"Fuggedaboudit"

Hurricane Irene. Fuggedaboudit. Subways shut down. Fuggedaboudit. No power. Fuggedaboudit. Millions displaced. Fuggedaboudit. For it's time to celebrate tennis in the "City that Never Sleeps", "The Big Apple", New York City. As Donnie Brasco would say, "fuggedaboudit", also Brooklyn code for let's move on. It's tennis time in The City. And earthquakes, hurricanes and what's next biblical locust swarms, won't postpone or cancel the annual tennis championship known as "The Open."

Well, the 130th edition of "The Open", one of the oldest tournaments in the world in any sport, opens tomorrow at the United States Tennis Association Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in Flushing Meadows, Queens, New York...whew, that's a mouth full or two. I don't expect it to be boring...au contraire, nightime on the noisy hard courts in Queens is anything but boring in late hot and muggy August and early September. Fuggedaboudit.

Remember 20 years ago in 1991 at The Open? Jimmy Connors, the ageless (39) petulant one ranked #174 at the time, fist pumping his way to the third round 5 set win against Aaron Krickstein, yelling audibly at the overmatched chair umpire, after blowing a sideline call, "you're an abortion." Nice language on prime time, Jimmy. Jimmy was always a king jerk but great theatre. Then proceeding on to semi-finals and stoking the fires of the "happy" fans with more histrionics while losing finally in four sets to finalist, Jim Courier. Only in New York, always hungry for entertainment, where Jimmy Connors, a complete jackass, would be embraced by the crowd who revers showmanship. John Barleycorn certainly conspired with the New York fans that particular fortnight. How else can you explain their affection for such a louse?

In two weeks time, over 700,000 tennis fans will flock to BJKTC to see the best tennis players in the world try to survive the toughest and hardest road to a tennis championship. Fuggedaboud the players for a moment, just think of feeding all those New York fans for two weeks. Some days, tennis fanatics are there for 10 plus hours. Six hours of watching and four hours of eating. That's alot of Barilla pasta sauce. For a New Yorker, that's about four meals. Any Tums on-site? Fuggedaboudit.

The draws are in and the favorites are the favorites. But the favorites don't always win New York. In the Women's draw, being a contrarian, my picks assisted greatly by my tennis contributor and cognoscente, Kelly, are fairly radical: a healthy Serena Williams, seeded #28, regains her form and beats a syllable-challenged slugger, Agnieska Radwanska, Poland, seeded #12, for her 14th major, sixth most of all time. In the Men's draw, Kelly and I have a more predictable final: muscle bound and intense Rafael Nadal of Spain, seeded #2, will exorcise his demons against his new nemesis and defeat in 5 sets, the comedic and skilled Novak Djokovic of Serbia, seeded #1 in the tournament. If these two heavyweights meet in the Men's Final, Broadway should close up shop for the matinee, for the curtain will rise on Arthur Ashe Stadium in front of 22,000 delirious red-bull and vodka-wasted fans at courtside and millions more at home watching on their flat screens. New Yorkers love entertainment and they will get it in 5 dramatic acts if these two meet in the finals on September 11.

And, for that prized most anticipated moment in sports on the grandest stage in the game in the greatest city in the world, New York City, in front of the greatest sports fans in the world, you just can't fuggedaboudit.

Enjoy the show.