Contrary to popular opinion, a grand slam is often less about tennis watching than tennis hopping. As the previous post’s account of my morning will attest, there’s too much awesome. Too much awesome, everywhere. From players practicing to bands playing, TV and radio roaming around and giveaways and games all over the shop, the distractions are endless and it’s impossible to even bother sitting still.
So you do a little bit of the roaming, stopping by matches, hanging outside practice courts, and sitting in the sunshine with a beer.
Until a real favourite comes along, and it’s time for DEAR. Drop everything and run.
Which is what I did when Court 13 favourite Dmitry Tursunov was scheduled on Court 18 in his first round match, up against another favourite of ours, Viktor Troicki. It’s a toughie in this situation, but as always, Dima won out. L saved us seats and I managed to tear myself away from Albert “if he fixed his teeth he’d be hot” Montanes and Dustin “no longer a Jamaican” Brown to harness all aspects of Russian, American and recently, Melburnian pride to help a dude out. Dmitry, that is.
We watched him for a long time. I may have even avoided tweeting and avoided photographing.
There’s nothing like a quiet afternoon match to break up the hecticness of the first few days of a grand slam. Instead of racing from match to match, you’re sitting in a quiet corner, basking in the breeze and sipping your beer. That’s how I’ve always imagined it, in the months that stretch from slam to slam, but this year I had chilly winds, sporadic raindrops, a bizarrely-placed baby carriage in front of me, and an irritating Serbian army to mar, if not completely ruin my buzz.
Never mind. Dmitry was there to pick it back up again.
Viktor’s post Davis-Cup headshave has grown in a little, giving him a little less of a serial killer look. Team Serbia teammate Nenad Zimonjic was in the audience to support him too.
L ditched me several times to peruse the practice courts to no avail. Apparently people preferred to wait for 40 minutes and stare at an empty court, though.
Viktor took a nasty tumble and needed an MTO.
We made signs out of our Optus signs.
And I finally elicited a few more cheers for Dmitry from the crowd. That’s progress, methinks.