Maaaaaannn, let me tell you, 2004 was a TIME to be in the club. A golden era where music's best producers (Dre, Timbo, The Neptunes, Scott Storch, Primo, Dilla, Mannie Fresh, Kanye) all seemed to peak at once, delivering timeless club bangers while patrons packed dance floors and posted up in VIP booths with bottles of Nuvo and Belvedere. And while I didn't always rock with T.I. like that, when Bring Em' Out came on (produced by Swizz Beatz who I do rock with), it was time to turn up and it was always about to go down. A club anthem if there ever was one.
And it's been going down at Melbourne Park this week at the Australian Open too.
Flags draped over railings. Chants ricocheting off the concrete into the Melbourne sky. This week, Courts 6 and 7 (two of the smaller feature courts) have morphed into something more reminiscent of a block party instead of a Grand Slam. It hasn't been a hushed, monocle-adjusting tennis crowd. It's been loud. Celebratory. Colorful.
And at the center of it all? Two women from nations not necessarily known for being tennis powerhouses: Alexandra Eala, 20 years old, ranked No. 49, carrying the Philippines on her back. And Zeynep Sönmez, 23, ranked No. 112, pulling Turkey into the conversation with her hands and her heart.
The Filipino Wave
The event organizers clearly did not see this coming. And clearly have not been paying attention to how deep the Filipino crowds have been rolling for Eala since her run in Miami last year.
They put Eala on Court 6 like she was a cute story instead of a movement. A misread so loud it bordered on negligence. Hundreds (maybe thousands) showed up early. Many more got turned away. Outdoor screens flooded. People stood shoulder to shoulder, heat be damned, just to catch a glimpse of someone who looks like them on a stage that deserved to be much larger.
Inside the court, it was chaos—in the best way. Chants for Eala rolled in waves. Philippine flags everywhere. Every winner celebrated like a match point. Every point mattered.
Eala came out scorching, bageled Alycia Parks in the first set and Eala's crowd had every reason to be as lit as it was. Then the tennis gods reminded us that the game can be cruel like that—the momentum flipped in an instant. Much credit to Alycia Parks, who could have folded after the first set, for battling through the crowd's energy, and ultimately earning a 0–6, 6–3, 6–2 victory.
Despite the loss, things didn't quiet down at all.
After the match, Eala needed a dozen security guards just to get off court. She later called the support "heart-warming," and admitted it was also overwhelming—especially during practice sessions. She's learning in real time how to carry this kind of weight. Learning how to hold gratitude and pressure in the same breath.
And why wouldn't it be overwhelming?
This is the player who beat Iga Świątek—the actual world No. 2—on her way to a Miami Open semifinal last year. Who became the first Filipina to win a Grand Slam match. Who cracked the top 50 when no one from her country had come close. Heroics that put her on the radars of Filipino communities everywhere—and now those communities are buying tickets at tournaments around the globe to see her.
Yeah sure, there were debates. Grumblings about the crowd cheering double faults. About etiquette. About "respect." Miss me with that. The only person who had any right to be annoyed was Alycia Parks, and clearly she fought through it. Critics should have too.
This wasn't intentional disrespect—it was unfamiliar joy. This is what happens when tennis stops filtering who's allowed to be loud. When communities historically removed from the sport finally get a seat—and a voice.
Eala lost her singles match. She later exited doubles too. Her presence however, was something much bigger.
Different Flag. Big Energy.
Meanwhile, over on Court 7, Zeynep Sönmez was having herself a moment. Actually—Turkey was.
"I felt like I was at home," she said, and she meant it. The atmosphere was so loud she admitted she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. Instead of shrinking, she leaned in. Channeled it. "I felt like we were all playing together."
That energy carried her through an upset of 11th seed Ekaterina Alexandrova in the first round and a clean straight-sets win over Anna Bondár in the second. Fearless, unapologetic tennis.
For context, Sönmez is the first Turkish player to reach the third round of a Grand Slam—something she did at Wimbledon last year and now again in Melbourne. With a lone WTA title on her resume, she entered Melbourne ranked outside the top 100 (although she's currently 78 in the live rankings). And still—here she is, playing freely into the third round of a Slam for the second time.
Back home, people were watching at 3 a.m., group chats in Istanbul were buzzing. And when a ball girl fainted from the first round heat, Sönmez stopped play to help her—human instinct before competitive instinct. That moment mattered as much as the game itself.
Sönmez credits pioneers like Marsel İlhan and Çağla Büyükakçay for showing what was possible. And she's clear-eyed about the responsibility now resting on her shoulders.
"I don't want to stop here." Why would she?
Impact Over Results
Tennis has always clutched its pearls when communities show up authentically. They tried it with the Williams sisters when celebration styles didn't fit country club aesthetics. Now it's the Filipino and Turkish communities that have been catching some flack for their enthusiasm. The pattern is tired.
Twenty years ago, scenes like this were unthinkable. Tennis lived in tight geographies—Western Europe, North America, Australia. Everyone else was invited to watch. But that map is changing, evolving.
Asia. Southeast Asia. Turkey. The Philippines. These aren't novelty markets anymore—and the receipts are undeniable: packed courts, security escorts, national flags waving in places they were never expected to fly.
Eala's tournament is done. Sönmez has rolled into the third round where tonight she'll face Yulia Putintseva in what should be an entertaining match to say the least. But both Sönmez and Eala have already altered the conversation regardless of their respective outcomes.
T.I. wasn't asking for permission when he made "Bring Em' Out." He was announcing his arrival—and it's a similar energy in Melbourne. Eala and Sönmez aren't requesting a seat at tennis's table. They’ve brought their own chairs and their energetic, loving, adoring communities with them.
This week Melbourne Park got a little louder. Much more colorful. More alive. The game is better for it.
So bring the flags. Bring the ruckus. "Bring em' out, bring em' out."
