Grounds Pass: Five tales from one of the US Open’s busiest days ever

NEW YORK—“Look at all the people out here just demolishing the ball!” a tennis fan with a beer in his hand crowed as he met up with a couple of friends at the US Open on Wednesday.

That was the theme, and the feel, and the sound, in Flushing Meadows on this first warm, sunny, and properly summery day of the tournament—there were balls being demolished everywhere you looked. The previous afternoon’s rain had forced virtually every match to be postponed, and they all had to be wedged in today. It was tennis overload: The courts were full and the grounds were packed from 11 A.M. until well into the evening.

There was nothing for a tennis fan, or a tennis-loving journalist, to do but dive into the vast morass. Here’s a reporter’s notebook of events big and small from the busiest day of tennis in the U.S. this year.

“Nice going, Tommy.”

Are these words meant to be encouraging, or sarcastic? It’s a little hard to tell. They’ve been shouted in the direction of 20-year-old American Tommy Paul, a few seconds after he has slapped an ace past his opponent, Taro Daniel of Japan. The shot is certainly good enough to merit praise, but a hint of sarcasm is understandable, too. Paul, down 1-5, is off to dreadful start.

It’s a big moment for the native of south New Jersey. A contingent of coaches, friends and the family is here, and so, behind the dark glasses, is his agent, Tony Godsick. If you know the name, it’s probably because Godsick is also Roger Federer’s agent. Two years ago, Federer and Godsick liked what they saw in Paul enough to sign him to their new agency, Team 8.

Paul, the 2016 French Open junior champion, is ranked just 159th, but this summer he had his first breakout week, in Washington, D.C., where he reached the quarterfinals and narrowly lost a three-set thriller to Kei Nishikori. If Paul wins today, his second round will likely be a nationally televised evening-session match against Rafael Nadal.

But Paul is far from center stage at the Open today. He’s on a deep side court, No. 14, with no TV coverage. Worse, his opponent, Taro Daniel, has jumped all over him in the early going. In the opening game, Paul can’t find a groove on his backhand. Daniel attacks that side, breaks, and rolls to a 6-1 first-set win. While Paul works his way back into the match, and even takes a two-set-to-one lead, the early stumble haunts him. Instead of winning the match in four sets, Paul has to play another one. Daniel again takes advantage of a lull in the American’s play, and this time he runs away with the last two sets and the match.

Chalk it up as one more lesson among many that Paul must learn: Even in best-of-five, every game matters.

“It’s just so annoying, man.”

Nick Kyrgios is sitting back in his chair on the sideline, in utter despair, talking to the trainer who’s digging into his right shoulder. Two games earlier, Kyrgios felt a sharp pain in that shoulder after a serve. It’s enough to get him thinking about the unfairness of life.

“I don’t know what to do,” Kyrgios tells the trainer. “I’m feeling good, finally have a good week [in Cincinnati], I come to the US Open, and this happens.”

Kyrgios sounds like he’s talking to a shrink, not a trainer.

Just as Kyrgios is letting one problem go, though, another comes up. Chair umpire Carlos Ramos has given him a warning for profanity—a linesman has overheard Kyrgios curse, and reported it to Ramos. Kyrgios can’t believe it.

“What?” he shouts at Ramos. “What did I say? I didn’t swear.”

“I believe you,” Ramos says, “but I have to believe [the linesman], too.”

“That’s ‘he said...’” Kyrgios says, before stopping mid-sentence.

Kyrgios wants to say, “that’s ‘he said she said,’” but for some reason he can’t finish the phrase. So he gives up the whole argument.

“Man, this is ridiculous!” he says, rolling his head back and laughing.

When the trainer leaves at the end of the changeover, he tells Kyrgios that this is the last time he can treat his shoulder.

“Is this all the treatment I can get?” Kyrgios asks in disbelief. No more treatments, it seems, and no more psychiatry sessions, either.

Kyrgios hangs his head sadly and says, “Could I get another banana then please?”

