What’s it like to play in Arthur Ashe Stadium? A foursome of USTA league players found out this spring

When David Goode and Jeff Carpenter stood on the court in Arthur Ashe Stadium for the first time this spring, they craned their necks to look up at the roof high above, at the seats in the upper reaches where they had sat many times in the past, at the TV booth where John McEnroe resides during the US Open, at the sideline chairs where Serena Williams and Novak Djokovic have stewed and celebrated on so many occasions.

After they were done taking in their surroundings, Goode and Carpenter came to the same, somewhat surprising conclusion:

“You know, it doesn’t seem that big from down here.”

These two longtime USTA league players from Westchester County, N.Y., weren’t the first people to make that observation after shifting from spectator to player in Ashe. The stadium, which turns 25 this year, certainly isn’t small. With a seating capacity of nearly 24,000, and a one-million-pound roof over head, it’s the largest tennis arena in the world. Just ask any fan who has sat in Row Y, at the top: The people running around down below look pretty tiny from up there.

But that’s not the case when you’re on the court looking the other way. On a quiet spring day, with nothing but empty blue seats all around, Ashe feels almost intimate.

Carpenter and Goode were part of a foursome of New York-area league players who had made a charity bid for an hour of court time in the stadium this past May. They began with a tour of the area around the court, which will be familiar to anyone who watches the Open on TV: They saw the spot where the players, sometimes grudgingly, stop to do their pre-match interviews; the tunnel where the stone-faced loser of a match stalks off; the interview room where the media grills the players afterward; and the bathroom that the stadium’s tour guide jokingly claimed is going to be dedicated to Stefanos Tsitsipas, in honor of the 17-minute between-set break he took during last year’s US Open.

You’re just one little person out there. You really get an appreciation for how much the players have to focus. David Goode

The halls, lined with life-size photos of champions past, lead to tennis’ version of an inner sanctum, a place where even the TV cameras generally don’t go: the locker rooms. The area there is spacious; the horizontal, wood-paneled lockers are immaculate; and every singles winner gets a personal, name-plated drawer.

You can also see who likes to hang out with whom during the tournament: Roger Federer and Stan Wawrinka have adjacent lockers, while Rafael Nadal’s is just above Juan Martin del Potro’s. Perhaps tellingly, Nadal, Federer and Djokovic, who have been threats to meet in the later rounds at any Slam for roughly 15 years, are stationed a safe distance from one another.

“It’s special to see what those guys see when they’re here,” Carpenter said.

It was also special to see what the pros see when they’re playing in Ashe. Any fan will feel a thrill standing in the spot where Pete Sampras hit the final, winning volley of his career in his victory over Andre Agassi in the 2002 final; or the space by the side of the net where Naomi Osaka and Serena hugged and cried after their infamous 2018 final; or the area behind the baseline where Nadal fell flat on his back and soaked in the 24,000-person roar after his five-set final-round win in 2019.

As Carpenter and Goode and their foursome began to play, a few adjustments to their exalted surroundings were necessary. They had to learn, when a lob went up, to pick the ball out among the riot of girders that make up the roof. They also had to get used to the thunderous sound of the airplanes that flew in and out of nearby LaGuardia airport; for anyone old enough to remember the days before they were rerouted during the Open, the sound can bring back memories of a more chaotic era at Flushing Meadows.

Otherwise, though, the court itself is no different than any other. Perhaps the biggest surprise may have been how quickly everyone settled in.

“It didn’t take long to get comfortable,” Goode said.

For Carpenter, the rush of adrenalin that came with being in Ashe helped him get on top of shots that he might normally be late on.

“I was pumped; I sort of had a king-of-the-world feeling,” he said.

When they were done, the foursome, like true winners, autographed a set of balls. (Instead of firing them into the stands, they took them home.)

If the dimensions of the court are familiar, though, the fish-bowl vibe in the arena is not. On court, the seats feel closer to the action than you might expect. Even when they’re empty, it’s easy to imagine them being full, and how alone a player could feel at the center of them. It’s not surprising that it has taken numerous great players a couple of years to adjust to the clamorous intensity of the Open. Winning there would seem to require more than just playing well. You have to learn to embrace the gladiatorial atmosphere, too, and use the colossal fan energy in the building to your advantage.

“You’re just one little person out there,” Goode said. “You really get an appreciation for how much the players have to focus.”

Wimbledon and the US Open seem to have recognized how intimidating this challenge can be. At each tournament, the players are greeted with an inspirational phrase as they walk on court. At Wimbledon, a couplet from Kipling hangs above the entrance to Centre Court. Fewer people know that the US Open has affixed a (hopefully) calming quote from an American athlete-poet, Billie Jean King, at the entrance to Ashe: “Pressure is a privilege” is what the players are asked to remember as they throw themselves to the lions of New York.

For those who can handle it, that pressure is addictive. After their hour in Ashe, Carpenter and Goode walked over to play on the indoor courts at Flushing Meadows. It wasn’t the same.

“I didn’t play as well,” Carpenter said. “It was kind of a letdown leaving Ashe.” Even with no fans there, “it raises your excitement level.”

For now, Carpenter will look forward to returning as a fan in August.

“When I’m up above,” he says with a laugh, “I can look down and say, ‘I’ve been there.’”