I've been vegging out in front of the television this week watching the U.S. Open tennis tournament. It's an annual ritual that started around 1990. I've always love tennis. I started playing at the age of 12 with my best friend. I tried out for my high school team and made it. Well actually, everybody made the team. My high school wasn't exactly a tennis powerhouse. Sometimes we had a hard time finding enough people to even field a team.
But I fell in love with the game. I loved the strategy and it became "my" sport—the one that I enjoyed the most and performed the best in. I was never great, but good enough to compete. After graduating from high school, I tried out for my college team. Like high school, they didn't really cut anybody, but they had a ranking system. The top eight guys played in matches. I never got higher than 10, but I had a blast in the process—even winning one tournament on campus.
After college, I played briefly (one summer) in tournaments around the Midwest. Then, other things took a higher priority—things like work, women, and partying. I wish I had stuck with the game, but I've never really abandoned it. I kept playing recreationally, but after sitting down to watch U.S. Open one year, I began to appreciate the sacrifices and discipline of professional players.
In 1990, at the age of 39, Jimmy Connors made a run at the U.S. Open. He was a wildcard into the tournament—which means he didn't even have enough cumulative points that season to gain an automatic bid—even though he'd won 109 tournaments (more than anybody else in history) in his career. But that year was magical. He dug deep and found a way to beat the younger guys. With each win, the crowds got more and more excited. He chased down shots he had no business getting to and he pumped his fists after hitting unbelievable passing shots. And it was so much fun to watch. He made it all the way to the semifinals before finally losing.
A year later, John McEnroe made a run at the U.S. Open, defying time, like Connors did and he made it to the quarterfinals before losing.
During the 1996 U.S. Open, a young Pete Sampras got into a battle with Alex Corretja during a quarterfinal match. Sampras was dehydrated and out of gas as they went into the fifth set tie-breaker. Sampras ended up puking, but somehow, overcame his exhaustion to win the match and eventually win the tournament.
Many other great memories run through my mind as well. A wild-eyed, aging, Todd Martin making a run at the title late in his career. Peter Korda doing celebratory scissor kicks after making a mini run one year. Michael Chang running down every shot that came his way year after year. Andre Agassi winning the tournament in 1994 as a young, long-haired rebel who would later become the model of hard work, a good spokesman for the game, and a great humanitarian. And so many more.
So, I'm watching the U.S. Open again this year. Hoping to add another memory or two and trying to get motivated to get back out on the court again myself.
