September, 4th 2004
US Open
Perspective
If you're a tennis fanatic like me, you've probably dreamed of going to the U.S. Open.
Surely, you've watched Super Saturday the greatest day of tennis each
calendar year. Certainly, you've wanted to be transformed into one of the
over 500,000 screaming fans, who cheer, boo and whistle at everything from
wicked ground stroke winners to indisputably incorrect line calls.
You've sat stoically in front of your television, eyes moving back and forth
like a pendulum, studying the genius at which the world's most gifted tennis
players twirl their rackets about like magic wands.
And if by some slim chance you're still yearning for the dream to
materialize, pack your bags filled with a hat and plenty of sunscreen you
just scored a front row seat right next to me for the biggest tournament in tennis.
Last Saturday, two of my friends and I found ourselves boarding the subway
in New York City headed for the United States National Tennis Center,
Flushing Meadows at Corona Park. We had scored tickets to the coveted event
of the U.S. Open. Third-year College student Allison Botos and second-year
College student Laura James were my escorts, and while we left for the Open
over two hours before the gates opened, we were far from the first fans to arrive.
Seating on these courts is prime and first come, first serve. For those who
happen to lead the rush of spectators out of the starting blocks, a seat in
the first row along the baseline or behind the players' chairs is the
target.
Such was our plan.
At 10 a.m., speed walking, colored posters in hand, we darted for the back
entrance of Louis Armstrong stadium, a 10,000-seat stadium adjacent to the
monstrous Ashe stadium. There, we spotted three seats in the sixth row along
the far baseline - our home for the day.
We sat anxiously awaiting the
arrival of the day's first match, Britain's Tim Henman versus Belgium's
Xavier Malisse. At 11 a.m. on the dot, the two players emerged from the
bowels of the stadium to take the court.
What began as a slow-paced match developed into a four-hour-plus, five-set
marathon with the divided crowd cheering wildly in favor of both warriors.
In the end, the unseeded Malisse pulled off a dramatic upset.
After watching a riveting seesaw battle without leaving our seats, we were
both parched and famished. There was, however, a small hurdle to
circumnavigate. Because of the first-come, first- serve nature of the
seating in Armstrong stadium, you leave it, you lose it.
Therefore, instead of relinquishing our seats to three of the hundreds of
other tennis fans standing in a deadlocked line outside the stadium, we
chose to sweat it out for at least one more match.
Then planet Venus arrived on earth. Six-foot one, Venus Williams casually
waltzed onto the sun-baked court towering over her almost diminutive foe,
fellow American Lisa Raymond. And although Williams dominated this
less-than-exciting, walk-in-the-park victory, as a huge tennis fan, this was
my time to be recognized.
On each changeover, I tentatively stood out of my seat and erected a neon
yellow sign, "CBS: Capriati Brings Home Slams." And although I was informed
more than a few times that Jennifer Capriati was not playing until the night
session, my goal was less to make sense and more to be seen.
By now, our sunburns had begun to
glare red. We made a mad dash for the shade and the food court.
Signs for pastas, wraps, burritos, salads, seafood and sandwiches lined the
entrance to the tasty but extremely overpriced cafe. A bottle of Evian water
was $4.50. Murder.
Now 5 p.m., I dragged Botos and James to the practice courts, hoping to
catch a glimpse of Capriati, my favorite tennis player. To my excitement,
she was practicing over on the third court. Following hoards of other fans,
I scaled the bleachers of the court behind where Capriati was hitting in
order to take some photos.
It is here, where the most unbelievable thing occurred.
I held up a sign that James had made saying, "WAHOOWA, UVA LOVES JEN!" Not
only did that garner a glance, but a wave and smile, directed right at me.
I couldn't believe what had just happened.
As Capriati exited the court, I ran down from the bleachers to meet up with
the other members of my tennis trio. Swarms of fans followed her to the
player's entrance hoping to get an autograph, but I stayed back.
Once the storm of people clamed, I approached the player's entrance, only to
spot Capriati's mom, Denise, standing right in front of me. (Yes, I even
know what her mom looks like.) I turned to Denise, posters in hand, grinning
from ear to ear and explained, "My friends and I drove all the way from
Virginia last night to see Jen play. We made all these signs, but we only
have tickets for the day session. Is there anyway that you can get us
tickets for tonight's match when your daughter's playing?"
That was apparently all she needed to hear, as she immediately picked up her
cell phone and searched for spare tickets. Jennifer Capriati's mom was on
the phone for me. Jennifer Capriati's mom wanted to help me see her daughter play.
She hung up the phone and asked me where my friends were. I darted for them,
grabbed their arms and yelled what was happening. I still was in shock.
Denise Capriati then lead us through the player's entrance, past security
and into a lobby. After pushing the up elevator button she turned and
realized more than a dozen fans had fans had tailgated in. In a threatening
tone, she asked me who all the people were, and I politely assured her I had no idea.
They were just fans, trying to get a free ride, from the mother of my
favorite tennis player. How dare they?
The elevator door opened and Denise walked in. As I began following her, she
turned and told me not to come up, but instead to wait downstairs and she
would bring me tickets. My friends cheered for me to go up with her, but I
could not take more advantage of her than I already had, even if it meant
sacrificing face time with Jennifer.
So I waited. I waited while superstars like John McEnroe, Martina
Navratilova and Tony Bennett walked by me, not wondering or caring who I was at all.
I waited while Botos and James played musical benches, trying to find a
place to sit where they would not be instructed to move.
I waited for over an hour.
By 6:55 p.m., I was beginning to wonder whether Denise was going to stand me
up. But I knew she'd come back. Suddenly, the door opened, and out came
Denise with three tickets and a smile.
Our day at the Open just got stretched into extra innings. Arthur Ashe
Stadium, box 128 was our new home.
Even though the tennis was less than spectacular, and even though Capriati
did not play her best in her victory, it was the most memorable day of
tennis I have ever had.
At the end of the match, my group of friends stood, screamed and waved our
sign for this former tennis phenomena now reincarnated as tennis's new
goddess. Capriati turned to acknowledge the crowd, looked right up at us and
gave us a huge smile and a thumbs up.
With her win Saturday, Capriati advanced to the quarterfinals of the U.S.
Open, leaving her three wins shy of her third grand slam title of the year
and the number one ranking. And no matter whether she wins or loses come
next Saturday, I'll always be watching.
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