The latest harbinger of doom at the US Open isn’t a bad call or a broken superstition. It’s tennis balls the size of a pumpkin.
As the action on court winds towards the finish, hordes of children can be observed overwhelming ushers to take up position in the front row with these giant balls, a pen and the expectation of a signature. For a player on the brink of defeat, these cherubic autograph seekers aren’t just a sign that their tournament has come to an end. The autograph hoarders, as well as the cocktail fiends and commemorative towel collectors, reveal the extent to which the hunger for personal moments and mementoes has overshadowed the appetite for actual tennis.
