Indianapolis, Atlanta, Newport, New Haven, San Diego, Stanford, San Jose, Los Angeles. How about little Commack, out on Long Island, or equally tiny Mahwah at the top of New Jersey? If you’ve followed tennis in the U.S. for the past few decades, the cities in that list may ring a few bells, and jog a few pleasant spectating memories.
For me, some of them happened in person. I watched Rod Laver, not that long after he had suffered a stroke, flash some of his old brilliance on the doubles court in Newport. I felt the heat of a Pete Sampras serve from up close in a small arena on the UCLA campus. I braved the summer humidity and New York traffic to watch Lleyton Hewitt grind down some unfortunate soul in Commack.
I’m even old enough to remember going to Mahwah to see peak, 1989 Steffi Graf sweep the leg—and the forehand—on the rest of the draw. Now, when I pass the Mahwah exit on Route 17 in exurban Jersey, I wonder: Where did the 22-time Slam champ stay?