It's two days before the Opening Ceremony and Beijing is buzzing. Flags are hanging on the balconies of the Olympic Village of these otherwise bland apartments announcing the arrival of athletes. And at tennis, the buzz is no different.
Today's training included watching athletes practice, interviewing them, and typing it into the system. Athletes were scheduled around the courts for practice times. Cameron, Kevin, and I watched the Israel doubles players, Shahar Peer (top 20 player) and relatively unknown player, Tzapora. We watched as Shahar became frustrated with her serve, argued with her coach, and ultimately gave up. Shahar had a powerful swing, but a flat serve with no spin.
After a two-hour practice in the humid air, we ran down to the court to ask her a few questions. At first she denied us without a care, but after explaining we were ONS reporters, not just a squadron of the mass of the 300,000 volunteers, she asked us if we could walk and talk. We quickly agreed. A bad idea. Shahar answered our questions about her Olympic expectations in quick, accented English. Only a few broken words I wrote were legible. Kevin's microphone saved us. We didn't bring back any "sexy" quotes, as our manager calls them. We had failed when we asked her about her frustrations on the court. Without hesitation, came a trained response. No, I wasn't frustrated and she quickened her pace to say the interview was over.
With our first assignment completed, we circulated the courts. On Center Court, we found Nadal. I sprinted down the stairs, not even trying to hide my excitement, to grab my camera. I didn't want to miss any of his sweating. In the 4,000 person stadium, I had my choice to sit front row at any angle. Apparently most of the volunteers hadn't heard about the player in center court. Nadal looked like a natural and I quickly became a fan.
After lunch, Nadal exchanged with Federer. It was evident by the sea of volunteers filling the seats opposite that this practice wasn't a secret. The match board welcomed the volunteers, but Federer played as if at a court by himself. Apparently, the day before, the same, somewhat subdued volunteers had created havoc to the point that Federer had wanted to kick them out. Still many people were throwing up the double deuce peace sign while posing in front of Federer's back. Diane and I copied as our own joke.
It was a surreal day. We walked home to catch our cab, more excited than usual to come back the next day.
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