Editor's Note
I wrote this in September, the day after the 2025 US Open final. I didn't publish it then—I told myself I didn't want to give its antagonist any more airtime than had already been stolen from the US Open Men's Final. But in withholding it, I realized I was actually doing Althea Gibson, tennis fans, and the players a disservice. They all deserved better from the event. And they deserve better than my silence.
- WD

The 2025 U.S. Open was designed as a long-overdue tribute to courage. Seventy-five years ago, Althea Gibson walked onto the grounds of the U.S. Nationals and tore through a barrier that had kept Black athletes out of tennis’s most prestigious tournament. She did it alone, against open hostility and systemic exclusion.

Assigned to obscure courts, photographed under special rules meant to single her out, ignored by much of the media even as she racked up victories—Gibson carried herself with a grace that belied the obstacles placed in her way. She became the first Black player to win a Grand Slam, claiming titles at Wimbledon, the U.S. Nationals, and Roland Garros. Beyond tennis, she acted, sang jazz, and played golf. She was, in every sense, a pioneer of “firsts.”

This year, the U.S. Open put Althea Gibson at the forefront of their campaign. And while the event certainly could have done "more" to honor Gibson throughout the three week period, it did shine some well deserved light on the sports icon. The tournament logo bore her face, Venus Williams narrated her story on the stadium screen, Billie Jean King reminded us that “when you’re the first, you should be celebrated the most.” Black artists opened the event with performances, and several notable Black players reinforced her legacy on court.

On Sunday however, the tournament was hijacked by a last-minute stunt that had less to do about the next chapter in the rivalry between Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner, Gibson, or the fans. Instead, players and fans were forced to participate and fall victim to an exercise in visibility, power, and corporate interests. Rolex, a major sponsor, played host to a wannabe king, while at the same time likely angling for tariff relief, rather than honoring the history about to unfold on the tennis court. The chaos and disruption that ensued came at the expense of the fans and the fan experience.

The consequences were immediate. Heightened security caused bottlenecks at the gates, leaving thousands of paying fans stuck outside, struggling to get into Arthur Ashe stadium. While ESPN scrambled to fill airtime as the match was delayed nearly an hour. Even with the delay, thousands of fans stood outside, many of which missed the first set of the final entirely, 

Inside Ashe, the crowd responded with resounding boos to his presence, drowning out meager applause. The spectacle shifted from Alcaraz vs. Sinner, from Gibson’s commemoration, to the theater of one man’s presence in between naps. In the end, when Carlos Alcaraz sealed victory, the guest looked visibly disappointed that the Sinner hadn’t won. I’m almost certain he inquired with his staff about Alcaraz’s citizenship status.

The symbolism could not have been more ironic. The U.S. Open plastered slogans across its grounds—“Celebrating 75 years of breaking barriers”—while simultaneously bending to the demands of someone who built a political career by promising to build barriers (that Mexico was “supposed” to pay for mind you).

Althea Gibson had to fight for entry onto tennis’s biggest stage. He arrived, creating chaos, with total disregard for anyone else but himself. Gibson was shoved onto a back court in 1950 so the sport could minimize her presence. He was propped into the forefront so no one could miss him. She endured racism, sexism, and marginalization for daring to exist. He weaponizes racism, sexism, and marginalization to ensure certain people struggle to exist. To juxtapose those two realities on Arthur Ashe Stadium (of all places) on Sunday was both tragic and nauseating.

The U.S. Open fans pay the ticket prices, create the atmosphere, and fuel the energy that makes the event feel electric. And whether you were trying to get inside the stadium or sitting on the couch on Sunday, the fans simply became collateral damage. Delays, missed play, and frustration turned what should have been a showcase of sport’s two finest athletes into a cautionary tale about misplaced priorities and ego.

Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner deserved a stage uncluttered by political disruption. Althea Gibson deserved a pure celebration of her barrier-breaking legacy. Instead, both stories were diluted by a guest appearance that offered nothing of substance to the sport or the people.

In addition to statues, logos, and narrated tributes, honoring Gibson and the sport at large, requires vigilance. It requires protecting her story—and by extension, the stories of all the game’s pioneers and future stars—from being overshadowed by opportunism.

On Sunday night, Arthur Ashe Stadium should have felt Gibson’s halo as Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner went to battle. Instead, it became a different kind of spectacle, a bit of a circus in fact. Clown and all. 

This year’s U.S. Open was a reminder of what progress looks like. And its ending reinforced exactly how fragile that progress still remains.