When I was in my early teens, my mother signed me up for tennis lessons. She loved tennis; had played it all her life, and couldn’t image a growing girl not including tennis in her daily routines (along with French and poetry). She also probably didn’t imagine a slightly overweight girl who, at that point in her life, lumbered along like a limping bull in a china shop, as her eldest daughter. I had no interest in anything my mother suggested and exercise of any sort scared me as I was no good at it.
So tennis has never been much on my radar. Those who know me know I love baseball. Living in France, I’ve come to appreciate, enjoy, and want to learn more about futbol/soccer. And not just from Ted Lasso. Of course, one can’t live in Paris without being hyper aware of the French Open known in France as Roland Garros. My friend, Barbara, bought tickets for my birthday in 2020. Ah, 2020 when all life was cancelled.
Yesterday, after living in Paris for 9.5 years, I went to my first Roland Garros experience. You can have a ticket to a match but that is only part of the fun. And it is FUN! I went with three friends. They’d bought two tickets to the day matches at Court Phillippe-Chatrier and two tickets to the day matches at Court Suzanne-Lenglen. We agreed that we would switch back and forth seeing as many of the matches as possible. The four of us met up at a café at Auteuil. We walked into the Roland Garros complex at 11 am. I’m not sure how one can live so close to RG (I live a 20-minute walk away) and not realize how large and grand it is. “The 13.5-hectare (34-acre) complex contains twenty courts, including three large-capacity stadiums; Les Jardins de Roland Garros, a large restaurant and bar complex; Le Village, the press and VIP area; France’s National Training Centre (CNE); and the Tenniseum, a bilingual, multimedia museum of the history of tennis.”-Wikipedia.
Pete and Mike headed for the match at S. Lenglen. Meg and I walked around. Meg knows the complex like the back of her hand. She showed me everything including where we were going to go sit, Philippe-Chatrier, to watch the match between fan favorite, Caroline Garcia and no.56 seeded Anna Blinkova (whose country wasn’t listed. This is the only way the Russian and Belarus players are allowed to play). Before we went in, we sat on the green watching a match between Greek Tsitsipas and Spaniard Baena. Large orange folding chairs were set up for comfort.
These games were the second round for both the men and the women. It was only four days into Roland Garros with another week and a half to go. But the atmosphere was electric. It reminded me of Play-off games in baseball. Plus, Paris was experiencing glorious weather. Not a cloud in the sky. 78o/24C. Even though I didn’t play tennis, it would have been impossible to get through my childhood without learning something. I knew most of the rules; game, set, match. Best of three for the women, best of five for the men. For singles games, outside the inner white line was out. For doubles, outside the outer white line was out. What I didn’t know was that there are three line judges at each end for the vertical lines, two line judges in the middle for the horizontal lines, and the judge who sits up above just like a lifeguard who rules over everything. I turned to Mike at one point and asked “Is this like baseball? Whatever the judge says is what it is? Whether it is or isn’t?” Yes,…however starting next year, it will all be digitalized. No more human judges, no more human error. Human error is part of baseball. I was once told by another baseball fan when I was outraged by an umpire’s bad call that lost a pitcher a ‘perfect game’, that it isn’t just perfect for the pitcher. It also has to also be perfect for the umpires. Oh! (and just for the record, I wasn’t satisfied. That explanation did not make up for the dramatic letdown for both pitcher and fans).
Another surprise was the noise. I had always been told that tennis games were played in absolute silence. If you talked to your neighbor, it was a whisper. Not so at Roland Garros. the fans cheered their favorite. They clapped loudly when they wanted to encourage a player. Musical instruments appeared in the crowds like whales jumping out of the sea and played the Marseillaise or something that the fans could smile at, rout with, and encouraged the players. Mike, who is British, assured me this was not done at Wimbledon.
Truthfully, I thought that since I didn’t know most of the players and wasn’t a tennis fan, I would want to leave after a couple of hours. Wrong. Oh, how wrong! Tennis is a wonderful game. Do you hear that Mom? I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I watched every hit. Both Mike and Meg told me that if you didn’t have a favorite in the game, one cheers for the underdog. My father always said the same. Garcia, the French fan favorite seeded at #5, lost to the underdog. The fans weren’t happy. But other than a French player losing, it was the underdog all the way!
I guess I’m now a tennis fan! The next day I watched and listened to a couple of matches—one between the Italian Sinner and the German Altmaier which lasted five hours and twenty-nine minutes!! Both were exhausted. When the German won, he started to cry. The entire stadium stood up and cheered him on.
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A bientôt,
Sara
Out My Window 