This year, the magic seemed to spread further than usual across the sports landscape. At the highest levels. Black women standing on podiums, lifting trophies, receiving medals, being themselves.

Simone Biles celebrates winning gold on the beam during the Artistic Gymnastics World Championships in October in Belgium. Naomi Baker/Getty Images

‘‘I had to prove to myself that I could still get out here, twist, I could prove all the haters wrong that I’m not a quitter, this, that, the other.” She said this after winning her sixth all-around world championship (and 30th overall Olympics or worlds medal) in October after an almost two-year ‘‘mental health’’ break from the sport. One that had so many in the sports world questioning whether she deserved to be called or considered a ‘‘true’’ champion.

Yeah, they came at her. ‘‘Sis, you don’t get a break, you don’t get compassion, you don’t get understanding.” Those were the sentiments and daggers being thrown mercilessly in her direction. Some hitting, most missing, but still thrown.

‘‘Never allow media, never allow outsiders, never allow anything but yourself and your faith define who you are.’’ She said those words after crossing the finish line in a 2023 World Athletics Championships race 10.65 seconds after it began. Reminding the world who she was. Reminding the world what it tried to take from her. Dignity is a funny thing to chase when you are the fastest woman alive. Especially when society turns on you faster than you can run.

‘‘All year, I was critiqued about who I was. The narrative — I don’t fit the narrative. I don’t fit the box you all want me to be in. I’m too hood. I’m too ghetto. You told me that all year.’’ Her words came in response to what led a not-worth-mentioning-by-name digital sports-media company owner to call her a ‘‘classless piece of sh*t’’ after she ‘‘invisibled’’ herself to Caitlin Clark in the NCAA basketball championship game in April. A game her team won.

‘‘Honestly, thank you to the people who didn’t believe in me. I mean, like a month ago, I won a 500 [level] title, and people said I would stop at that. Two weeks ago, I won a 1,000 [level] title, and people said that was as big as it was gonna get. Three weeks later, I’m here with this trophy right now. I tried my best to carry this with grace, and I’ve been doing my best. So, honestly, to those who thought they were putting water on my fire, you’re really adding gas to it. And I’m really burning so bright right now.’’

Her burn blinded many because of the brightness that came with it. The only thing more beautiful in the moments after she won the U.S. Open was the silence of the non-believers that followed.

Simone Biles. Sha’Carri Richardson. Angel Reese. Coco Gauff. All beholders of not just crowns this year, but of that thang called ‘‘Black Girl Magic.’’ The magic that presents itself in the form of Black woman excellence when the world — or many, many, many people in it — is waiting (wishing, hoping, expecting, wanting) for them to fail, fall and disappear. This year, the magic seemed to spread further than usual across the sports landscape. At the highest levels. Black women standing on podiums, lifting trophies, receiving medals, being themselves.

We saw it in Dawn Staley reshaping women’s college basketball in a never-before-seen image; in A’ja Wilson doubling up on WNBA ’chips; in Logan Eggleston and Asjia O’Neal (who has a whole other Black Girl Magic story) leading the University of Texas separately to back-to-back national volleyball championships; in Erin Jackson for what she did last year in the Winter Olympics, a Black woman winning gold at 500 meters in speedskating. But it was in Biles, Richardson, Reese and Gauff where we saw its apex. In Simone’s return, in Sha’Carri’s resilience, in Angel’s rectitude, in Coco’s resolve.

‘‘When I see a Black woman, I see a revolution. She’s here. In a country determined to rest its back on her shoulders while calling her worthless, I see magic. I do not see a superhuman. I see an architect. I know she’s doing a lot of groundwork to be present, to walk that walk with swagger and self-determination. I know she is becoming more and more herself, building the truth in a world that lies to us about who we are.’’ The words of Boston Globe cultural columnist Jeneé Osterheldt shape the context in which that BGM exists. The dehumanization of Black women in sports is nothing new, just used and abused. Year after year, decade after decade, century after century, win or win. So for 2023’s Athlete of The Year Mount Rushmore, it wasn’t simply about what they achieved; it was unequally about what they overcame. What they have to do now over and again to make the world believe in magic.

Not Deion Sanders (Sports Illustrated), not Clark (who shared the award with Reese for Sporting News), not Lionel Messi (Time) and definitely not the Sports Himbo (GQ). Stop. It was these four women who shaped sports for this single year unlike any other person did. No single athlete had their collective impact; not a single team left their impression. Nobody won with their defiance. Standing in their full power while proving that even in the male-dominated and -controlled lane called sports, a sistah can have her cake and also eat it, especially when she’s the one who came up with the recipe and is the chef who baked it.