwork. But it will also be about Hana Krejcikova’s encouragement, Jana Novotná’s guidance, Taylor Townsend’s son, and the enduring truth that the role of “mother” in tennis is as layered as the sport itself.

So let the best “mother” win.