I Know What I Did Last Summer

Cincy Open is on. It has made me nostalgic to write about what had happened last year during this point in time.

“People do go to Niagara; people do go to Vegas; Florida; Duluth; Washington DC.  Did you say Cincinnati? Where on earth is this place? And you wanna go there just to see a tennis match? Wow. Here we have a tennis fanatic who wants to travel 1000 miles just to see something which he can very easily see on TV!”, lamented my roomy Vikas. This was sometime during last summer.  I might have asked at least 10 individuals one by one to accompany me to Cincinnati, Ohio for a 3 day trip to attend the Masters tournament.

“Tickets are on me. OK, even I will pay for the hotel expenses”, I gave every possible offer on earth. Everyone thought I was insane. But I wanted someone to accompany me. This is the problem of being single. I was missing Bebo terribly, she had never said ‘no’ to me wherever I had called her. Few days later when my compatriot Sathya agreed to join me, I felt just few inches closer to heaven.

On Thursday night, we took bus from our places and met in Chicago. From there, we rented a car. The previous night I was praying that they should schedule Federer’s quarterfinal match in the evening session. But, unfortunately they scheduled it at noon. Lindner Family Tennis Center at Mason close to Cincinnati where the tournament was held was around 6 hours drive from Chicago. On Friday morning our car was zooming out on the high way to Indiana.

Someone had asked me, “Why Cincy? Why not New York (US Open)?” I was very clear on this. My first tournament could not be a grand slam. I just couldn’t have faced it. Yeah, you can say I didn’t have enough guts.But ‘Cincinnati’, the word I was hearing since my childhood, had caught my attention since then. May be I liked the way it sounds when you pronounce it. It is the oldest tournament in the US.

“Sathya, can you press the gas pedal please? Federer is in the 2^nd set tie breaker. If he wins the set, we can at least catch the third set”, I said checking the score in my smart phone. As always I was terribly nervous. 

Finally after what seemed like a never ending journey, we reached the venue.  This place looked like a desert. No trees, no buildings, no houses. It looked more like Dubai Open. At the entrance wrote, “Western and Southern Open”. I could see the huge center court stadium behind the entrance. Then I saw those three letters which gave me goose bumps, ‘A.T.P.’

“Is this really happening Sathy?”, I wanted to confirm if I wasn’t dreaming.  I was that lucky guy who hadn’t even seen a local USTA tournament but then there I was, at an ATP Masters 1000 tournament.  My mother had been to Mecca for Huj pilgrimage the year before. She was explaining what she felt when she saw Kaaba, the black stone for the first time which she wanted to visit since childhood. She had tears rolling down her eyes. For me, this was a similar feeling. How I wish I could have frozen that moment. 

As soon as we entered the center the tragedy struck.  I saw a horde of hundreds of people coming towards the exit. They looked dead silent. Most of them wore RF t shirts and caps. Half of them walked with their heads down. Federer had lost. Some of them looked at me with disbelief thinking who the hell was this fool wearing a RF t shirt and the cap walking in gleefully when the maestro had just been knocked out.

“Seeing God play can wait. Let’s first enjoy this heaven”, Sathya consoled me. He himself was a mild RF fan, I must say. Yes, I looked around. Beautiful stalls, restaurants, courts, the big screen, tennis crazy people moving around, I felt ’tennis’ was written on each and every atom in that campus.  Sathya’s camera work had already begun. I am not a photo freak but I do wanted few snaps of this place. First, we decided to take a walk around the campus. We went to a smaller court and saw a women’s doubles team practicing. We checked out the grandstand and the center court. No matches were being played then. We went to the back end of the stadium which was the exit to the locker room. There were around 100 fans, autograph hunters gathered outside on either side of the pathway. One of them said, ‘Nadal and Roger will come out now’ (Nadal too had lost his QF match). We stood there waiting to get a glimpse of the superstars.  After half an hour, Nadal came out. Suddenly there were shrieks of “Rafa”, “Rafa” touching the sky. Even Sathya joined in the chanting. I was just watching. A mid aged guy standing next to me yelled, “Rafiyaal”,”Rafiyaal”. May be Nadal might have got attracted to his chant, he came forward to give his autograph.  While he was signing, suddenly crazy thoughts came to my mind. One of the all time tennis greats was standing just 2 feet in front of me. Wow. But again I was immediately upset for the fact that the guy who had given me immense pain in the past few years stood right in front of me. I could have but did not take his autograph. The guy who had yelled ‘Rafiyaal’ had nothing but a RF cap. He held the cap with one hand and covered the RF logo with the other so that Nadal couldn’t see it. Nadal signed his cap. This guy jumped in jubilation. He then told me, “See, I have Nadal’s autograph on a RF cap. Isn’t this a deadly combination?”. 

‘What a smart ass’, I thought and then told him, “Keep it in museum”.

