We Missed You Tennis. Welcome Back.
by @ColinEthier
Editor's note: Our buddy Colin, a former editor at the Fort Wayne Bugle-Gazette whose weekly columns on sports and table manners have been syndicated in local newspapers throughout the Northwest region of Indiana, wanted to get in on the Unforced Errors action. We gave him free rein to write the riskiest internet column his salt-of-the-earth fingers could muster...and boy did he deliver.
Late August should be a time for the tennis community to unite, surrounded by one of America’s most iconic backdrops, and revel in two weeks of thrilling moments, nail-biting matches and raucous atmospheres.
Instead, New York will be quiet.
Arthur Ashe Stadium will be empty.
Diehard fans will be holed up at home, not hoofing it from the subway to Flushing Meadows.
Chair umpires won’t face the tall task of quieting a crowd at match point of a fifth set.
And you won’t find 200 people passionately cheering on Court 3, in the early-morning hours, willing on their hero, holding their country’s flag, chanting his or her name.
But at least we have tennis, right? Here’s looking at you, Kevin Warren…
The U.S. Open has always been my can’t-miss tournament. (You can have your royalty, your all white attire and your strawberries and cream, Wimbledon. We know where Meghan Markle would rather be.)
When I should have been practicing multiplication tables or reciting spelling words, there I was sneaking off to my bedroom, dialing up the 19” Magnavox to USA Network (how about that intro?!) and listening to the great (and vastly underrated) Ted Robinson call the action — often well past my bedtime, because the U.S. Open at night knows no curfews.
My sentimental, nerdy sports brain remembers exactly where I was (not so soft tartan plaid family room couch) when Sampras and Agassi battled for five sets in the quarters in 2001, with neither player losing serve. Or five years earlier, passing on my mom’s meatloaf dinner (settled for the classic bowl of buttered noodles instead) to watch a weary Sampras stave off a stomach bug and pesky Alex Corretja to reach the semis.
I remember being captivated by the power of a young phenom from LA, who burst onto the scene and came “knee to knee” with Irina Spirlea in the semis in 1997 (how Venus kept her cool is the only indication you’d need for the great career that followed). Who can forget nearly witnessing a changing of the guard, when upstart American James Blake, up two sets and a break, failed to knock off Agassi from his red, white and blue perch in 2005. And yes, I held back tears (who’s kidding, I cried like a baby) when Monica Seles returned to the court, only 18 months after a harrowing attack that nearly ended her career.
As the U.S. Open begins today, I’ll hold onto those memories and prepare to add new ones. It’s been a long few months without sports and getting to this moment once seemed unlikely. Yes, the U.S. Open and New York, with its larger-than-life personality, will be awfully quiet. But that’s OK.
Grand Slam Tennis is back. I know I’ll be staying up past my bedtime again (any tips on getting a two-year-old to sleep past 5:30?), waiting for the next five-set thriller or storybook ending to add to my memory book.