The Open Story

Nightly musings on the most wide-open week in professional tennis.

-AJ Chabria

Sunday, August 27, 2002

I grew up in New York. I haven’t lived here in years, but I miss it, especially this time of year. I have been blessed enough to come watch the Open every year from the end of the grass court era at the West Side Tennis Club through all three years on clay there as well as nineteen years at Louis Armstrong stadium. This will be my first time in the massive Arthur Ashe stadium. I used to play the tournament that bore his name here at this tennis center as a junior.

It’s amazing to be back here, in the city that doesn’t sleep. Last time I was here, my father and I had to wait a few hours to get into the night session men’s quarters in ‘96. The mega-monitor outside the stadium showed the fifth set of the legendary Corretja/Sampras match. Yeah, the one with the vomiting in the tie-breaker. From the outside, it sounded like ten LA Coliseums full of screaming, gasping and cheering going on inside Louis Armstrong. It was pretty anti-climatic to see Goran overpower Edberg a little while later. Turns out, it was the elegant Swede’s last match at the Open.

I’ve gotten to see some of the greats over the years, like Manuel Orantes’ amazing comeback from 2 sets to one and 0-5 in the fourth against Guillermo Vilas in the ’75 semifinal. My parents tell me I slept through it, but I’m going to have to take the fifth.

I definitely remember the all-New Yorker final of ’79: Vitas Gerulaitis and Johnny Mac. It was the only thing even close to a subway series for my generation at that point.

Like it was this morning, I recall getting hypnotized watching Connors and the great Ilie Nastase on a practice court. Flat, spin, flat, spin, deep, deeper, harder, dropshot, scowl. Also on the practice courts, I remember Yannick Noah hitting some of the freakiest overheads ever. Stuff that would make Sampras drop his jaw.

I was lucky enough to be around for the very first “Super Saturday” in ’84 when Pat Cash lost a 5 set heartbreaker to Lendl, Martina took Evert in three, then Mac edged Connors in five on his way to his last ever Slam. The next year on opening day, I was one of the kids in the cheap seats yelling U-S-A! U-S-A! as Mac got past Shlomo Glickstein 7-6 in the fifth.

I remember leaving at midnight or so one night in ’91, when Pat McEnroe had an aging, fading Jimmy Connors beat. Connors pulled that one out, and four more on his run to the semis that year. That same year Michael Chang hit about thirty amazing heavy topspin lobs to thwart the elder McEnroe amid a crowd that seemed slightly and ironically in favor of the young Californian. New Yorkers love an underdog, and only in the Big City, would the higher ranked Chang be considered the ‘dog.

I remember the tension between the Agassi entourage and the Muster camp as they practiced on adjacent, undivided courts with their coaches. This was about a half and hour before their match against one another in the stadium. Both practiced short and intensely, like it would be their last chance at a sworn enemy, fuming the whole way. Agassi took it in four a couple of hours later.

Well, you get the idea. There have been some incredible moments here at America’s Slam, and this year will be no exception.

I’m thrilled to be here again. I’ll check in every night after the matches all week.

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