You see the face and you wouldn’t run and hide from Heather Mahoney. You see her face and you want to offer some ice cream. Her smile spreads easily from ear-to-ear. Her manner is aw-shucks. Her voice so polite and respectful, you lean forward to hear it. She is the girl next door, the babysitter you could trust. You would never, ever, guess what’s inside.
When Mahoney walks to the racquetball service area, she’s still all peaches and cream. She gets ready to serve. She pauses. She looks back at her opponent. Like a puff of smoke caught in a breeze, the girl-next-door disappears.
“Heather gives them what people at the club call ‘The Stink Eye,’ ” said her father, John, a mechanical engineer from Petaluma.
We’ve seen The Stink Eye before. Former Oakland A’s ace Dave Stewart had the stink eye. It was called The Stare back in the ’80s. The message sent was the same for both Stewart and Mahoney: I’m in charge. Deal with it.
It is a look forged from the fire of success. On Nov. 15 Mahoney became a world champion in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Mahoney beat Angela Veronica Ortega Sabido of Mexico to become the Junior World Champion in the 10-and-under girl’s competition. Now 11, Mahoney was 10 years old as of Jan. 1, the time of national and international registry.
How often does she think about her world title? Her answer would work well for anyone on the Golden State Warriors after they won the NBA Championship.
“Not when I’m sleeping” is about the only time Mahoney doesn’t think about representing Team USA Racquetball with the best possible result. How indeed could the experience pass quietly into the night? It wasn’t just that she won, to be called a world champion. It was that Mahoney won despite her left big toe looking a little bit like the restaurant sausage link you order at breakfast.
Yes, she blushed a bit in telling the story. For someone so coordinated, so quick to the ball, so savvy on what’s around her, that someone almost took herself out of a world tournament. It was a hotel elevator that almost took her out. Mahoney was assuming the elevator would open as all elevators do, the floor of the elevator settling at the same level as the hotel floor she was leaving.
Oops. And double oops because she was wearing open-toed rubber flip-flops, the kind of sandals that barely pass as sandals, where even a pebble feels like a boulder. John was with her at Santo Domingo’s Hotel Barceló. They were headed to the hotel to swim and chill.
“Hey, Dad, look,” she said without screaming. John didn’t expect much given the casualness of the entreaty. Until he looked down and he saw the blood and the toenail split at a right angle, a neat trick in and of itself. It was Nov. 12. She was to play her semifinal match the next day. He then looked up his daughter. That smiley face was, in his words, “ghost white.”
Without looking down Heather had jammed her left big toe against the raised elevator floor.
A father of one of the other American girls competing happened by. He was an emergency medical technician.
“She’s out of the tournament,” he said.