Saturday morning, driving to Key Biscayne, I passed a sign on Route 1 for “Brazilian Butt Lift” and thought: You don’t get that at Wimbledon.
The first Saturday was always my favorite day of the tournament, back when I was a spectator and it was the Lipton (which some locals, out of a sense of tradition, still call it). All of the courts were busy all day, and you didn’t even need a ticket for the stadium; you could just wander the grounds and see superb tennis. Having done exactly that for the last three days, I wondered if this Saturday would still be sublime.
At a little after 11 I headed out to Court 6, not because I’m a creature of habit (which I am) but because I wanted to witness something I’d never seen: three Poles playing a match at the same time. The excellent doubles team of Mariusz Fyrstenberg and Marcin Matkowski were battling their countryman Lukasz Kubot, who had paired with the Serbian Janko Tipsarevic.
`The Polish team lost the first set so I wandered over to Court 7, where the Slovak Dominika Cibulkova and the Serb Jelena Jankovic were playing Yaroslava Shvedova and Galina Voskoboeva (both from Kazakhstan). It was a bit like a bookstore reading of Eat, Pray, Love, in that the spectators were predominantly female. I sat among a group of ladies who had that tennis club look – skirts and visors andwe-don’t-know-you-so-don’t-even-try-to-talk-to-us expressions.
After a few games I headed back to Court 6 and stood with a father and his two children. “I hope they break,” the son said, as Tipsarevic readied to return serve. “We don’t want that,” the father told him in a Polish accent. “Well,” the son said, “at least one Pole will win.”
One Pole did. As did two Kazakhstanis. (Two singles players beating a professional doubles team and then the opposite.) After graciously signing autographs and posing for photos, Voskoboeva found her boyfriend and gave him a kiss followed by her tennis bag.
Nadal was practicing on Court 5, and a group of teenagers stood looking onto an empty Court 4. I asked them what they were doing; they said “waiting for Nadal.” I told them he was next door.
“I know,” one of the boys said. “But he’s going to come here after his practice.”
“So you just want to get his autograph,” I said, “you don’t want to see him hit.”
“I’m going to sell it on eBay,” the boy said.
In the food court a woman sat reading The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.
“We’re here till the evening,” she said, putting her book down. “I just can’t sit through an entire match. My husband can, but I can’t.”
Nearby a man stood in a Denver Broncos jersey with the name Tebow written across the back.
“You’re gonna have to get a new shirt,” I told him.
He laughed. Robert was a local, which is to say he lived on Key Biscayne.
“Do you play tennis?” I asked.
“Yea, I play a lot.”
“Do you ever play here at Crandon Park?”
“I have,” he said. “But it’s too windy. It’s like a hurricane.”
I went up to the press box to watch the Roger Federer-Ryan Harrison match. It was good to be in the shade, but I missed Bud Collins, who didn’t make it this year. As a result, the media center is poorer in color, knowledge and friendliness.
Federer was rolling toward an easy two-set victory until, on match point, a fan called his forehand “out” and he failed to hit the shot back from Harrison. Since Bud wasn’t around, I asked Harvey Fialkov if they would show a replay to see if the fan was right. Harrison won the game, and then his serve, and sent it into a tie-break, which Federer won finally.
Coming down the stadium stairs to the post-match press conferences, I passed a group of women on the landing staring out at the parking lot. I asked them who they were looking for.
“Federer,” one said.
I told her it would be a while, and asked her if there was anything she’d like me to ask him in the press conference.
“Yes,” she said. “Ask him why he always gives me a heart attack when he plays.”
Harrison appeared first, and saidthat Federer had played better this time than the last time they met. He said the world’s #3 was hitting his shots with more confidence this year. This was the impression a lot of us had, but it was interesting to hear it from someone who’d stood across the net from him.
A few minutes later I asked Federer if he would agree with Harrison’s assessment. He said he did. I didn’t bring up his female fan’s heart attacks.
At dusk I headed over to the Grandstand to watch Juan Martin Del Potro and Ivo Karlovic. The atmosphere was perfect – sun going down, lights coming on, fans waving flags – though the match was short, with Del Potro winning in straight sets. During the on-court interview, he suggested he speak in Spanish, and said that it was nice to play away from home and get so much support. Which was his way of saying it was a beautiful Saturday at the Sony Ericsson Open.