My 2026 Australian Open

Does this title make it sound like I'm actually in Melbourne?

I wish.

Alas. Instead of Australia's stifling heat, I'm suffering through Missouri's remnants of one of the worst widespread winter storms in recent American memory. (Hell, for those back in my hometown in Tennessee, it's not even recent history; it's giving 1994 a run for its money, which, for the uninitiated, is referred to only as "the ice storm." But I digress.)

I'm a slut for all the tennis grand slams: all the home-country pride that I feel when the U.S. Open rolls around; the starchy white elegance of Wimbledon; the dirty ankles caked in red clay at Roland-Garros for the French Open.

Here's my secret: For whatever reason, the Australian Open might be my reflexive favorite. It's certainly not my thinking, conscious favorite — the time difference makes that nigh impossible. But push come to shove: I love this tennis tournament.

I think it might be the time of the year. It's so early in the winter here in the States; spring is so far away. It's the promise of warmer weather. It's where I'd rather be, what I'd rather be doing. I like the ritualized punishment of trying to stay up late or wake up at 2:30 a.m. to watch a match. I remember 2017; I was visiting a friend in Memphis, and I ended up watching the entirety of Federer's victory over Nadal on my phone in the guest room.

It's the tournament I'd be most leery of buying tickets for — not because of price or anything like that. Just because I get the feeling that if I ever make it to the continent of Australia, I'll only get to do it once; there'd be so much I'd want to do and see besides the tennis.

And yet...something about the blue-ness of the court calls to me; I'd be tempted, in a very real way, to travel all that distance to do nothing but watch tennis until my eyes bled.

I loved this reference in this Defector piece to that same blue:

While admiring some abstract tennis-themed prints, a diligent tournament employee informed me that the $129 AUD pieces came in two versions: the original colors, or “AO blue.”

Commodifying a color! I hope I hid my gasp.

Damn you, Owen Lewis — you and your charming dispatch from the tournament clearly represent what I'd rather be doing with my life. What they say is true: It's hard to watch others living out your dream.

Here's a gift link to the one of my favorite pieces about the tournament this year (which is saying a lot because it's taking my idealized image of the experience, skewering it, and serving up like shrimp on the barbie). Come for the tennis observations, delight in the observations and turns of phrase, and stay for the kicker, which he landed like a game/set/match-winning ace delivered in a fifth-set tiebreak.

The Australian Open Is Too Much Of A Good Thing | Defector

What they say is true: you watch less tennis when you cover a major tournament in person. I can tell you that 15 journalists piled into Sorana Cirstea’s press conference after her three-set loss to Naomi Osaka, which featured some celebration etiquette-related beef and a particularly salty handshake. I can tell you that…

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