Love - 40

If there is something that makes me glued on TV these days, it’s the US Open. It’s the last leg of the Grand Slams in tennis and one of the sporting events that I’ve been really looking forward to closely following because of Roger Federer. I guess all tennis fans are keen to witness whether he can win a fourth successive title at Flushing Meadows, or Rafael Nadal or Novak Djokovic could thwart that attempt. For me, this means two weeks of waking up at 2 AM in Dohato watch matches that start at 7 PM in New York. This means two weeks of chain-puffing Marlboro lights and feeling my adrenaline rush to its highest level whenever I watch Federer’s matches, especially on Week 2 where the seeded players get to meet each other. It’s ridiculous how anxious I can get whenever he seems to be losing a match, which is rare, and how ecstatic I am when he goes on to win it. In 2005, when Federer was defeated by Marat Safin in an epic 5-setter in the Australian Open semi-final, I felt like my world had turned upside down. I felt sick and weak. My spirits were so down. I even thought that my depression had something to do with feng-shui, that there’s an evil spirit hovering in my room. I desperately searched for that red feng-shui thing that people hang like mistletoe on their doorways.

My addiction in tennis began in January 2002, when my friend Reymond and I watched Goran Ivanisevic play in the 1st round of Qatar ExxonMobil Open, one of the first tournaments scheduled in the ATP Calendar. Goran was very popular at the time because after several attempts including instances where he became runner-up, in 2001 he became the first wildcard to win Wimbledon, the most prestigious tournament in tennis. I was overwhelmed by the whole first experience of watching an international tennis event: sitting at the less than half-filled Center Court of the Khalifa Tennis Complex, enjoying the crisp cold air of a sunny January afternoon, learning about the scoring system, seeing the players hit those killer forehands and backhands and volleys and smashes and aces, drooling over Goran whom I only got to see hitherto in newspapers and magazines and TV. When I finally got to see him in living flesh, I thought he was a demigod.

From then on I followed tennis religiously. I came back alone to Khalifa Tennis Complex to watch the 2003 edition of Doha’s ATP tournament, where the then pony-tailed and yet to be hugely popular Federer lost to the now inconspicuous Jan Michael Gambill in the quarterfinals. After the final, I remember people staying and taking more pictures of the runner-up Gambill than the winner Stefan Koubek. I was among those people, and it’s almost impossible to believe that the one I’m taking pictures of was a tennis player and not a hot male model. It was freezing cold that night but I didn’t mind. I stayed in the emptying stadium until I got a last glimpse of Gambill. I thought he was a yummy bonus to the 40 riyals I paid for the ticket. (Back then, tickets were for sale. Now, all that tennis fans in Dohahave to do is follow the queue and get free tickets.)

In the same year, Federer won his first Wimbledoncrown by defeating the much-hyped Mark Philippousis, and I was sitting in front of a computer to witness it. I didn’t see him play though; I was only watching the scoreboard posted at the Wimbledon website, for I still didn’t have a cable connection then. My stomach would produce that weird gurgling sound whenever the scoreboard registered changes, from point to game to set, and finally the match. The following year, I made sure I had cable in time for Wimbledon and thus I had witnessed the Swiss defend his title by beating Andy Roddick, and the pretty Maria Sharapova win her first Grand Slam with a straight sets victory over Serena Williams.

In December 2003, I felt that Santa Claus was really coming to town and found me not naughty but nice when Roddick, then the holder of US Open title and ranked No.1 in the world, confirmed his participation in the January 2004 Qatar ExxonMobil Open. I was already a huge, huge tennis fan at this stage, and had been reading everything about tennis stars. The first Tennis magazine I bought had the young and promising Roddick on the cover, and I was so excited to see him play. My spirits soared to its very high at the thought of seeing him in person; let alone having a photo with him. At the time, my participation in the tournament as a volunteer steward / usher was already confirmed and I praised God for knowing how to start my new year with a blast. I took a one-week leave from my work so I could concentrate on my job as a volunteer. My goal was to see Roddick in as many days as possible. I even prayed that he doesn’t lose in the earlier rounds of the tournament, but unfortunately he failed to advance beyond the 2nd round, falling to Jonas Bjorkman. I wasn’t too affected, though. By then, I already had my picture with Roddick safely tucked in an album which of course I showed off to friends, had seen him practicing half-naked -- his skin glinting from sweat and sun, and had him autographed the Tennis magazine featuring himself on the cover. I remember that despite being all sweaty after his morning practice, I still smelled a hint of his cologne when we posed for our picture. He was still dating Mandy Moore then and I thought how lucky they were to have each other.

A few months after that, the Doha tournament for the women called Qatar TotalFinaElf Open was held. Again I volunteered for the Stewards Committee because I wanted to be closer to the players and I can’t do that if I was only a spectator. Being a volunteer means having access to the center court at all times, and that means I can watch the top players while they practice. I wanted to have a photo with Justine Henin-Hardenne, who was playing in the tournament fresh from a victory in Dubai. Justine by then had broken the Williams sisters’ monopoly of women’s tennis and so everybody was curious about this girl who was said to be an updated Hingis. I did not have the chance to have pictures with the women players, though, because my work schedule only allowed me to do my volunteer works in the afternoon, when the matches have already started and when I must concentrate on my duty on the spectator stands. To be more honest, I could’ve devised my own sneaky ways to catch the players but didn’t do so simply because they’re not men.

