Picture this. It’s late on a Sunday afternoon. You’re full from too much Father’s Day celebratory luncheon, it’s too hot to take a walk, it’s even too hot to go swimming, and you’re not in the mood to read. You just want to sit. If it was 40 years ago you’d do your imitation of a couch potato.

Then you remember, even though it’s not your sport, you know this is that weekend. The Weekend. The weekend that gets capitalized   The one with the biggest names, the longest drives, the finesse when it’s needed, the trophy, the payoff. The U. S. Open.

Of badminton.

I didn’t set out to watch the U.S. Open of Badminton. I didn’t set out to watch the U. S. Open of Golf. (That’s the one you were thinking of, wasn’t it?) I wasn’t in the mood to do anything so I sat in my chair. (Yes, I have a “my chair.” Every male over the age of 40 has a “my chair.”) And after sitting therein (thereon?) (there?) for some time, I decided I needed to do something other than just sit. So I reached for the remote and remembered about that golf thingie. But I didn’t know what station was carrying it so I pushed the button with the picture of the microphone and said “U S Open” (I might have said it with the periods after the “U” and the “S” but I didn’t hear them so I’m not including them here) figuring it would take me to that golf thingie. Instead it brought up a screen for me to clarify which “U. S. Open” (I saw the periods on the screen so I am including them here). Who knew?

Since I was given a choice, I picked badminton. Wow. It’s not your backyard after picnic probably most played on Father’s Day badminton. First of all they use a real court with real poles holding up a real net. We always had to hold up one end of the net with the clothesline pole and make the sidewalk to the tool shed one back boundary and the hedges with the red berries you’re not allowed to eat the other. The other thing is they had a lot of shuttlecocks. We had three. One was stuck in the gutter and would remain there forever. One we couldn’t use in case we lost the one we were using. They certainly didn’t need a lot of shuttlecocks. I watched them for several sets and they never once flung the one in play out of anyone’s reach.

That’s another thing. They played it sets. And kept score. Even though the court looks like a 3/4 scale tennis court the scoring is more like table tennis. Unlike tennis, or golf for that matter, the crowd is obviously into the competition. Tennis and golf spectators might be into their respective competitions but you could never tell. Everybody at those events is so reserved. Even the TV announcers whisper. Not in badminton. These fans cheer their favorites, they scream their approval at a diving save, and they openly applaud a well-placed lob. When the contestants entered the arena it could have been 1974 with Muhammed Ali and Joe Frazier coming down the aisle at Madison Square Garden. The lights, the music, the cheers! They don’t do that at Wimbledon.

Overall, it was a good way to spend a late afternoon. I’m not sure that I’ll track the progress of the world class badminton players on their March to the Olympics (yes, it is), but if I’m not doing anything next Sunday, I have an alternate to watching golf.