Watching the crowds—and the tennis—at this year’s BNP Paribas Open.
Tennis followers have shifted their gaze toward Florida for the next tournament, but my mind is still on the BNP Paribas Open, known casually by the name of the small, fifty-year-old resort town in the Coachella Valley where it’s held: Indian Wells, California.
More than a week has passed since I was there, having flown in for the men’s and women’s finals. As I watched the tennis press feverishly filing match reports and injury updates, tweeting about whatever nuggets of information they’d come across during press conferences, I wondered what it would be like to write off the beat, out of synch, out of time. I have a friend, a distinguished historian, who goes out of his way to keep his comments on current events to the bare minimum. He thinks it takes fifteen to twenty years before we really know what happened at any given time; whenever conversation turns to current events, he chimes in with, We won’t know for a long time what was going on, or, That seems to be what happened but we don’t know yet what it means, or, when the hot takes are really flying, Meh. Read More