US Open, 2005. I was on a mission to deliver a US Open Bear to Rafa Nadal. Just a small token of appreciation for hours of tennis entertainment. Though I had followed Rafa’s career up to this point, I had never met him. Read on for my observations and probably some hijinks, because…me.

Tuesday, August 29:

Hmm…today feels different. It’s a curly hair day. I’m gonna wear my pink cowgirl hat today with my multicolored belt, Hello Kitty hot pink flip flops and my new hot pink tank top. I load up my Hello Kitty tote bag: sunblock, water, food, bear.

We board the bus and head off. Feli* is first on Court 16 or something, and luckily traffic out of the city is better this morning. We arrive and the line to get on the grounds is short. The girl inspecting my bag is nice – “Oh, cute bear!” she coos, as if she hasn’t seen them all over the grounds before.

“Yeah,” I say, “I hope today is the day I send him on his way.” She laughs and I laugh. As soon as I say that, I know today is the day.

We check the practice courts: nobody good. Wait. That sounds really bad. What I mean is nobody that we are interested in watching. We wait for Feli outside of the side entrance. He will come through these doors with his opponent and a couple of security guards. My friend L. is chain-smoking. I’m lounging on a bench, relaxing. She is pacing. I am looking around at all the people who are here at 10:30. A little after 11, I announce I am going “over here” to another spot on the grounds, and I hear, “OhmyGodAmythereheis!” I turn, and yeah, it’s Feli. He’s cute, sure, but I’m still calm. L. is in a full run, following Feli to court. We get there and sit down in the first row, behind the player chairs. He glances at my fabulous hat a few times, and L. is smiling like a loon, clicking photo after photo, and the match hasn’t begun yet.

Did I mention she washed her shirt that reads, “Where’s Feli?” last night so today is also “Where’s Feli?” day? Yes. So the match has begun and she, L., is planted there like a tree. (Fyi, she eventually had that shirt signed by the man himself.)

At 12 o’clock, I feel the need to get up and check the practice courts again. I wander over through the maze of tall bushes and finally come out to the screened off practice courts by Ashe**. There are a lot of people there, so I take a peek all the way down. No, no, no…Wait. Who is that on the last court. Ah, ha.

It was Rafa, wearing tan shorts and a backwards white hat. I walk the blacktop sidewalk down to the very end. There are bushes and privacy screening up so the public can’t watch. At the end, though, there is a gate with some gaps, and that allows a view to where Rafa is practicing.

There are ten people there, and nowhere for me to stand and watch. I see that there is a kid in the bushes, leaning against the fence. I don’t think twice. “Hi,” I say to the kid as I enter the bush space next to him and kneel in the very dry dirt, taking off my hat and putting it over my bag that now lies on the ground. I know the pink of the hat is very visible from court. Feña***is two feet from us at times, and so is Almagro****. Rafa is on the far side, but I can still see through the grommet holes, and Rafa is instantly recognizable.

“You like Nadal?” he asks me sincerely.

“Yeah,” I say pleasantly.

“See, I have this poster of him.”

“That’s a good poster,” I say. A few seconds pass and Feña is in front of us picking up balls. The kid speaks Spanish to him, but Feña ignores the talking bushes.

“You speak Spanish?” the kid asks me.

“A little,” I whisper.

“You know Nicolás Lapentti?” he asks me in his cute accent.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to watch Rafa and listen to this kid at the same time.

“I am the best friend of his brother,” he says proudly. I smile and nod. What can I say? I don’t really want to talk too much, especially with Feña and Almagro right there. And my knees are hurting from kneeling and my jeans are getting dirty and damn, it is hot. Toni*****is there, I see, but sitting in a chair. There is some guy patrolling the court perimeter, but he hasn’t spotted us yet, or maybe he doesn’t care that we are in the bushes. Suddenly, from nowhere, the kid whistles a catcall, making it seem as if I, the girl in the bushes, whistled at them!

“Hey! They think I did that!” I chide. He laughs, thinking that is pretty funny. Soon after, an errant ball directly off of Rafa’s racquet rolls and stops in front of me. I dangle my finger through the bottom of the fence and give it a little nudge so that it goes a foot or so. Kid next to me thinks that is worth a chuckle. I laugh too, wondering if anyone else caught it. Shortly after, kid leaves the bushes in a mad dash. I stay for a while until my knees hurt so badly I must get up. By now, Rafa is tidying up the court. Practice is over. I press the side of my face against the open portion and watch Rafa tidy. He is sweating profusely and he looks as he always does in photos.

Agassi******comes in and they shake hands. I don my sunglasses, my cowgirl hat, and calmly walk the tree-lined path to the front where I know he will soon sign autographs.

I check on the bear. He’s on top, easy access and today is the day – I just know it.

I reach the front and see swarms of kids with big tennis balls waiting for Rafa to sign. I’m calm, the swarms are not. “Back it up, people!” I hear a woman say as I continue to press forward to where he will come out. It’s not that I don’t hear her, it’s that I am ignoring her. There are a few kids in front of me, but no adults anywhere. I am the tallest one, and I’m wearing a pink cowgirl hat. He walks over to where I am and is maybe three feet from me — it would have been closer if not for the kids in between. I study his face, taking in as much detail as I can in such a short amount of time. It’s not every day that a person can get this close to a professional athlete, so taking mental notes is important for memory reflection later. He’s dripping wet with sweat (NYC in the summer – oof!), he is not as darkly tanned as he looks on TV or in photos, his nose is a bit wider than on TV and in photos, and his lips are large (not that there is anything wrong with that – I’m taking mental notes). His face is large, too, but he is not overly tall. He seems much taller on television. I would study his hands but I can’t see them. He looks down immediately and signs one, then two items, because he is, of course, well-rehearsed in the task of signing his name. It is when I say “Rafa” over the noise of the kids that he looks up and then at me, mildly surprised. I reach in to get the bear and I lift it above the kids’ heads. I hear a man’s voice behind me repeating, “I’ll take it. Give it to me. I’ll take it for him.” I ignore the man’s voice behind me because I want to. I will be delivering this bear. Rafa looks at me. “For you,” I say quietly as I hand the bear to him. And his eyes have already begun smiling. “Thank you,” he says sweetly and takes the bear from me gently. I nod and give him a small smile, but my attention is entirely on his eyes. His mouth is not smiling, his eyes are, and they are so kind. I hope my eyes smiled back, and didn’t do any weird twitching, blinking, winking thing.

And then the moment was over. Bear was delivered. He looked down to sign more and I turned, held my head high and walked back to Feli’s match where L. was still was seated. I had a content smile on my face the whole walk over. Mission: Accomplished.

I found out later, quite by accident, that only kids 12 and under are allowed to stand where I was standing. Sometimes lady luck is on your side, but it doesn’t hurt to be a bit of a rebel.

*Feliciano López, Spanish tennis player

**Arthur Ashe Stadium, USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center

***Fernando González, Chilean male tennis player

****Nicolás Almagro, Spanish male tennis player

*****Uncle Toni – Rafa’s uncle and coach (at the time – I mean, he is still his uncle, he’s just not his coach anymore)

******IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHO ANDRE AGASSI IS, I CAN’T HELP YOU

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Check out my interview with Rafa here