A Fan's Notes

The U.S. Open grounds are violently bright in the sun and navigating them is a challenge. Huge matches are going on; tiny matches are also going on, and you have to deal with the overload, and the ADD. I get in to the Grandstand, get a decent seat and am psyched to see Del Potro. He’s enormous and lanky, with strikingly separated legs, like a tree trunk split by lightning. He plays well, I think (though a fan I talked to later didn’t think so) but the sun is so brutal and the match is such a blow-out I leave after 20 minutes. Then to wander, lost, regretting my exit, for ages. The Grandstand becomes un-re-enterable.

See Rafa practicing, but he’s so far over we can’t get a good look at him. So we all go over to some bushes behind the court and crouch down to look through a hole in the bushes at him. Yes, we do that. I manage to see his taped fingers – a thrill. It’s a bit silly though and we’re shooed away from the bushes by a guard.

Find Gulbis-Muller on a small court. This match has some oomph Del Potro-Juanquiera lacked. Muller looks saggy and rueful, sort of sheepish – reminds me of Linus. Gulbis is very self-possessed, intense. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, and has explosive energy – mutters “this fucking game” after he loses one. I’m amazed to hear Muller won this match. But he had a crazed cheering section that Steve TIgnor mentioned on Concrete Elbow - they’re like a bunch of Luxembourg David Puddys. Faces painted, chanting Muller’s name – they must have pushed him over the top.

I watch four seconds of Meltzer – Kunitsyn. It’s bakingly hot and Meltzer wears a flame-colored shirt, adding insult to injury.

I can’t get in to see Wawrinka-Young – the line is long and the seats filled, I’m told. This is maddening and will become more so.

After blowing it with Del Potro, I’m determined to see Murray and somehow last out the sun. I grudgingly shell out for bottled water as a precaution. But it’s better – the sun has lost some killer intensity. A nice man offers to get me an American Express earpiece. I’m one of a tiny Andy Murray cheering section – the rest of the crowd seems to be for Haase which surprises me somehow (no offense, Haase fans!).

This match is a drag and I keep wondering if I should decamp for other matches. It’s the match of the long flat forehands – Haase’s are so low and fast they make the crowd gasp. Murray retrieves them somehow, but he lacks Haase’s mind-blowing speed. Both men serve poorly and the whole thing feels dispiriting – with this style of play, Murray can’t do any volleying or pace-changing, he just has to hang with the baseline walloping.

For the first time, I see something mother-tied about Andy. She’s sitting courtside – it’s in Armstrong with the first rows on the level with the players. Andy walks toward his box dejectedly whenever he makes a bad error. He even scuffs his feet like a little boy. I feel uncomfortable watching this. He never directs any comments toward Kim, only toward his mother and coaches.

Right at the end of the first-set tiebreak, Andy is serving to win it and a guy in the crowd shouts, “Come on, Andy, do it for Mommy!” Ouch. Hard New York humor, embarrassing in this context. Andy blows the tiebreak, and falls badly behind. He does rally, sort of, but it also just seems like Haase self-destructs. The match becomes exciting with some sharp momentum shifts, but it mostly feels like something tilting crazily out of control instead of two players in their best form exchanging their best.

I suffer terrible match envy when Blake-Ferrer starts next door. I want to go over there but have promised myself to sit through one complete match. Still, have pangs when tons of people file over to the Grandstand entrance or go up to the top seats to look through the fence. It's gratifying when a bunch file back from the Grandstand and stand mournfully roped off by a chain, watching the 5th set of Murray-Haase. This is the hardest part about tournaments, though, I’m learning – not being able to predict which matches will be exciting. It was torture seeing the score of Wawrinka-Young and realizing what a thriller it was.

Commentator envy, too – I do miss hearing the Macs when I’m out at the tennis. I thought I saw JMac and PMac in the commenting booth above Murray’s match, but realize it couldn’t have been them since they must have been at Rafa.

I really wanted to watch Stosur, but I was drained and starving after Murray. But! Here is my best fan moment: We were filing out of Armstrong and someone said “Excuse us, move left” more sharply than usual and lo, there was Stosur being led through the crowd, looking composed and glamorous and steely. I was literally 4 inches from her! And to my true shock, she’s barely taller than I am, which is short. I thought she’d have to be at least 5’ 6” but I don’t even think so.

After a hot dog and a beer I’m very tired and tired of the crowds and overload. So I decide not to stay for Stosur but to get home in time to watch Andy and Jack Sock on TV. Which I do. Which is overload in its own way, but good for Andy.

Being out there is very special. It helps me appreciate the game a lot more – I see the different pace of the strokes when I’m right there. The players’ “gets” seem both more athletic and more plausible in person. Hard to explain but you do get a better sense of the real physicality involved.

Burned out though I was, I wish I was out there today. Didn’t expect to, but now I have Slam envy. ):