Au revoir, six dollar hot dogs
Well, it’s been a brilliant staycation (finally! There’s a name for something I’ve been doing for years and years) but before I go back to selling you obsolete plastic discs, here are some things I will miss from the US Open, the greatest week of my year (yes, I know it’s two weeks – the week I watch on TV isn’t quite as fun, surprisingly).
Armstrong stadium from the top. Looking down at everything, close to the Ben & Jerry’s cart.
This was the first match of the day, it was a little empty. Which is good; I need a few empty seats around when I apply sunscreen.
I actually sit a bit closer (you can sit almost anywhere – so populist) but I wanted a cone picture.
The kids waiting to get their giant balls signed. You heard me.
This is how you know someone is about to lose; the kids swarm from all over the stadium – they always seem to know first, the vultures.
The running of the ball kids. What form!
The brave guy who hand installs the winners on the giant draw.
Of course, it’s brave to be that high up doing that, but what I really mean is exposing your ass to the world in this flattering harness (click picture for close-up).
So! Just to update you, Nalby was eliminated in a performance unique for its daring display of not really caring at all whether one wins or loses. However, he was beaten by “the man who must succeed,” Gael Monfils, so that turned out not so terrible. Even more fantastically, Monfils was beaten by Our Other Man, Mardy Fish. Go Fish! Next up for Mardy is Rafael Nadal. Since even our MINDS can’t help him now, I’m just going to relax and stick pepper under my nails so I can’t bite them.
This is all to explain the other magical thing about watching the Open from start to finish. It’s a linear story where the winners of the two matches you saw the day before yesterday play today and the winner of that match plays someone else you saw in a thrilling victory. And all the way, you know how they got there and how they did it, and hopefully, you were part of the story.
Until next year!
The changing of the ballstaff always makes me tear up a little.
I’m such a sucker for ritual.
I was tearing up too until I thought of you saying “ballstaff.”
You left out the most important detail:
What kind of ice cream did you get?
It was for my Dad. It was Half-Haked. Or Cherry Garcia. Who was fully baked.
Later, I got a scoop of whatever they call mint-chip in Vermont.
/end ice cream report