Bill Simons
Why?
Why, for 23 years, hasn’t American men’s tennis been able to wear a Grand Slam crown?
Why hasn’t the greatest sporting nation in the world – the one that soars at the Olympics, whose Michael Jordan-say-hi-to-Tiger-Woods-and-Michael-Phelps DNA is so woven into its fabric – been able to bring it in men’s tennis?
Let’s just blame it on the rise of the European game and the emergence of the Big Three. Or maybe it’s more about flaws in American technique, our tennis ecosystem, or the prominence of other sports.
Then again, maybe there’s something bigger here that’s about our “Where’s my phone? I want a BMW for my graduation present” culture.
Who knows?
But Tuesday – Terrific Tuesday – was not about questions.
It was about answers.
After Aryna Sabalenka showed her ferocity and came back from 4-2 down in the third set to beat Wimbledon champion Linda Noskova and after Jessica Pegula scored a gritty three-set win over Emma Navarro, Ben Shelton, together with his pal Frances Tiafoe, made an emphatic statement for American tennis.
“Enough!
“Enough humiliations by Roger, Rafa and Novak.
“Hey, Mr. Sinner, you’re not even in this game.
“And Carlos, we know you’re the most dazzling magician in tennis. We know you’ve won seven Slams. We know you’d won 18 straight Grand Slam matches, 11 straight at the US Open, and were 13-0 against Americans at the majors. Good for you.
“But so what? We’re red, white and blue.
“This is Ashe’s house – our house.
“Sure, it’s past 3 AM. Most of America is sleeping tight. But here, Yankee loyalists are howling.
“USA! USA!
Shelton’s defiance was clear. “Sure, I’ve been bludgeoned time and again by Italian stroke maestros and Serbian craftsmen. And I’ve lost to you, Mr. Spanish Conquistador, all three times we’ve played.
“But I’ve done the hard yards in the gym. My wounds are healing, and I’ve been working on my game: my discipline, my returns, my serve-and-volley.
“My coach, Papa Shelton, is a tactical whiz and he shares his wisdom:
“‘Ante up, but relax and don’t try to do anything special. Be humble, find balance and remember, it’s not a sprint; it’s a marathon – one bite at a time.’
“Okay, New York. I know you thought Frances Tiafoe’s wake-up-from-the-dead comeback from two sets down against Californian Alex Michelsen was the match of the tournament. And sure, their post-match embrace was a Hallmark card image for the ages.
“What a hug.
“But Benjamin Todd Shelton said, ‘Hug this!’
“I’m tired of couldas, wouldas and shouldas. Hey dog, I’m entering my prime. I swept my way to the Canadian Open title without dropping a set. My serve is a monster. I was a high school quarterback and could have been an NFL tight end. My athleticism is elite. Here at the Open, I made Tsitsipas look like a Buick.
“I’m ready for the bright lights.
“Okay, Carlos, you’re a generational talent, a global icon and have that gorgeous hair. You light up stadiums.
“But I’ve got game – and something to prove.”
So, simply put, Ben played Big Ben tennis: huge serves, vicious kickers, dynamite returns, dazzling court coverage and a torrent of net charges that left Alcaraz without answers.
Ben was in the moment. He had discipline, calm, resilience, stamina, determination and some of the best weaponry in the sport.
Yes, Carlos managed to steal the first set when Ben blinked in a tense tiebreak.
But the ex-Gator promptly bit back. Alcaraz was now wobbly and on his back foot. He shanked forehands and flubbed overheads.
We thought this guy was all about smiles.
We were wrong.
Yes, there were some shiny diamonds: blazing speed and sweet slices. But there was more rust in a drama crowded with Shakespearean twists. His forehand wobbled.
Surging Ben took the second and third sets 6-1, 6-3 to claim a two-sets-to-one lead. At one point he won nine straight games.
“Good. We might even get home by 3,” fans from Chelsea muttered.
But Alcaraz, who was playing his first tournament since April, called on his reserves, as if saying, “I’m the warrior who saved three championship points against Sinner in the greatest clay-court match of all time – the 2025 French Open final. I can handle your force, Captain America.”
And he did.
In a flash, he sprinted to a 6-1 fourth-set victory to force – what else would you expect? – a fifth-set tiebreak for the ages.
It wasn’t pretty.
But it was the definition of tension.
Shelton dialed in and ultimately won the breaker 10-7, clinching the greatest victory of his career with a 146 mph ace at 3:33 AM – the latest finish in US Open history. His 6-7(5), 6-1, 6-3, 1-6, 7-6(7) win was his first over a Top 3 player and ended Alcaraz’s 18-match Grand Slam winning streak.
Over the years, as stadiums and roofs were built in Flushing Meadows, as millions poured through its gates and the US Open became a must-see event on the American sports calendar, four happenings defined its emergence.
On Super Saturday in 1984, John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors capped off a four-match, more than 12-hour tennis palooza that captured America’s imagination. McEnroe finally beat Connors at 11:14 PM. For decades, Super Saturday became a brand within a brand.
Then, in 1991, Connors took New York by the short hairs as he pranced and danced his way to the US Open semis.
The Open would never be the same.
In 2005, Andre Agassi downed James Blake in a classic after-midnight battle that ended at 1:15 AM and became a signature for night tennis.
And starting in 2004, for almost two decades, the Big Three – Roger, Rafa and Novak – were the sublime monarchs of a golden era. They won 13 titles.
And all the while, American men’s tennis struggled in the dust.
You could call it a shortfall, a mystery, a drought, the curse of Andy Roddick, or simply a humiliation.
Whatever you call it, no American man has won a Grand Slam since Roddick raised the US Open trophy in 2003.
But on Terrific Tuesday – an astounding 16 hours and 25 minutes of tennis in which three matches were decided in final-set tiebreaks – two American gentlemen were not so gentle.
With rackets blazing, they simply said:
“Enough already!”
