From the Bronx to Queens: Sports in NYC

NY Yankees 1, Tampa Bay Devil Rays 7

As I have pointed out in my "Getting to Yankee Stadium" entry, I am not a fan of the New York Yankees. This is why I was thrilled, after climbing quite a few long ramps to the very highest point in the stadium, to see that they were already losing 1-0 to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. Of course, I quickly realized that, as much as I said so before the game, I would not be cheering (out loud) for the Devil Rays. This was mainly because there were plenty of very vocal fans all around us that looked like they would have no qualms at all about beating a non-believer into a pulp. Therefore, I stayed quiet and silently glowered at the jerseys surrounding me with the names of stolen players like Johnny Damon, Andy Pettite, and Roger Clemens.

That said, if I had been cheering, I would have had a lot to crow about. The Yankees could not pitch to save their lives and ended up going to their bullpen very early in the game, only for the relieving pitchers to let them down too.

Even though I was strongly against the Yankees, I still didn't get very involved in the game; that tends to only happen when I am cheering for the good ol' Houston Astros (who were, at the time, in the midst of an absolutely abysmal season) to win. The wave kept everyone in our corner of the stadium (outfield on the third base side) occupied for a good inning or so, since the drunken guys at the beginning wouldn't stop until it got far enough around the stadium for their liking. It only managed to get to about third base before the crowd gave up.

We got treated to a lot of Yankees trivia games, courtesy of the big screen, where fans had to name "who had that number" to win a Yankees gift pack. People got out of their seats to scream the answer; we did not.

By the time the 8th inning came around, it was pretty clear that Tampa Bay was going to win with a scoreline of at least 7-1. It was at this point that the stadium pretty much emptied. We stayed on until the end of the 8th, but then decided to join the crowds (which probably would have been smaller if we waited until the end of the game) at the subway station. Filing out of the historic stadium, I was happy that I had gone to a game in such a storied stadium—especially since it is being retired once the new Yankee Stadium is complete—even if it meant watching "those damn Yankees" play. Granted, I was also thrilled about a) putting no more than my ticket price into the Yankees’ coffers, and b) that the Yankees got destroyed!

I have been a tennis fanatic for most of my life. At the age of four, my mom put a wooden tennis racquet in my hands, which I could barely swing, and that was it. While I didn't start playing tennis seriously until eight years later, I was hooked on watching the game. It's always been one of my goals to attend the four Grand Slams, which are the four biggest tournaments in tennis. I was lucky enough to go to Wimbledon twice--once for a day and once for a week--but getting to the other majors proved to be a sight more difficult, since they all occur during the semester (or very close to the end of it).

Therefore, once I bought my plane ticket to NY for Labor Day weekend, I started hunting for tickets to the US Open. Unfortunately, there were none to be found, short of the insanely overpriced tickets on eBay. This seemed a bit odd to me--sure, the tournament is popular, but can it really sell out its 50,000 person a-day capacity two months ahead of time? Surely not.

On this assumption, I caught the 7 train out to Queens until Shea Stadium towered on the left and Arthur Ashe Stadium loomed on the right. Herds of tennis fans alighted with me, and we began the trek along the giant concrete ramp down into the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center. This was when I first realized my day might not go as planned, and I might not end up sitting in Louis Armstrong Stadium watching Novak Djokovic, the Serbian phenom who had stormed to number 3 in the world, belt it out with Radek Stepanek. Very loud women with bullhorns were yelling things along the lines of, "We are SOLD OUT. That means EVERYTHING. No Arthur Ashe, no grounds passes. If you don't have a ticket, you might as well just turn around."

Dumbfounded, I kept going, hoping to find the ticket window. I finally did, but people without tickets were not allowed to get in line and slow down those picking up from will call. There was a line forming beside this line of desperate ticket-seekers, so I got in it. I was not going to come out all this way to NY just to miss the tournament I've always wanted to see.

At this point, some cash would have been helpful, since a man came up wanting to get rid of two tickets on Arthur Ashe that he couldn't use for the day, for a whopping $50 total (when they were originally about $58 each). This would have meant seeing both Rafael Nadal, scheduled on Ashe, and Djokovic, scheduled on Armstrong--the two people I wanted to see most in the tournament. However, I only had $10 in cash, and no ATM magically appeared out of the ether, so someone else bought them instead.

Plenty of people in line were grousing, so I quickly found out that the reason no tickets were available this year was because of last year's rain. The entire Labor Day weekend was a washout, so the USTA gave everyone free tickets for this year instead…meaning that barely any tickets went on sale in the first place.

Finally, one of the security guards allowed us into the tickets line, but only after threatening us with death if we even thought of asking if any tickets were available for today. Thinking it might be in my best interest to stay alive, I asked about the rest of the weekend, and soon found myself in possession of a $50 grounds pass for Sunday.

