Once upon a time, I used to be proud of the fact that I did not watch professional sports. Why would I, an intellectual, spend my time doing something so passive and frivolous?
For as long as I can remember, my dad would spend hours in front of the television watching basketball, golf, or his favorite – tennis. I didn’t understand the fun in watching the tiny players on the screen run around, hitting an even tinier speck of a ball back and forth between them. Watching sports was not what I planned to do with my one wild and precious life.
Throughout the years, I’ve become more open minded to sports. Not necessarily out of an interest in them, but more so as a means of spending time with those I care about. I have found myself joining Superbowl gatherings and even going to live events. One of my more memorable ones was the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest. My friend Chris and I went together, with a mix of sarcasm and mild curiosity. I was surprised how easy it was to get swept up into the momentum of the crowd. People in hot dog hats cheered on Joey Chestnut as he broke 62 hot dogs in half so that he could slide them down his throat. I felt an unexpected communion and thrill and desire for my own hot dog hat. Still, I am resistant to say that I enjoy watching sports.
Recently, I found myself on the 7 train to the US Open in Flushing, Queens thanks to my boyfriend, a former college tennis player. I had heard of the US Open, but I didn’t know about the qualification draws, where the lesser-known yet world-class tennis players compete for a spot in the main draw. It would be my first time watching tennis live.
Walking through the gates of the US Open grounds for the first time, I felt like I was entering a temple for tennis. I heard tennis balls echoing in the background. Tennis fans were everywhere, darting from match to match, chatting about their favorite players, waiting in line for snacks. Wilson and Fila had set up shops showcasing their latest gear and apparel– I recognized the names from playing tennis with Petr and my dad. The excitement in the air was palpable, and I must admit I started to feel excited too.
During the qualification draws, there are matches being played left and right on small courts scattered around the US Open grounds and we were usually able to find seats court-side. Suddenly, the players were no longer tiny. They were 6’3 and right in front of us, their sweat and their emotions on full display. It is raw– unique from any other sports viewing experience I have ever had. Even at Coney Island, Joey had been far away.
Petr had researched some of the matches beforehand and suggested that we first watch a match between Jakub Mensik, an 18 year-old from the Czech Republic, and Leandro Riedi, a 21 year-old from Switzerland. Mensik is from a small city in the Czech Republic, just like Petr.
We took a front-row seat in the silver bleachers. To our left were seats reserved for the family and coach of the player and we sat next to Riedi’s crew. Riedi was serving right in front of us, and I quickly noticed the difference in the temperaments of the two players.
Each time Reidi missed the ball, he became more upset. He would occasionally say things at his crew, exacerbated.
He’d yell at them, after missing the shot “You don’t think i’m trying?!!”
“I cant do anything — he’s everywhere.”
“Give me one idea. Just one.”
His family ignored the angry comments and continued cheering him on positively. When he made a shot, they’d clap and say, “That’s it, Leandro.”
We sat so close that we could hear the nuances. I was surprised they spoke English to one another. I was surprised he was taking his emotions out on his family who seemed like they were supportive. Was this normal for them? These kind of details are impossible to catch on television.
Riedi was unfocused, unable to stay in the match. I even made eye contact with him twice. He was searching somewhere, anywhere for an answer. His eyes revealed his inner turmoil. He was fearful, or angry, maybe both. I was the first to look away each time.
His opponent Mensik, on the other hand, was composed. He’d show his joy when he won the point, and his sadness when he lost it, but only for a half-second– and it did not affect his overall balanced demeanor.
There was an undeniable richness in seeing it all up close. I couldn’t take my eyes off the players and the match. During timeouts, as the players hydrated and sat for a break, I asked Petr what they might be thinking about. I was hooked!
Riedi ended up losing the match. He shook hands cordially with his opponent and the crowd quickly dispersed– off to the next match. I searched Reidi’s Instagram page a few days later and found that he posted about his experience. “US Open 2023, two good matches, devastated with the the second round loss, thankful for my team, interesting experience here, see you next year”. His Instagram bio reads, “Tennis runs in my blood. Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing you will be successful.” His profile are photos of him playing tennis around the world.
I could relate to Reidi — to the frustration of giving something my 100% effort and still not being able to best someone. Perhaps they are just stronger, or they were more focused and they trained better than I did. It doesn’t take away from the fact that I tried my best, but still it is aggravating that they are better. On my best days, I can channel that into motivation. On my worst ones, I cycle into negative thoughts about not being good enough.
I asked Petr for his impression of the match. As a tennis player, he noticed many things that didn’t come to my mind. He said that Mensik was tall, but moved around the court much quicker than someone who is usually of that height, giving some additional context to Reidi’s “He’s everywhere.”
Petr shared additional insights: he said Mensik’s forehand needs some work — he had missed more points there than with his backhand. But he seemed optimistic about Mensik’s potential. As for Reidi, he commented “He doesn’t have a weapon. Without that, it will be difficult for him to break top 50.”
We moved on to another game, between Kevin Anderson, a 37 year-old South African tennis player, and Tomas Machac, a 22 year-old Czech player. Petr was interested in this game because Anderson used to be one of the top players in the world and was supposed to be retired. On Wikipedia, I learned that he made it to #5 in Men’s Singles, and his retirement had only lasted about a year.
Anderson served well, but he was no match for Machac; he lost the first two sets, swiftly ending the game.
During the match, Anderson hit his racket in frustration several times. I could relate to what it feels like to be beaten by someone younger, quicker than you are. I can relate to getting older and feeling like I’m not able to do things quite like I used to. Maybe I’m projecting, but I found myself being able to relate to the players when I witnessed these raw emotions.
On Anderson’s Instagram, he had posted a photo with the caption “I❤️ NY”. In the comments, some online strangers left some brutal notes.
“Someone put this guy in a nursing home. He’s done”
“Bye bye grandpa time to quit”
“Can u go to Africa and jungle and don’t come never u grandpa”
A few droplets began to fall and the light drizzle soon turned into a downpour. The tennis fans groaned as the matches were paused. They emptied the stadium.
Petr used the break to text a few of the friends he usually plays tennis with in NYC. We hadn’t coordinated to attend the US Open with anyone else, but given it was a Friday and the qualification matches were free to attend, I guess going to Flushing is just what tennis players do.
Petr once moonlighted as a tennis coach, and Louis, one of his former students, soon joined us. We navigated to another part of the grounds where another friend, Matt, had sought shelter from the rain. Matt had coached at the same club as Petr and he was accompanied by his wife, Rebecca. Huddled together, we shared stories about the matches we had seen, reminisced about past Grand Slam viewing experiences, and discussed plans for the upcoming weekend.
Later that evening, I reflected on the nature of connections. I thought about how I felt connected to the players, how Petr meets friends through tennis, how we watch tennis with my dad when we visit my family in California, and about how all those connections continue permeating in my life.
The US Open was an eye-opening experience for me. Before, I had written professional tennis off as a bunch of people trying to be the best in the world at hitting a ball back and forth. Well, it still is that. But it’s more than that too! I have gained a deeper respect for the sport and its players and I’ve come to appreciate how sports bring people together, as cliché as that sounds.
I am not sure if I’d go so far as to call myself a tennis fan now, but when Petr asked me the other day if I wanted to watch the US Open Finals together, I felt less resistant. And afterwards, when I called my dad, I genuinely wanted to know what he thought of the match between Djokovic and Medvedev.