Two games later, as Kyrgios walks to the sideline after losing the third set, he stops, raises his racquet high over his head, and smashes it into the court. It bends in half, and Ramos dutifully gives him a point penalty.

Half an hour later, Kyrgios walks into the player lounge carrying the broken racquet in his right hand. It wouldn’t fit in his bag.

“COME ON, CiCi, COME ON!”

That’s what the girls are chanting far up in the stands that surround this cozy, steamy side-court arena. Over and over they scream the words in their all-caps voices. The CiCi being screamed at, and for, is CiCi Bellis, who is locked in a sweaty tug of war with Nao Hibino of Japan.

Bellis has pulled ahead at what appears to be the perfect moment; she’s about to serve for the match at 5-4 in the third. Toni Basil’s “Mickey” blares from the loudspeakers, and the party is on. When Bellis hits a winner to break serve, she lets out an all-caps “Come on!” of her own.  It’s so loud and long that she she breaks up laughing when she looks at her team, and has to cover her mouth with a towel.

There’s only one problem with this party: Bellis has begun to miss. It has been an error-filled match, but now she can’t find the court at all. Bellis hits an easy forehand long, double faults, and slaps another forehand wide of the doubles alley. Ten minutes later, she has lost 7-5. As she walks off the court, past a line of autograph seekers, Bellis stares straight ahead with her mouth open, shellshocked.

“Hey, where is everyone going, don’t you know Jared Donaldson is playing next?”

Does that sound like an unlikely thing to hear, even at the US Open? Maybe, but anyone who has been paying close attention to the fate of America’s tennis players this summer will understand why someone would say it. The 20-year-old Donaldson may not be the most talented, or powerful, or artful, or athletic of the young U.S. brigade, but he’s the most diligent competitor of all of them. Donaldson has logged a lot of yards on court this season, and a lot of miles off it. This summer, he has fought his way to the fourth round in D.C., the fourth round in Montreal and the quarterfinals in Cincinnati. It seemed that every time I turned on my TV this month, there was Jared Donaldson, going to battle.

The Rhode Islander turned Californian plays with force but not flash. The best way I can describe his game is to say that he keeps everything in front of him. Donaldson didn’t disappoint on Wednesday. He fell behind to sets to love to Lucas Pouille before digging his way out of that hole. When Donaldson leveled at two sets each and the crowd chanted his name, an epic Open comeback victory seemed to be in the cards.

Except that it wasn’t. Pouille, bigger and stronger than Donaldson, held on for the win, 6-4 in the fifth. But Donaldson acquitted himself as a loser as well as he always acquits himself as a competitor. While he was obviously disappointed, he didn’t go for the drive-by handshake. Instead, he looked Pouille in the eye and said a heartfelt “Good luck.” Donaldson seemed, at least in that moment, to realize that he had done everything he could, and this match wasn’t meant to be. There are worse feelings.

[Something mumbled in French under David Goffin’s breath after a rare mistake.]

If you need silence and stillness when you play tennis, this is not the court for you. No. 5 is sunk between two sets of bleachers, and is at the center of a very busy cross-section of three courts. I’m not sure how the players can tell whether the umpire calling the score is on their court, or on the next court. It’s great for fans, who can stand and watch two matches at once, but it can hardly be a calming environment for a player.

As always, there’s a buzz circling this court in the late afternoon. But it’s a little quieter than normal, and its completely silent on the court itself. But who needs bells and whistles when Goffin is working his magic? The wiry Belgian’s left leg is still taped after a freak accident at the French Open, and he still limps a little on that side when he walks. But when he runs and swings, everything works perfectly, and the winners flow easily off of his strings. Goffin’s strokes are so smooth that it can be hard to tell exactly when he makes contact. “Demolishing the ball” is far too gauche a term for what he does with it.

Today, Goffin is the calm at the center of the storm—he defeats Julien Benneteau for four straightforward sets. Amid all of the drama and the shouting at the Open today, you could watch him and think that this, finally, is how the sport is meant to be played. And you can look around the grounds, at all of the other players struggling against each other and with themselves, and understand just difficult that is to do.

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