Even though I didn't get to see Djokovic (who ended up winning a four-hour marathon in a tiebreak in the fifth set), I was going to be allowed in…when I came back in two days' time. Hey, it was better than nothing, and I just hoped that either Djokovic or Nadal would be scheduled on Louis Armstrong (where I could get in with my grounds pass) on Sunday.

I boarded the 7 train at Grand Central Station in Sunday knowing that I would be allowed into the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center because I had a grounds pass safely tucked away in my bag. I also knew that I was going there with a whole bunch of tennis fans. The funny thing was, you could tell they were tennis fans. The people on the A train platform had just looked like normal people commuting through New York; the people on the 7 platform were wearing visors, sunglasses, and tennis whites.

If possible, the scene upon arriving in Queens was even more chaotic than the one I had seen on Friday. The walkways were chock full of people excited about watching a day of tennis, and the lines to get in were massive. Fortunately, security was pretty efficient (read: only doing cursory checks inside bags) so I was inside the tennis center within fifteen minutes or so.

Armed with a schedule for the day (bought for about $3 at a stand between the subway and the tennis center), I tried to decide where to go first. Since the junior draw was beginning play, there were a lot of matches that I wasn't particularly interested in going on, so I decided I wouldn't miss too much if I headed over to the practice courts to see who was there.

Judging by the huge crowds on the few sets of bleachers just underneath Arthur Ashe Stadium, I knew there had to be a big name out on the courts. And I was right; as soon as I entrenched myself in the crowd, I saw second-ranked Rafael Nadal, both knees taped up, swinging away on the second court. Jonas Bjorkman, one of the top doubles players in the world, was between us and Rafa.

I sat for a little while, but practice sessions can only be so interesting. It was a bit worrying, since Rafa wasn't playing all that well and had a match coming up within an hour, but he ended up playing brilliantly and beating Jo-Wilfried Tsonga in three sets.

I wandered around for a little bit, trying to get a feel for the center and trying to upgrade my ticket at the upgrade booth (just inside the east entrance next to Louis Armstrong stadium). No upgrades were available—not surprising, since the event was sold out—and to get tickets for the night session, I would have to come back at 6.45 and wait in line on the off chance that one became available.

When I returned to the practice courts, Nadal was just coming off court and was kindly signing some autographs for the screaming masses. I didn't even try to get close. Some people stood around hoping that the distant figure on the third court was Novak Djokovic, but I was pretty sure it wasn't him—and wasn't particularly interested in watching him warm up anyway—so I went to find a real match.

I took a bit of a circuitous route to Louis Armstrong Stadium, just enjoying the atmosphere. It was hard not to feel the buzz that enveloped the National Tennis Center on this absolutely gorgeous late summer day. I wandered along the "Court of Champions," looking at plaques on the wall for legends like Rod Laver, John McEnroe, Steffi Graf, and Althea Gibson, whose 50th anniversary of winning the tournament was being honored this year. Just past the Court is the south entrance, and beyond that, the Unisphere from the 1964 World's Fair. Although I have seen this in tennis coverage every year since I was very small, I still couldn't believe how utterly massive it was. I decided not to go out and stand underneath it (I suppose in an effort to seem truly small) because it would have meant waiting in line to get back in, and tennis was already underway.

This entry is continued in the US Open: Sunday Part 2.

This entry is a continuation of the US Open: Sunday, Part 1.

Here are the highlights of the matches of the day that I saw once I got into Louis Armstrong Stadium. This stadium is like the Southwest Airlines of the US Open—anyone with grounds passes can come in and sit wherever they want (with the exception of a few highly-priced box seats at the very bottom level). The size of the stadium has been decreased since its heyday as the main stadium of the Open, and with that, it feels much more intimate. I sat in the very top tier for most of play and still didn't feel all that far from the match.

David Ferrer def. David Nalbandian, 6-3 3-6 4-6 7-6(5) 7-5
This didn't really look like it would end up being a thrilling hard-court encounter, since Ferrer is much more comfortable on clay courts. However, Ferrer ended up being one of the break-out stories of the tournament and played great, outlasting Nalbandian in the fifth set, even after getting down 2 sets to 1. I watched three sets of this match—the second, third, and fifth—because I left to get food during the fourth set and wasn't allowed back in until the beginning of the fifth, since a massive line had formed by this point.

This match was also where I probably did the most damage to my shoulders and legs. I had, very unfortunately, forgotten sunscreen on a day that boasted very few clouds in the sky, and the kiosks selling various Open wares only had a brand that makes me turn all red, itchy, and blotchy. Luckily, I brought a hat with me, so my face was somewhat saved. My legs were not so fortunate, especially since I was sitting in the front row, where the railing in front of me cast a fairly heavy shadow across one leg, leaving me with a beautiful white stripe across an otherwise torched leg. Lesson learned: always carry sunscreen in purse.

