Just as one of my favorite things in tennis is the post-match greeting at the net, one of my favorite parts of a World Cup is the pre-match playing of anthems.
As the French Open nears, I wonder who is dreading the best-of-five-set men’s matches more – the players or the fans?
David Ferrer played his last professional tennis match yesterday, losing to Sascha Zverev at the Madrid Open. After the match, Ferrer was fêted for his long and successful career, despite never having won a Grand Slam title. (What happens when you play in the era of Federer, Nadal, and Djokovic.) There was a video tribute, and appearances on court of family and friends, after which Ferrer was handed the microphone. Because he often lost in the quarter or semifinals, he rarely had a chance to speak in public, and I was impressed by how warm and composed and articulate he was. He had a personality, I saw, and was not just a man in shorts endlessly running down shots. And it occurred to me that, except for the champions – who on the men’s side have not been that numerous lately (see above) – fans don’t get to know the players they watch. They quietly play their matches and then disappear, and are not really heard from until they retire. And then they show the world, which is about to start missing them, what it’s been missing all along.
Angelique Kerber has been criticized for her ungracious comment to Bianca Andreescu following her loss to the young Canadian at the Miami Open, but I was impressed that an athlete whose first two languages are German and Polish speaks English well enough to know the phrase “drama queen.”
At the Miami Open yesterday morning, waiting with the media to go onto the stadium court for the ribbon cutting ceremony, I thought of Bud Collins.
Bud gave me my introduction to the world of tennis reporting back in the ’90s, when he would get me a one-day press pass, usually on the first Saturday, for the tournament on Key Biscayne. I had gotten to know him (personally) through his travel writing, as he would occasionally send me stories of his travels between Grand Slams, the photos taken by his talented wife Anita. Sitting in the shade of the press box at Crandon Park, I would listen to his stories, like the time he coached tennis at Brandeis University and had Abbie Hoffman on his team. Though Bud – despite his attention-getting outfits – was a quiet, unassuming, remarkably kind man who earned not just the respect but the affection of everyone he met, including the workers in the media cafeteria.
I mentioned his name to some of the reporters standing around me yesterday, and the stories started coming. “The first time I met him,” said Harvey, “it was like meeting my hero.” “He would count the shots in every rally,” Michelle said. “We’d look over to Bud after a long one and he’d say “27.” Immediately I wondered how many times I had been gabbing while Bud had sat silently trying to keep track of the shots.
During the seventh-inning stretch of yesterday's Astros-Marlins game (which the Fish won 12-6), fans sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" followed by "Deep in the Heart of Texas."