Fifth set, Louis Armstrong Stadium, golden light dances easy, hiding dusk’s dimness.
Mardy Fish, less his 30 pounds, vs. Arnaud Clement, the diminutive and aging Frenchmen, with more bandanas than Jesse James. Here LaGuardia’s jets once boomed — implosive, unrelenting. Now their roar is muted. Distant trains, their loud steel songs clanging loud, are left to deliver that New York message: helter skelter.
The fans do their part. “MARDY, MARDY, MARDY!” they chant, countered only by the occasional French voice, “ALLEZ, ALLEZ!”
“What time is it?” one cheerleader wonders. The throng, knowing its prompt, responds, “BREAK TIME!” New York whistles, crescendo cheers — the open sizzle again delivers.
“Clearly, you hear the crowd,” Mardy Fish said. “And, to be honest, there were a couple times where you want them to fire you up and sort of be intimidating for your opponent…There’re a lot of people you feel are on your side when you’re not playing an American.”
