[Here's a TW bonus Feature from Asad Raza, aka Ray Stonada, who joined the Grandstand faithful to take in the Murray-Lee match. Dude can write write a lick, eh? - Pete]
Sometimes nationalism can seem strange. That's how I felt yesterday, leaving Arthur Ashe Stadium. There, thousands of fans wished for a certain young North Carolinian, who they'd first heard of a month ago, to defeat the most celebrated tennis player in the world, who they'd watched through massive successes and occasional failures, joy and pain, for five years. The reason, mainly, is the respective denotation on their passports. From a certain perspective, it's odd. I think Andy Murray would understand.
Last evening, I arrived on everyone's favorite court, the Grandstand, where another two nations' hopes were being tested. Korean fans clustered in the center of the sideline stands, rising from their chairs to chant "LEE HYUNG-TAIK! LEE HYUNG-TAIK! LEE HYUNG-TAIK!" with each point that went to their man. They had reason for faith: Lee had beaten Guillermo Canas handily in the prior round, and spent much of the match last night playing unconsciously good tennis. He was steady and solid, and he made some spectaular shots too, when opportunities came.
Andy Murray's supporters were more dispersed: small groups of Britons with the Union Jack (and not, as Henman attracts, the English flag of St. George - more on that below). One concentrated node of support, however, was the row where I found a seat, surrounded by British journalists, the names on whose press badges were excitingly familiar from their bylines in the London papers. (Neil Harman, in the next seat, was a very good spectating partner.) Murray also had help in the form of Brad Gilbert (in the front row, murmuring loquaciously as ever), and Murray's girlfriend, Kim, and his mother, Judy, sat in the box behind the chair umpire.
On court, Murray can seem tortured, because he always needs an object to which to attach irritation. For a while it was Steve Ulrich, who refused to overrule an out call on a net-cord serve of Murray's, saying it was "Pretty far out." Andy asked "Pretty far? How far out is that?" and proceeded to needle Ulrich for a few games. After a while, though, Murray switched to himself, holding his left knee and then putting a small square of tape his right hand. He did some self-haranguing, muttering and walking around in a way that always reminds me, weirdly, of a giraffe.
He also kept up his ceaseless, choleric exchanges with Gilbert. In an earlier match, Murray had a few seconds to hit a particularly easy overhead, and he smashed it hard in Gilbert's direction: Brad, with pro-caliber reflexes, caught it. This is an appropriate metaphor. Gilbert seems alternately bemused and frustrated by Murray's on-court temperament, but the overall impression they give is of two people in a intimate state of relatedness, like friends who swipe hard at each other because there is a foundation of trust below.
As the match wore on, Murray couldn't find a consistent shot to hurt Lee with, and Lee kept up his level except for one bad patch in the third set and beginning of the fourth. The Koreans continued to exult in his success, while the British fans urged Murray on more mutedly. More national drama. This being the Grandstand, the energy of the crowd was pretty intense; the wave was performed. When Murray saved a match point and broke back, Kim Sears had personal and true emotion in her eyes. But he lost the match, I think, because since returning from injury, he hasn't gotten his full confidence in his timing back. This exacerbated his tendency to play passively. And, simple to say, Lee played very well. The margins between number ten and number one-hundred, after all, are tiny.
It's a small shame that Murray leaves a prickly impression on court, because off it he seems engaging, respectful and thoughtful. Above all, he is devoted to truthfulness over press secretary-style dodging, and I wouldn't say that of many players' press conference styles. He analyzed the loss well and honestly. On his feelings about the upcoming Davis Cup tie at Wimbledon, Tim Henman's final appearance, he said something moving: "I mean, I can't wait. I think the whole tie, everyone on the team is going to want to win for Tim. And the way I play in the Davis Cup, I'm hoping, will show him what his career meant to me."
He also said that the U.S. Open was his favorite tournament, and repeated it later for emphasis. It's clear the statement has a value to him, and if you think about it, that's kind of remarkable: I can't think of another player who makes a point to describe a tournament outside his home country that way. So I asked him about the Grandstand court (he'd played three straight matches there) and he replied that it's one of his favorite courts anywhere, despite the boos he got after kicking a trash can out of his way while chasing a dropshot. I still wanted to know more, so after the press conference, I asked him if he'd expand on his love of the U.S. Open.
It's a measure of his graciousness that after a disappointing four-set Slam loss ending after 10pm, a press conference, a radio interview, and a Sky Sports interview, he was happy to talk to me, kindly pausing in mid-sentence to say "Well done" as we passed Shahar Peer.
Andy said, "It started in the juniors. They treat you so well here. In Roehampton, you have to stay in a hostel; here, the Grand Hyatt. And you can eat in the restaurant with the [pro] players. It's great." Interesting, I thought, that his being treated kindly as a junior has meant much to him. "I also love that energy you get on court here - the Grandstand crowd, this late at night, you couldn't get that anywhere." And what about New York City itself? "I love the city, love the energy, tons of shops and restaurants..." It was a firmly believable answer, if not very specific.
I got the feeling his preference for Flushing Meadows is about Flushing Meadows, but it's also about his own complicated relationship to the idea of nation. Murray, of course, only has to open his mouth to demonstrate that he is not English, and as a Scot he has his own, alternate national identity. For many sports fans, he redraws the distinction between Britain and its components: Scotland, Wales, and England. Murray's circumstances, and his own common sense, have made him a cosmopolitan. He has made a polyglot life for himself, with his Scottish origins, Spanish junior academy, English training base, and Californian coach. So it makes sense he likes New York, one of those world cities that often seems part of no nation: an island floating off the coast of America, where late on a Saturday night a Korean crowd exhorts its man and his Scottish opponent takes it in stride.
Finished chatting, Murray extended his hand for a shake. I was left feeling that, passport notwithstanding, he is a quintessentially New York player.
- Asad Raza