Still, it is the U.S. Open that is played here. The history and the tradition are too big to ignore outright, and it is a Grand Slam tournament. So what is it about the U.S. Open that makes it grand?

The Aussie Open proves who is the player that is willing to sacrifice vacation time the most. Roland Garros settles the issue of who is the fittest. And Wimbledon tells us who is the mentally toughest. So Rod Laver may be the friendliest, Phillip Chatrier may be the coziest, Centre Court may be the most regal, but Arthur Ashe Stadium settles the ultimate question: Who is the best player in the world?

The list of champions at the Aussie has that weird gap of almost a decade of the top players skipping it. At RG, the list of winners is peppered by one slam wonders, and finalists that never again even made it close to a mid-tier tournament final. Wimby, although not as much, also has some unexpected names in the winners’ list.

Not so at the U.S. Open. This is the ultimate filter of greatness. With its hyper-democratic courts (as opposed to court SEATS), the Open allows almost all styles to come and compete, and compete successfully. One Slam wonders in the Open era are limited to Mr. Roddick (who has 4 other Slam finals to his credit) and Mr. Del Potro, still way too young to count out as a future winner somewhere else. On the women’s side, only Sabatini won here and never again elsewhere (and she also has other Slam finals in her resume).

Great ones missing? Mr. Borg and Mrs. Goolagong. And this is such a historical fluke that it is compounded by the trivia that they BOTH lost four finals. When the stats are so weird, you simply have to admit that strange things do happen in this world.

So the Open, horrible stadium and all, sits together with Wimbledon as the ultimate test. It is the place where almost all styles can work, and where a technical flaw or weak stroke will be exposed and exploited into an early round loss (as opposed to reaching the fourth round at RG with no volleys or the same stage at Wimbledon with only a slice backhand). Although serve and volley tennis is becoming a thing of the past (and can only be successful if used together with the element of surprise) it is no coincidence that the last player to win a Slam relentlessly coming to the net was Sampras in his 2002 U.S. Open run.

So at heart, the U.S. Open is everybody’s slam. With night sessions since ages ago, and a collection of courts (many of which are deemed “nicer” than Ashe Stadium), fans get treated to two weeks of tennis greatness and history. Bad play will be greeted with jeers and disdain by the more-than-knowledgeable fans, but put your heart (and body) on the line and you can very quickly become a favorite (and get one or two points out of that adrenaline rush per set, a nice New York gift).

The U.S. Open is more than tennis. So close to Broadway, it brings great theater. You want conspiracy? Just remember the 1996 men’s draw, the oddity of moving seeds (all to benefit one single player and one huge corporation) and the entire week BEFORE actual play started, and you have a script that even Oliver Stone would call far-fetched. You want villains? Go no further: McEnroe and Connors ruled this place from the mid-70’s through the mid-80’s (and then Mr. Evil himself, Ivan Lendl, took over). You want drama? Sampras getting physically ill against Alex Corretja, saving one match point with a second serve ace, and winning the whole thing a few days later. Happy endings? Clijsters winning her maiden slam here (and her second as the comeback queen).

And if you want grace, just remember how Steffi Graf won her true Grand Slam beating Sabatini with all the emotional display of a weekend hacker playing a set of friendly doubles.

The U.S. Open provides this and more. Players that dive for passing shots on a hard court (no, not Boris Becker but Tim Wilkinson), road runners that slide on deco-turf (no, Novak did not invent that, Michael Chang was adept at it in the mid 90’s). Spectators that really get involved in a match (try to find another tournament where the Champion was carried around as a Pagan Effigy after beating the local boy, as they carried Vilas after beating Connors in the '77 final). The Open was the birthplace of the Tie Break, the first slam to offer equal money (for better or for worse) and the first place where a match ended way past midnight with spectators still around (well, few of them sober, but they were there). It is, in a way that makes New Yorkers proud, crazy. Insane. Grand.

And no better way to explain why, than a Jimmy Connors’ story (and all of his good stories were here).

During his 1991 semi final run, Connors had beaten Patrick McEnroe, Aaron Krickstein and Paul Harhuis (whom had taken out Becker from Jimbo’s path) before running into Jim Courier in the semi. JC and JC played a good but uninspired match. Jimbo was not to summon his magic against Courier, much younger but impervious to the old man’s tricks. So late in the third set, with Courier serving, a voice came out from the stands:

“C’mon Jimmy, nobody is leaving” (there was only one Jimmy in New York).

Courier served four first serves only for Connors to smack each one for a clean return winner to a corner. And after hitting his fourth and breaking Courier, Jimbo turned around to precisely where that voice had come from and yelled “That was for you!”, which brought the stadium down.

So, the U.S. Open.

This one is for you.

Photo: Rafael Nadal on Arthur Ashe Stadium in 2008.