Jesus Take the L: Sabalenka Blames God, Gravity, and Gauff's Black Girl Magic

After getting served by Coco, Sabalenka channels her inner victim, accuses the heavens, and forgets sportsmanship like she forgot her backhand.

Whewwwww, chile.

Y'all, Aryna Sabalenka's salty-ass post-interview after the French Open was a whole buffet of passive aggression, condescension, white fragility, and sore loser syndrome served cold as hell.

She had the audacity to fix her lips and say: "Coco won not because she played incredible, just because I made all of those mistakes."

In other words, “I can’t admit that a young Black woman outplayed me on the biggest stage, so I’ll just pretend that I just tripped over myself like a giraffe on skates the whole damn time.”

Ohhhh, so Coco just stood there while you self-destructed? She didn’t force those errors? Didn’t chase down every shot like a bawse? Didn’t outlast you mentally, physically, and emotionally on one of the biggest stages in tennis?

This is the kind of backhanded shade that reveals more about Sabalenka's ego than Coco’s game. She basically said, “If I had been perfect, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.” Well, girl, you weren’t! And that’s the point. Champions CAPITALIZE on their opponents’ mistakes. That’s literally how you play sports!

Then she was like, Coco "was hitting the ball from the frame... somehow magically the ball lands in the court."

Magically? Here we go. She acted like sis was out there on the court casting spells and conjuring forehands from Hogwarts. She might as well had said, “I didn’t lose to a better player, I lost to voodoo.”

Lissen, when a white athlete starts reaching for words like “magically” to describe a Black girl’s win, what they’re really doing is refusing to call it skill. Refusing to say, “She earned it.” Because magic implies luck. A fluke. An accident. Like Coco’s win defied nature and physics instead of exposing Sabalenka’s shaky-ass mental game and sloppy errors in real time.

It's also got that old-school racist subtext of Black excellence being "unexplainable" or "unnatural." Like, how could this Black girl possibly be so calm, so poised, so clutch under pressure? It must be some kind of supernatural fluke!

Then she said, "It felt like a joke, honestly, like somebody from above was there laughing, like, ‘let's see if you can handle this’.”

Ohhhh, so now she’s out here ventriloquizing God? Ma’am! Why you lyin’ on Jesus’ daddy like that? You really thought that the Christian god was chillin’ up in heaven, eatin’ jerk chicken and was like, “Lemme mess up Aryna’s backhand real quick just for giggles? Heh… watch this backhand, boo, boo. BOOM! Black Girl Magic, bishe!”

What “magically” landed in the court was Sabalenka’s pride, face down and humbled. Coco didn’t need magic. She needed a backhand, a forehand, a serve, and a game plan. And she had all four. And all Sabalenka could offer instead of humility was a meltdown, a hot mess of excuses, and martyr talk.

What actually feels like a joke is someone claiming they've been playing lights-out all week except when it really mattered. That’s not a sign of greatness. That’s inconsistency and cracking under pressure.

And this little nugget right here: "I think Iga would go out today and she would get the win."

Girl, what? Now we’re dragging Iga Swiatek into this fantasy rerun of what could’ve been? When you lose and the first thing you do is rewrite the script to cast someone else as the rightful winner, you’re not giving Coco her flowers, you’re snatching them out of her hands.

This wasn’t just her frustration talking. It was her inability to cope with the idea that someone she underestimated, someone younger, and Black outlasted her in a high-pressure moment. And so her subconscious resistance to acknowledging that she lost fair and square had her sitting there in her feelings and externalizing. Blame the gods. Blame fate. Blame the frame of Coco’s racket. Black Black girl magic. Just don’t give credit where it’s due.

She turned a defeat into a monologue about victimhood instead of sportsmanship. And this is what white fragility looks likes like: A Black girl beats you fair and square, and instead of saying, “She played better than me,” you start spinning tales about angels, bad luck, and accidental excellence. Like Coco just stumbled into victory while she, the true chosen one, was momentarily cursed by the tennis gods.

Umph, umph, umph.

Black Jesus was sittin’ up there by his daddy, twisting his locks with rosemary castor oil, throwing Sabalenka a side-eye and saying, “Girl stop blaming the Holy Trinity for your unforced errors. Take the L, and go moisturize.”