It happened for me. I saw a 5-set upset, evening session, in Arthur Ashe. I was one of the people creating the electric, charged, incredible atmosphere you occasionally hear John McEnroe describe on TV. I was ‘shushed’ by the umpire. I got to feel that I was a part of tennis history. I contributed to the famous US Open crowd on September 4th and into September 5th.
Committing to a third round US Open ticket is a crapshoot. In the past two years I’ve seen Sharapova, Federer, and Djokovic in Ashe as is standard. An evening Ashe ticket guarantees you’ll see a big name. But, typically, the big name will crush his or her opponent in fewer than 2 hours and, in all likelihood, in straight sets. It’s fun and you enjoy it because it’s a masterclass in one of the most important venues on Earth. You see tennis royalty and feel the buzz of the hallowed stadium. And the atmosphere is always above average because of the immensity of the event. But, still, you always hope for a thriller in five sets.
Even when you’re lucky enough to witness a special match, it typically follows a set formula. The marquee player begins poorly, falls behind a set (or two), but pulls it together and ultimately wins. But what I saw was giant killer stuff. Fabio Fognini was, predictably, down two sets to Rafael Nadal. People began to leave the stadium with their young kids. It was getting late, probably around 11 pm. The third set looked like a forgone conclusion. I was yawning and considering leaving, too.
When Fognini took the third set, I didn’t believe he could upset Nadal. The atmosphere had improved from the flatness of the second set, but it still had a straight sets vibe. It seemed that the third set had just slipped out of Rafa’s grasp. And it was probable he would win the fourth set. Why he didn’t puzzled me. I still believed the Spaniard was controlling the match, contrary to what was playing out in front of me. I had no idea that in the fifth set there would be break, after break, after break. The crowd had been growing rowdier throughout the fourth set, but in the fifth it transformed entirely.
Spectators from the last rows of the upper promenade stands started to come down and fill the seats of those who had vacated (what a mistake). Earlier, the crowd had been pulling for Fognini, pulling for another set, pulling for more tennis, pulling for more bang for their buck. In the fifth, the crowd wanted Rafa to win. I was cheering for tennis.
As a Federer fan, part of me wanted to cheer for Fognini. Rafa and Roger couldn’t meet before the final, but still, I didn’t want them to meet at all. Regardless of their rivalry, as a tennis fan (and former player) it’s been difficult to watch Rafa’s confidence plunge. The hesitant shots he struck in the fifth set were pitifully uncharacteristic. So I cheered when he broke and when he was broken both.
I saw John and Patrick McEnroe leaning forward in the commentator’s booth, engrossed in the action like everybody else. The Open hands out personal radios so you can hear the live commentary that is broadcast on TV. I had my radio tuned on, but the McEnroe brothers’ commentary was often drowned out by the stadium sounds that I was part of making.
I knew that if I ever had the chance to see a 5-set, Grand Slam, Big Four match it would be magic. But I thought it would be the sort of magic that happens at a really great concert. At a special concert, you slip into a sort of dreamy anonymity. You feel part of this large unified creature that bobs and hums in unison. There is an energized calm in which you are free of self-consciousness and removed from time. My US Open experience was nothing like a great concert. I was acutely aware of myself and the incredible tension felt by everyone at once. Moments of eerie silence broken by deafening noise do not make for a feeling of calm euphoria. Instead, what I felt was the incredible reality of what was occurring on court. There’s nothing like seeing someone fight for his life. Every shot and every point had real life repercussions. You felt with each stroke Nadal’s fear of crashing out of an early round and Fognini’s fear of thinking about what victory might mean.
Far from being removed from time, I was hyper aware of every second. Once the match came to an end I felt like I could finally breathe. The feeling that something is at stake every moment is exhausting. Once home, I watched some of the match again on DVR. I imagined I could hear my own voice screaming and whooping.
On Sunday, I was watching Federer and the commentators were still talking about the previous night’s match. John McEnroe said the Fognini-Nadal match ranked in his top-five best US Open evening matches ever. This is high praise from someone who has witnessed first-hand (and played) so much phenomenal tennis for so many years. For me, it wasn’t that the match itself lived up to its hype, but that the experience—being at one of those mythical upsets in the flesh—was even better than I had daydreamed it would be.
No comments:
Post a Comment