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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