The press likes to call it the "toughest tournament in tennis," and for good reason. The crowd, so utterly New York City with its unanimous uproars and rather obnoxious boos; the screaming airline jets taking off like clockwork from the juxtaposed LaGuardia airport; the greasy wafts from the kosher hotdog concession stands floating their way into the courts which are the players' battlegrounds for the fortnight; and the oppressive summer heat. Those are the henchmen that eye to defeat the already wounded warriors.
For two weeks out of every year the USTA National Tennis Center is home to a sporting war zone that witnesses the struggle of 128 men and 128 women fighting to be the last two still standing.
And on one day, at least for me, this was the greatest place on earth.
Awe Upon Arrival
If you are lucky enough to remember what it was like visiting Disney World for the first time -- that wide-eyed grin as you darted toward the black-eared mouse and his girlfriend for their autograph and a picture -- well, imagine that times 10. That's how I was feeling as the Long Island Railroad pulled up to its Flushing/Shea Stadium stop.
Once through the turnstile and the thorough bag search, the look on my face was a 6-year-old child inside an FAO Schwarz toy store. I was that excited.
But I had attended professional tennis tournaments before, even another Grand Slam -- the French Open in Paris. So why was I feeling so giddy from this most recent experience?
It was because this time would be different. This time around, I had an in.
Credentialed
It's often said that it's not as much what you know as who you know. That certainly was the case here. Over the summer, I interned at Tennis Magazine in New York and as a "reward" for my blood, sweat and tears in the office, my boss applied for and got me a press credential for the U.S. Open.
So I knew that I would be "seeing" the media room. Still, never could I have imagined what it would be like.
With my credential around my neck, complete with my name and photo, I confidently walked through security and into the media room. First thought -- "this is quite a switch from the basement of Newcomb Hall." But then again, this is the richest event in sports with over 16 million in prize money going out to the competitors. Inside, reporters from publications ranging from The Washington Post to British Eurosport sat in close to 150 tiny cubicles lined with television monitors and Internet connection. It had all the hustle and bustle of a newsroom, which made sense -- it was just another workday for these journalists. For me, however, it was time to play.
From the get go, the perks made the seven-hour drive up to New York worth it. Near the entrance to the media room sat a subzero-sized refrigerator filled with Evian bottled water and soft drinks, all free and at my disposal. I grabbed two waters and quickly exited the mayhem, making a mental note of the eight bucks I just saved by not buying the drinks in the food court. Now it was time to see some tennis.
Grandstand
The way the tournament works, spectators can purchase two types of tickets: permanent seats in Arthur Ashe stadium (the big court, 22,000 seats), or grounds passes which allow you entrance onto all courts except Ashe stadium on a first come first serve basis. On top of my press credential, I had purchased tickets for Ashe stadium. So I had full access.
First on the court, teenage Belgian Kim Clijsters, ranked seventh in the world, faced off against unknown Russian Vera Zvonareva. But this was no blowout. Clijsters eventually pulled through, winning 6-4 in the third set and earning a place in the fourth round. In the end, I left my seat on the frontlines with visions of grit and determination fresh in my mind and two rolls of film rewound tightly in my bag.
Practice Makes Perfect
At any tennis event, the best place to see your favorite pros up close is on the practice courts. And if you're lucky, they'll relax a bit and notice you're there cheering them on. Andre Agassi is the ultimate friend of fans -- he takes the extra effort to put on a show.
Unlike many other pros who choose to hit on secluded courts, Agassi practices in the least intimate setting with fans practically shadowing him from the baseline. He chats with fans after punishing points and waited 10 minutes to leave after he finished to sign autographs for all the little kids watching their idol.
Unrestricted Area
Now it was time for the big time: Ashe Stadium -- Australian world No. 1 Lleyton Hewitt versus up-and-coming young American James Blake. With the crowd firmly behind their man, Blake darted out to a first set win. For the next three hours, these two combatants slugged ground strokes at each other from the baseline, smashed 120 mph plus serves and retrieved and lunged for every ball. But Hewitt was just too tough for Blake. And to the fans' disappointment, Hewitt moved on, 6-3 in the fifth.
It was time for a refreshment reload. That meant back to the media room. But on my way, I passed by the players' entrance, thinking that was off limits. Then I turned back and checked it out.
Upon entering any area restricted to the public, a sign hangs that says, "Restricted to all except the following credentials . . ." My credential was branded with the letter "M," meaning that anywhere I saw an "M" I could enter.
To my surprise, as I double checked the credential board, I saw what I wanted to see, an "M," had the security man scan my tag and I walked in. The next 20 minutes were unreal.
Andy Roddick, John McEnroe and Agassi zoomed right by me as I stood completely still in the lobby of the players' lounge not knowing where to go, what to do and afraid of making a scene and drawing attention to myself. Slowly, I climbed upstairs to the main lounge, and opened the door. Inside, players relaxed on oversized couches, passed time playing video games and watching TV.
I grabbed a seat on one of the couches -- right next to Anna Kournikova and Martina Hingis, who were discussing boys of all things.
Usually a quick thinker, I froze, not able to say anything to either of them as I stared off into the distance. What would you have said to Kournikova if you had the chance? Finally, I got up enough courage to ask them what time they would be playing doubles that evening, only to have a male player interrupt me and ask the same question just as I started to open my mouth.
I got up and left.
Manual Setting
The night session quickly approached and dinnertime loomed as the end to my behind the scenes look at the U.S. Open came to a close. Or so I thought.
While eating a dry $12 turkey sandwich in the food court and watching Hingis play South African Amanda Coetzer on a huge jumbotron TV, I realized my credential must be able to get me seating of some sort. Following Hingis, American Jennifer Capriati was due to play compatriot Meghan Shaughnessy, and I wanted pictures.
I watched the first set from outside. Then, I made my way to the stadium, past security and into the lowest level of seats, where I was told I could sit in any seat in rows E-H. For the most part, all the seats were empty.
So there I was, sitting in section 64, row E, 15 feet from the court. Capriati punished her rival, sending winners off all wings into the far corners of the court. I barely had time to take two more rolls of film.
But I got what I wanted. There was, however, only one slight problem. The match was at night, and the camera was set to automatic, so the flash was ready to go. I knew, though, that flash photography was not allowed, and even more so now that I was sitting in press seats five rows from the court. To combat this fork in the road, I simply switched the mode to manual, snapped 50 pictures of Capriati and hoped for the best. I'll let you know if they come out.
Seven hours there and back. Four full tanks of gas in a guzzler. Two stops at McDonalds for breakfast. And memories of places and people I should have never been able to lay eyes on.
Thanks Tennis Magazine.
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