The Prayer Lives of Black Men

I owe a friend of mine an apology.

We were talking the day after Frances Tiafoe won that quarterfinal match that he had all but lost. Alex Michelsen won the first two sets, was up a break and served for it…and promptly fell all the way apart. A couple of hours later, Foe was the winner.

I was busy fussing about Foe’s performance – how he didn’t stand up well to Michelsen in the first half of the match, how he didn’t play the most inspired tennis even in the second half of the match (to my mind, still, Frances didn’t win that match so much as Michelsen lost it).

My friend did not care.

At all.

 All he cared about was the win. By winning, Frances had a chance to make it to the U.S. Open final, which meant that a black man had a chance of winning the tournament.

 Now we just need Ben to win his match, he said.

That sound you heard was my eyebrow arching.

 I have plenty of respect for Ben Shelton’s game; I’ve been lucky enough to watch him several times in person. But Ben was playing against Carlos Alcaraz, i.e. the closest thing the game of tennis has to a force of nature.

 As in: Earth. Air. Fire. Carlitos.

 I like you, Ben Shelton. Ida know if I like you like that.

 My friend was undeterred. Unbothered, even.

 And clearly he knew something….cause damned if Ben didn’t get that win in five.

 Don’t tell me the prayers of black men don’t work. Cause brothers opened up a direct line to Jesus that day.

 By the time they were done, Foe and Ben were scheduled to play each other in the semifinal. A Black man was guaranteed to play in the final. What the ever what.

 I forgot that we black women have been spoiled over the past 20 years. For just about two decades, we watched Venus play her way into Grand Slam finals. Then Serena. Then they were playing each other for the titles.

 And on the back end of that, Sloane Stephens came along and won a U.S. Open title. Naomi Osaka arrived and won two.

 We’ve done well on the Grand Slam hardware front, both in New York and overseas.

 The men….well, not so much. Not yet, anyway.

 But that semifinal was a righteous jump start, I’ll give you that.

 I hope you enjoyed it, brethren. And sorry it took me a minute to get it.