The Sound of Pilot Pen: "Pop, Pop, Pop"

I've always liked heading up to the Pilot Pen Tennis tournament in New Haven for a couple of sessions when it comes around each August. There's the obvious reasons: great tennis, great players, a no-hassle trip from New Canaan, an intimate venue, reasonable food prices and an up-close look at some of the world's best players. But there's another factor that draws me. Those terrific sounds that emanate from the courts—and I'm not talking about the grunting.

What is more pure in sports than the crack of a bat hitting a baseball (wood bats only—metal bat fans need not apply), the click that a hockey puck makes on the stick after a successful pass, the swish as a basketball goes through the net, or the pad-to-pad thud of a clean hit in football.

Tennis has its own unique sound when the ball is struck cleanly on the sweet spot. Players at the world class level hear it most of the time, on ground strokes, volleys and overhead smashes. The "pop" sound resonates with authority.

That's why I like to head over to the practice courts at Pilot Pen. It's all "pop, pop, pop." I even look away sometimes just to soak up the sound. Players out there—some you've never seen or heard of before—are making beautiful sounds when their rackets strike the ball.

My wife, Nancy, and I were at Pilot Pen this past Wednesday with our friends, Ann and Gary. It was 90 degrees out when we arrived in late morning. We headed over to a grandstand match where the enervating sun and heat made seat selection critical. Ann, we discovered, was an expert in finding breezes. She discovered a tiny corner in the stands that wasn't really cool, just less terrible than side court seats. Plan A was to stay about half an hour tops and then move on.

We stayed only 20 minutes and headed for the practice courts where you get some shade standing outside the fence. A little shade, a lot of "pops" and then on to another outer court.

There was a terrific match in progress between Jurgen Meltzer and Victor Hanescu. The players were using the whole court, with power and precision from the baseline, aggressive and athletic net play, and a sprinkling of touch for good measure. And of course Ann had already found the only shady spot where there was room for four.

After a break for lunch in an air-conditioned restaurant above the court and behind the baseline, we watched Fabrice Santoro play Nicolai Davydenko, never budging from our new-found comfort zone. When the match ended we went back into the stadium, watched some women's singles, then headed back to an outer court for some mens' doubles.

Later in the afternoon, it was time for us to go, but I needed one more "fix." I asked Nancy to accompany me to the practice courts for just a minute or two. I told her to turn her back to the courts where a lot of the players were practicing and just listen.

"Listen to what?," she said. 

"To the sweet sound coming off the sweet spot," I said.

I think she thought I was nuts.