I don’t have to tell you that the U.S. Open is a great event to visit.  Carisa and I have been going yearly with Lana – Carisa’s sister – and John – Carisa’s dad – for several years now over Labor Day weekend.  Carisa’s dad has been going for decades.  Since we were rained out last year, we had high hopes for the tennis this year, and we weren’t disappointed.

I think the best way to enjoy the Open is not to pay big bucks for a seat in Arthur Ashe, but to buy a grounds pass.  This is all you need to make a day of walking around the field courts, watching some quality tennis (especially doubles, which you almost never get to see on TV) close up.  This year, we watched almost entirely doubles matches – men’s, women’s, and mixed.  The all-Indian mixed doubles team of Mahesh Bhupathi and Sania Mirza had the Indian contingent going nuts.  Bob and Mike Bryan were a pleasure to watch.  Unfortunately, Morariu and Shaughnessy rolled over their opponents too fast for us to see them.  Our last match of the day, though, is where the story lies.

We trundled over to the Grandstand court well after dark to watch Andy Murray play Hyung-Taik Lee.  We were all a little cold and a little tired, but we wanted to get one more match in, and with Andy Murray being an up-an-comer none of us had seen, and with Hyung-Taik Lee being from South Korea, this was the obvious choice.  After we sat down, none of us were too sure whom to root for.  The crowd didn’t help much either.  There was a small South Korean contingent there (surprising to me, since I had never seen one before at the Open), but there were probably slightly more Murray fans scattered among the crowd judging from the cheers.  Then again, Koreans aren’t the most boisterous people in the world, so it was anyone’s guess as to who had the stronger backing.  I knew Lee was one of “my people,” but I hadn’t heard much about him save for a good run to the 4th round of the 2000 U.S. Open (where he eventually lost to Pete).  Still, he had one of those smooth, flowing games (like Gaston Gaudio) that made him fun to watch.  Maybe I would just sit back and enjoy this match without choosing sides, I thought.  But then, something happened that completely polarized the crowd.

Andy Murray chased a short ball down and ended up having to stop himself from running into the chair umpire’s podium.  After the point had ended, he suddenly and without warning kicked the trash can located there, sending empty ball cans, paper, Gatorade bottles, and all other sorts of trash flying.  Murray sulked slowly back to the baseline.  The poor ballboys ran to the podium to pick up the trash.  The crowd sat in stunned silence for a brief moment, surprised at the unnecessary anger of the act.  Then the stadium broke out in one loud boo.

All of sudden, Lee had more fans than he had probably ever had during a night match at the Open.  The chair umpire had to get the crowd quieted down.  Once everyone settled, what was a wind-up match for the day became a chair-gripping, hair-wrenching battle involving our very sense of right and wrong.  There was no way Andy Murray could win after that crap.  Not if there was any justice in the world.  Not if we had anything to do with it.

After every close point won by Lee, we were on our feet.  The Koreans were on their feet.  Black people were on their feet.  White people were on their feet.  It was awesome.  I was getting hoarse.  My ears were roaring.

We cheered Lee to breaks.  We cheered Lee to holds.  We cheered him after losing tough points.  And then finally, we cheered Lee after he won a match point.  High fives were passed around liberally.  Lee had won.  Justice had won.  Those ballboys had won.  We had won.