The US Open Food Court
Yes, I know this is not a tennis match, but I certainly felt like I was losing terribly when I saw that a chicken burger would set me back $7.50. And oh wait, I wanted a bottled water because I left my empty water bottle by my seat on accident. That'll be another $2.50? Oh good, I really wanted to spend double what I normally would for food!

Lesson learned: buy more food at Grand Central (I only bought pretzels and water) and eat it beforehand. I can't remember if they checked bags for food, but it's worth a shot trying to smuggle in a sandwich and claim you have low blood sugar, rather than paying the absolutely obscene prices here. They did let me bring in a water bottle, so I would recommend doing that and filling up at the many water fountains around the Center.

At least the food court did have tables covered by umbrellas and a big screen for watching matches, so I saved myself a little sunburn.

Bryan/Bryan def. Coetzee/Wassen, 6-1 6-4
The Bryan brothers pretty much schooled their opponents and were off the court rather quickly. As many times as I've seen the Bryans play, I still really enjoy watching just how well they understand the game of doubles and just how dedicated they are. Both brothers could be good singles players in their own right--especially Bob--but they choose to only play doubles, and have already secured the No. 1 ranking again this year.

Peshke/Stubbs def. Hingis/Hantuchova 4-6 6-3 6-4
After the Bryan brothers finished, the buzz definitely moved over to the Grandstand, where Martina Hingis and her partner Daniela Hantuchova were playing against Rennae Stubbs, one of the top doubles players in the world, and Kveta Peshke. The walkway just outside Armstrong's top tier was filled with people looking straight down on the match, and I couldn't find anywhere that I could peek through and see even half the court (and I'm 6 feet tall, so it's normally not that hard!). I headed downstairs, hoping that since the stands were only about half full that I could easily score myself

Even though I can't stand the New York Yankees, their Derek Jeter-inspired total blandness, and the fact that they are good because they just buy up any competition, going to one of their games is a quintessentially New York experience that I couldn't pass up. Plus, my friend Liz for $10 tickets through NYU, so it happened to be the cheapest way to spend a night in NYC; I just vowed before the game to cheer for whoever the damn Yankees were playing.

The three of us expected getting to the game to be a simple exercise in walking to the subway and getting on (and I think this, in itself, proved that none of us were New Yorkers). The A train slowly filled with ardent Yankees fans as we drew closer to the Bronx, and the prinstripe-clad mobs loudly argued over such important things as A-rod's batting average and how all other teams in the MLB pale in the face of Steinbrenner's multimillionaires until we pulled into 145th St. station, when we were all ordered off the train. No one really knew what was going on, since we couldn't hear any of the announcements over a group of young guys agonizing over the terrors of missing the first inning because the "f---ing subway always does this."

So we stood on the platform, waiting for the C train all of us thought would come to replace the train that had so unceremoniously dumped us. It didn't come. When we finally caught wind of the fact that the entire subway line between 145th and the Bronx was closed for a security risk, the herd tramped upstairs, only to find every Yankees fan in NY waiting on the Harlem street corner, waiting for the Bx19 bus.

In fact, there was already a Bx19 bus stopped nearby. This was certainly not because the bus driver wanted to be stopped. Oh no, it was because the mob, already taking us 2 of the 4 Bronx-bound lanes, had swarmed around it in a scene from some sort of bad disaster movie. It was literally rocking back and forth as people tried to squeeze through the doors that already had people falling out of them. The bus driver was screaming at people to get off the bus, but clearly, no one was listening. We decided it might just be best to wait for the next bus. It was then that an ambulance came roaring down the street, only to find that mobs of people and an overflowing bus had backed up traffic for at least a couple blocks. The blaring sirens didn't have the faintest effect on the New Yorkers, who were dead set on getting to the Yankees game, come hell or high water.

When another Bx19 appeared on the horizon, everyone got in what they thought would be the best position possible to be the first person on the bus. We just stood there, contemplating just turning around and going home. Fortunately, the bus pulled to a stop right next to us, so in a normal situation, we would have been some of the first people on the bus. This, however, was clearly not a normal situation, and somehow the entire bus managed to fill up before we even got a single foot in the door. We did manage to get on the bus in the end, barely; the people just behind us were ordered off by a screaming bus driver who kept repeating "I can't see my damn mirrors! Get off the bus! I can't see my mirrors! MOVE OUT!"

The bus dumped us unceremoniously at another subway station, where the trains were actually running. A short ride on the train later, we finally found ourselves outside the storied Yankee Stadium.