US Open tennis fans are disgusting boozehounds — but at least we’re not the world’s rudest
New York tennis fans are disgusting barbarians only with fewer manners, goes the common refrain.
We are noisy and impolite boozehounds who treat a sport that’s sponsored by Rolex like it’s a day at the dog races, they say.
They… would be right.
The US Open, currently unfolding in Flushing Meadows, Queens, is a raucous event where $32 glasses of Champagne are a gateway drug to being dramatically escorted out by security.
Friday night, during World No. 28 Alexei Popyrin’s scorching wipeout of No. 2 Novak Djokovic in Arthur Ashe Stadium, there was a blotto Barney Gumble in the crowd, who, every time he shouted “NOVAAAK!,” sounded as though he was upchucking toy cars.
Not to be outdone, a child really did vomit right in front of me in the stands. Her parents, exemplars of class and decorum, bolted the crime scene without so much as a “sorry.”
The US Open is the only grand slam, by the way, that puts up a message on the jumbotron begging fans to behave.
“Sportsmanship matters,” reads the Kindergarten-style nudge. “Be a good sport and cheer for good shots and hustling effort, not double faults and unforced errors.”
Good luck with that.
Yes, New York tennis fans are unrepentant monsters.
But would you believe we’re not the world’s rudest?
I’ve attended every grand slam — the US Open, Australian, French and Wimbledon — and one people’s proud incivility stands far above the rest.
Les Français!
The US Open is Sunday mass compared to the unhinged lunacy that is Roland Garros in Paris.
Out-of-their-mind French spectators are doggedly determined to prevent any actual tennis from interrupting their sunny outdoor bender.
The “Hon! Hon! Hon!” crowd wails songs while umpires plead with the drunks to stop doing the wave for minutes on end so play can resume.
They have the dumbest cheer in all of tennis — that they stole from Spain — in which one person screams “Bah-ba-ba-baaaah!” and the rest shout “Olé!” They’ll do that 1,000 times or so.
Then, at 3 p.m., everybody except the players leaves to go eat lunch. Au revoir!
This spring, the situation became so desperate that the tournament director banned alcohol from the stands. That buzzkill came after a fan spat gum at David Goffin for beating a Frenchman. Sacré bleu!
The Belgian player rightly called his neighbors “totally disrespectful.”
Perhaps what has turned one of tennis’ premiere showcases into last call is the new self-serve “beer wall,” at which you tap your credit card and act as your own bartender for $11.
Nobody’s there to cut you off. And it’s dangerously easy to use — um, er, so I am told.
What of our mates down under? For being hosted by a nation known to haunt a pub, the Australian Open in Melbourne is surprisingly even-keeled.
It’s even nicknamed the “happy slam.” Probably because the Aussies are so damn happy all these foreign superstars actually flew 15 hours to come there.
The AO’s vibe is “no worries.”
Meanwhile at Wimbledon in London, to call it well-mannered is an understatement. Speak above a whisper on Center Court and you could be arrested.
Really. The guards and ushers are 477 members of the UK’s military.
Petrified fans, in frocks and blazers, kindly clap at the end of points as they gawk at their betters in the Royal Box. Their “oohs” and “aahs” are so precise, you wonder if they’ve rehearsed them.
Despite the free-flowing Pimm’s Cups and ubiquitous Champagne, nanny is always over the shoulder of those buttoned-up Brits.
Don’t be naughty...
Not so back in the colonies.
Before his match Friday, Djokovic praised the unique atmosphere of the US Open. “They support the players,” the Serb said. “It gets loud!”
But Novak knows with New Yorkers volume is a double-edge sword.
It got especially loud when he lost.