Everybody knows in how many damn languages Federer gives his post match press conferences. I stood there for couple more hours waiting to see him come out. Also there was this group of kids with that famous red banner which reads “Shhhhh!! Genius at work”, waiting to see the master. Meanwhile Sathya disappeared from there but I still waited. After sometime I went in search of Sathya. I found him in the stadium. He said he was watching Maria Sharapova practicing in the center court. He was so happy to show his close up shots of Sharapova in his professional camera.

When we came back Federer had already vanished. Sigh.

In the evening session, the quarterfinal match between Djokovic vs Monfils was my officially the first match that I ever witnessed. Wow, what a colorful crowd (haven’t used so many ‘Wow’s before). Amazing ambiance. The way the pros were hitting the ball, it was completely a different view than what I had seen on TV. Their moves were so brisk and body so balanced. It seemed like the ball had a magnet in it. We started yelling “Come on Mofeeessss”. We both loved it. An old lady sitting next to me obviously got irritated and asked me, “Are you French?”.

I said, “No, but I don’t want the Serb to win”(the reason was obvious). But the Serb finally made it in 3 sets.  So, the first day was mixed with multiple emotions for me.

Initially we had planned to stay in a cheap hotel but Sathya had found a common friend who stayed close to the stadium. He forced us to stay in his house. He had lived in Mason since past few years.

I asked him excitedly, “Gosh, you must have attended the tournament many times right?”

He shot back asking, “Which tournament? Tennis? Well, I haven’t been there actually. I know there is a stadium and all. Yeah, it will be fun. So, is Sampras playing?”

No comments. Then I realized, what means important to you could mean non sense to others.

Next day was pretty hot. Saw Andy Murray huffing and puffing his way through Mardy Fish in the semifinal. The entire crowd was rooting for Mardy. Back in India, there was this Anna Hazare movement going on against corruption. Anna was an old Gandhian fighting for the cause. Couple of Indians stood in the stadium and showed a placard reading ‘Support Anna’. I was sure, most of the spectators might have thought, ‘who the hell is this Anna on tour?’.

 Outside the center court I saw something and went crazy. There was this serve cage. The fastest server of the day would get some prize or something. I jumped at it. The rackets looked crappy though. I hit many serves but just one crossed 100 mph mark. That was enough for me to celebrate.

There were many stalls of cold lemon juice. I bought one and sat on a long bench which had a cold water shower, sort of a fountain. Many gathered there to cool themselves down.

While booking tickets, I had made a mistake. I had mistakenly booked grandstand box tickets thinking they were center court tickets. So we were made to watch Doubles semifinals in grandstand. Actually only box tickets could be booked for grandstand. Other seats were open for public. I apologized to Sathya. But he cracked up to see the players who were supposed to play there. Paes, Bhupati  vs Bryan Brothers. For a moment I thought Paes and Bhupati looked at us puzzled as to who were these two desis sitting in the deserted box and cheering for them. We were seated just behind the line umpire. We could clearly hear what the players spoke. Sathya was wearing an Indian cricket t shirt. I wore a Cincy t shirt which I had bought the previous night.During the match, Sathya told Bhupati in Kannada, his native language, “chennagi aadi Mahesh”(play well buddy). He told in such a way as if he knew Bhupati since his childhood. The poker faced Bhupati just showed his hand towards Sathya either acknowledging him or just meaning ‘shut up. I know how to play. Don’t distract’.

Lee-Hesh pair won the closely contested match. Sathya took their autographs. I went and congratulated Paes. I felt lucky to see the Indian Express win. They went on to win the title the next day. That was the last title they ever won together.

I was hungry by then. I ate Mexican burrito and Sathya somehow managed to find his vegetarian food. I checked out few rackets and tennis accessories before we headed to the center court for Sharapova’s semifinal match. Sharapova looked stunning, I must admit. We planned to return back the next day noon. As the deadline neared closer, Sathya’s frequency of clicking photos increased. I felt I should really thank him for that.

Next day, on Sunday, we thought of doing some shopping and then return back. I had not booked the tickets for the final match. Murray vs Djoker. There wasn’t much excitement left by then.  We collected few photos of ATP/WTA players.I bought two Federer’s photos framed with his name engraved. It’s that famous Wimbledon overhead shot. I gifted one of them to Sathya saying “I don’t know how else to thank you”

We headed back to Chicago. There was a sense of emptiness. We didn’t speak for long in the car. I was living each moment spent in the Lindner Family Tennis Center. Recalling and reliving everything again and again. That’s how I could reproduce everything after a year.  I could have reproduced it even after 50 years coz everything is stored in my eyes.

"Do you know where you want to spend the rest of your life?", I asked Sathya. He paused for a while and shook his head. He knew what exactly I had meant.

They say, first day of school/college, first day of job, first flight, first kiss, first time you hold your baby are all special. But for me, my first masters was way special than all those. I mean it. I was barely six when I fell in love with this sport and that day I had accomplished something which was pending since decades.

This year I couldn’t visit Cincy because of the Olympics and I wasn’t sure who would play and who would pull out. But I have already booked my dates for next year. I have to go there because the task is unfinished. I am yet to see the God play J