In January 2005, I again volunteered for the Stewards Committee of the Qatar ExxonMobil Open, and this time I couldn’t believe my fortune as a tennis fan because Roger Federer, already solid and unbeatable as World No. 1, was playing in the tournament. Thanks to the Qatar Tennis Federation which made the tournament free for spectators, the denizens of Doha were more than lucky to see Federer smash his way to the championship without shelling out a single riyal. He was practicing on the center court the first time I saw him. He had this regal aura that you can’t explain when he’s on court. You just have to sit and watch and admire him. Unlike Roddick, he had no entourage of bodyguard and trainer and coach with him. Only his girlfriend Mirka, swathed in pashmina shawl and carrying a Louis Vuitton, was attending to his needs. Of course I had our photo taken and the Tennis magazine with himself on the cover autographed. I remember that when we first asked him to pose for pictures with us, his answer was a straightforward “no, not now…” because he was about to practice then. After his practice session though, he gladly came to us, posed for photos, and signed autographs.

The tall, blonde, beautiful and feisty Maria Sharapova had the stadium filled to its capacity during all her matches when she came in March to play in the women’s tournament. For reasons we really didn’t know, the organizers got rid of the Stewards Committee then so I was back to being a plain spectator. The tournament had lots of rain delays but we patiently waited for the matches to enjoy Sharapova’s fierce groundstrokes that seem to be hit by a male player and not by a blond statuesque. Her decibel-raising grunts and shrieks sometimes made me laugh at the middle of the match, while her father Yuri kept yelling “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon” behind me on the stands. The final match which she won against Alicia Molik was perhaps the most attended tennis tournament here in Doha, because hours before the match started, all seats had been taken and the gates closed. I was one of those unlucky enough to be denied access to the stadium, and that was perhaps my reward for coming only 30 minutes ahead of the schedule. Since tickets were free, there seemed to be a problem in balancing distribution and admission. I went home and watched the final on TV.

The best experience I had in volunteering for tennis was in January 2006, when Federer came back to defend his Doha title. Since the Stewards Committee had already been banished into oblivion by the organizers, I did everything I can and contacted anyone I thought could help me get into the Player Service Committee, where volunteers got to stay in the Players’ Lounge all throughout their shift, handing over balls, towels and water to the players. More than that, volunteers get to know the players off-court. I asked my friend Richard to join me in this attempt, and we both succeeded. At first, we were ashamed of ourselves because we were a bunch of 30+ year olds trying to assimilate with our co-volunteers who were all high-school students. But heck, I wanted to be close to Roger. Picture-taking with the players at the lounge was prohibited by the organizers, but almost all volunteers flouted that rule. Whenever we saw the perfect moment, we would take out our digital cameras and casually ask a player to pose with us for a photo. My prime target was of course Roger, but I also had pictures with the other players, who seemed to be there only to provide the statistics to Roger’s dominance. Once when I was on duty, I was walking around the lounge when I saw Tommy Haas come out of the shower, wrapped only in a white towel with his bare torso all there for me to admire. Awesome. Next, I saw Feliciano Lopez, also wrapped in a white towel and with even more breathtaking torso, come out from another shower room. Grrrr. My voyeuristic instincts and imagination stirred, it was my best day there, which ended with Roger posing for photos with me before I left. I admired Roger more for being such a simple fellow. He’s the king of the game and yet he’s very down to earth. When he wasn’t playing and just hanging out at the lounge, he was wearing old and already faded tracksuit and old Nike trainers. It was quite humiliating because he’s rich beyond my imagination and there he was, behaving just like an ordinary person, while I, a struggling worker in the Middle East, was trying hard to impress in my Diesel outfit and Prada sneakers. After that stint at the Players Service, I thought I had become more obsessed with tennis celebrities.

I tried to play tennis but I guess I’m just too un-athletic to ever learn it well. One time, the tennis coach was teaching me to volley and after my racket failed to hit the balls that he was throwing on me, the last one landed on my face. And then there was a time when I was doing this thing they call “walling”, where you hit the balls to the walls. I was chasing one ball to execute a backhand when suddenly I twisted my ankle I thought I would collapse from the pain. In the one and only “mini-tournament” I joined, where the scoring is only “race to 10 games”, I was bageled by my opponent. In fact, the closest I got to winning a game was reaching a couple of deuces, but never beyond that. Most of the time, even on my own serves, I would lose the game at love-40. I was so frustrated. Why can’t I even execute those forehands and backhands these players effortlessly do?

I’m a bad, bad tennis player. For crying out loud, I am not even a tennis player! If tennis is a battle for life and I join the fight, I’d be dead no sooner than scoring love-40. But being a fan? I know I can 40-love everyone.