For a reporter like me covering her first Grand Slam tennis tournament, press conferences can be unnerving. First, you are surrounded by experts — people whose work you’ve grown up reading. I had The New York Times tennis correspondent, who has been in the profession for 39 years, sit in front of me. So, why ask a question and exhibit your ignorance in front of those who have inspired you?
Then it is the players themselves. Sample this. It was my first day at the U.S. Open media centre and I was eagerly waiting for the first press conference of Alexander Zverev, a player I had written about before the tournament. Reporters would raise their hands and be chosen by a moderator to ask questions. One question from a seasoned reporter seemed to throw Zverev off: “Does having your brother on tour help you? How has that affected you over the years?”
It was a serious question — both brothers are formidable players.
However, Zverev responded with a cold stare: “Have you watched any of my interviews before? Just a question. Have you? How many times I’ve been asked that question!”
There was a hush in the room. The reporter seemed unfazed, but shifted in his seat. “A lot?” he suggested. “Yeah,” Zverev responded and continued to recite an answer he had been used to delivering.
The situation had been diffused, but I slunk further in my seat, planning to be as inconspicuous as possible. I decided not to ask any question. A woman’s player followed next and it was going relatively smoothly, before the reporter sitting next to me was given a chance to ask a question: “So, Gabriella... coming off your 2017 Wimbledon win…”
There was a murmur. Suddenly all the journalists turned in my direction, unsure of what they had heard. I was reminded of what former tennis player Tim Henman once said: “When you speak to tennis journalists, you notice how little they understand. I am embarrassed for them.”
‘Gabriella’, though, had an incredulous smile on her face. The journalist who asked the question turned towards me with a quizzical look. “What?”
“Her name is Garbine,” I whispered.
“Oh, of course,” he smiled sheepishly. “Garbine, coming off your Wimbledon win…”
Garbine Muguruza went on to answer the question graciously; the reporter scribbled notes diligently. The moderator moved on to the next journalist. And that was that.
Maybe every journalist in the room had been in a similar situation before, embarrassing themselves. Maybe this is how they all learnt, I thought. And maybe I will too.
I raised my hand for many interviews after that. I even sat in the first row for one of Roger Federer’s press conferences. Because, why not? I did not get a chance to ask him anything, but hey, at least I know his name.
