Page 91 of The Challenger

Exactly one hourand fourteen minutes later, Chavez wins the first set tiebreaker with a daring stab volley that has no business being a winner. It’s been dog-eat-dog with no breaks of serve and both players firing on all cylinders. Fans disperse for the small break with a gigantic sigh of collective relief.

The collective nail-biting had sapped June’s strength. “Oh my God,” she says, slumping back in her seat. “That was so intense.”

Vandana tugs on Morgan’s blazer. “Babe, take a seat.”

I stand corrected on Morgan. There is a universe where he is less than perfect. He turned into a raging hooligan, on his feet at every opportunity to fist pump back at Chavez or shout “Vamos!” on every changeover. He smooths his hair and plants the hat back on, happy as a puppy with an entire yard to poop in.

“That was unbelievable!”

Vandana shoots me a look, equally surprised Morgan has not jumped on the court to high-five Chavez, who sits on his bench in a zone, legs pumping as he eats a banana and hydrates. In a minute, he'll change his shirt, currently smeared with clay from a few crowd-pleasing dives. Rodrigo and I huddle to do a quick recap of the first set. In general, clay court tennis is grueling, a moving chess match that requires stamina as much as skill. But the ball moves quicker on dry clay and if Chavez takes some spin off his forehand and flattens it out, it can pay dividends in the surprise department.

But Arlo is all over that tweak, and the first service break comes at the beginning of the second set. Three forehands sail long andboom, Chavez is in the hole. Dammit. Rodrigo nips more frequently at the flask of vodka he smuggled in as the set progresses, and I would pound that down in a heartbeat if all the cameras weren’t focused on our box. (I’ve done all my drinking behind the scenes.) Chavez is playing well, but Arlo isn't going anywhere. The Hungarian beast maintains his cool and the lead to win 6-4 in a brisk forty-five minutes. During the break, a different energy hums through the crowd. This is shaping up to be a five-set classic.

My girls and I take a bathroom break between sets, and June glances at me gnawing on my thumbnail as she applies a fresh coat of powder-pink lipstick. “It’s tied,” she reminds me. “He’s still in the running.”

“I know. I hate this part.”

“How much does he get if he wins?” Vandana asks, touching up her blowout.

“2.2 million Euros.”

June raises a brow. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

If it only was a day and not years of grinding it out. When I think of how fragile I was at ten, what Chavez has achieved from the same age is remarkable. The fortitude to teach himself and navigate up the tennis rankings is a lesson in determination and commitment. He never went to college, but he understands real life and is hell-bent on proving he can be the best in the world at something. I know one of them will have to lose today, and even if he is runner-up, I’m so proud it hurts. But Chavez will not settle for runner-up.

Unfortunately, Arlo isn’t willing to either.

He wins a lopsided third set 6-2, and Chavez shoots me a brooding look on the changeover. Arlo, the stupid lunk, is reading the Chavez serve while mixing his up brilliantly. So I signal Chavez to start doing the same. Sometimes your game and style of play will not win you the match, and the mark of a great player is the ability to change it up on the fly. Roger Federer was brilliant at this during the late stages of his career, adding new tools to his arsenal to keep opponents guessing. Chavez and I discussed what plans B and C might be today if he needed to dig himself out of a hole. He better be prepared to turn his racket into an excavator.

Because of the dry temperatures, the ground crew sprays water on the court between sets to keep the dust at bay. The clay gets swept, the white lines are brushed clean, and the pristine court of orange granules seems to pump Chavez up. He bolts to the service line long before the umpire calls for the end of break time. At least he’s serving first. It’s a psychological advantage when your opponent must win their service game to stay alive in the set. Team Chavez all lean forward as the play begins. The fourth set is a make-or-break situation, and no amount of deep breathing will relax me.

Holy Toledo, does Chavez dig deep as ever.

In the first game, he spins every serve viciously into the body of Arlo, catching him off guard. Then Chavez drops shots on every other point in game two and goes for huge second serves in game three. The disruptive rhythm rattles Arlo, and he loses 6-3. The first break of his serve the entire match. The Mexican fans whip the stadium into a frenzy.

Chavez! Chavez!

A fifth set is what they wanted.

It all boils down to this.

Very quickly, it gets nuttier.

After an epic display of clutch serving from both players all match, every game in the fifth features a break of serve. Poor Rodrigo sweats bullets with his blazer long since ditched. Morgan goes off the rails with Vandana slouching, somewhat embarrassed, in her seat.

Me? I am losing my mind when we go into a fifth-set tiebreaker.

The first player to reach ten points with a two-point lead wins, and I pray for Chavez to sweep Arlo. But the agonizing see-saw back and forth comes to a head when a brutal dribbler, a ball falling just over the net onto Chavez’s side of the court, sets up a match point for Arlo. On his serve.

The quiet in the stadium is louder than anything I have ever heard. Vanya and I share a mutual gaze of disdain, although hers trumps mine because her fool man is in the driver's seat. With the sun behind him, Arlo bounces the ball. Five times. Ten times. Fifteen. The multiple bounces of stress.A player once described the pressure to serve out a Grand Slam as akin to being on top of Mount Everest, where the oxygen is non-existent and your cells are slowly dying. It is the ultimate finish line, and the path to tennis glory is littered with the names of men and women who never successfully crossed it.

Just before he serves, Arlo glances up to clock Chavez stepping left and farther away from the baseline.

No, I want to scream.

Stay close. You’re giving it to him!

Arlo has been catching him with the short and wide serve on the AD court all match.

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