ON BROADWAY THERE MAY BE NOTHING LIKE A DAME, BUT IN U.S. OPEN TENNIS THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A RUN
We got sunlight on the sand,
We got moonlight on the sea,
We got mangoes and bananas
You can pick right off the tree,
We get letters doused with perfume
We get dizzy from the smell!
What don't we get?
You know darn well …
There is nothin' you can name
That is anythin' like a dame!
There is nothin' like a dame.
****
We got breakthroughs in tennis, like teen Becker back in ’85
We got marathons on court, where neither Isner nor Mahut would take a dive.
We got classics in the game, Federer vs. Nadal certainly kept us alive.
We got the greatest of all time, that’s no jive.
What ain’t we got.
We ain’t got runs.
Certainly dreamy Yannick Noah captivated France with his magical run to the 1983 French Open title. Magnifique!
The English adore their Wimbledon sagas. Few others get more giddy over a run then the Brits as Tiger Tim Henman teases or Andy Murray tests the will of a nation from Murray Mount to to the back alleys of Manchester.
But there is nothing like a U.S. Open run: huge arena, deafening roars, Broadway hype. If you can do it on Ashe, you can do it anywhere: 23,000 zanies, blaring oldies, Hollywood celebs, unrelenting expectations. Tennis pulses.
Just ask Melanie Oudin, who created a sensation when she swept past Elena Dementieva, Maria Sharapova and Nadia Petrova to reach the quarterfinals. But the mother of all runs was orchestrated by Jimmy Connors in 1991. Fist-pumping and full of Jimboeque spit 'n vinegar, the huffing and puffing 38-year old retrieved a Dutchman's overhead and barked at an umpire, “you're an abortion.” He humbled Aaron Krickstein, who seemed like a deer in the headlights. He strolled on Park Avenue and was on the cover of Newsweek and played ball for every aching old guy in town. Simply put, he made the open the Open must-see tennis.
At it’s core, Connors' run was an age-defying romp. The New York Times’ Robert Lipsyte contended that “Connors reminds you all how much we have given up by growing up. Lucky Jimmy. If only we could once again stop the party in the living room, make all the grownups applaud our naughty words, dance through the hors d’oeuvres, posture and preen and be a terrible 2, the only time when a human being will be loved for conquering the world while crying.”
And on the last Sunday of this summer season tears again flowed. In the cement corridor, just behind the friends box, father, mother, wife, coach and friends embraced and weeped. This was not Ted Williams hitting a home run on his last at bat or old Michael Jordan winning one more championship or even Andre Agassi giving a teary speech after he lost in the second round. It was just Andy Roddick, the supposedly washed-up, one-Slam wonder with the double-digit ranking, out there tapping his inner Connors, as he crafted a 7-5, 7-6, 4-6, 6-4 win over the (delightfully Italian) Italian Fabio Fognini. Despite a sore shoulder, A-Rod was playing some of the best ball in memory. Somehow he simultaneously kept his calm and played on the energy of the crowd. He told them he was new at this. He told a jammed press room, “I’m normally good about being able to put thoughts and I am able to articulate it. But this whole process, I’m not trying to overthink it. I’m trying to get as simplistic as possible … [but] I’m comfortable out there. I’d be an idiot not to use the crowd right now. It’s a huge advantage. Each match is like another memory.”
Plus, Roddick had another memory. Not only was Connors his coach, but as a 9-year old, his parents brought him to New York for that fabled ’91 Open. He told IT, “It was great … we flew in over the stadium and that was the night Connors was playing [Patrick] McEnroe. I saw a bunch of other matches. Obviously the Kriekstein match. That was my first live tennis and it was that run, so that’s as good as it gets.”
But Roddick’s run hasn’t exactly been shabby. He refused to be compared to Connors or Agassi. But when Connors played, America also had McEnore and Gerulaitis. When Agassi romped, there was Sampras, Courier, Chang and Todd Martin. But, for the last decade, Roddick essentially has been the singular flag-bearer of American men’s tennis.
No wonder fans yelled out “one more year” and “next Sunday against Roger.”
Roddick’s longtime coach Larry Stefanki put things in perspective. “There are so many emotions for Andy even though he announced his retirement,” he noted. “Andy didn’t want to limp his way to the finish line. He wants to play his best tennis.”
This Tuesday night, Roddick will have to do just that in one of the most anticipated matches in memory when he faces the former U.S. Open champ Juan Martin del Potro, who is No. 8 in the world.
Stefanki was upbeat. “I like the match-up,” he told IT. “Andy has had good results vs. Del Potro. He likes Delpo’s style because his ball comes through on a flat ball flight. It’s not a hopping ball flight so it matches up well. With DelPo’s continental grips and long strokes you can chink and dink him. Delpo doesn’t like low balls to the forehand and Andy cuts the ball into his backhand. You have to expose his lack of speed because he likes to set up. Andy’s going to have to serve better then he did today. In 48 hours you never know. I’m hoping.
And so are American fans from Burbank and Broadway.
After all, there may be nothing like a dame.
But in tennis, there is nothing like a U.S. Open run.
