Here’s What It’s Like To Try Out for the US Open Ball Crew

With balls capable of whizzing across the tennis court at more than 150 miles per hour, you’re probably paying much more attention to that action than to the people darting around picking up the strays. But while working as a ball boy or ball girl may be no star turn, it does have its perks—namely, the kind of vantage point at major tournaments like the US Open that otherwise carries a price tag in the thousands of dollars.

And that probably explains why hundreds of fans flocked to the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in Queens earlier this summer to vie for a spot on the US Open crew, as I saw firsthand. When reps from the retailer Ralph Lauren, which designs the official uniforms, offered SELF the chance to attend a mock tryout, I’d jumped at the opportunity, eager to see if I had what it took. While my session was just for media members, it included pretty much all the same stuff the general public would go through in their event just a little while later.

On a blistering Friday in late June, I Ubered to Arthur Ashe Stadium to experience an hour in the life of a US Open ball person for myself. As I learned, that involves a lot more than simply removing net balls: A ball person actually has a bunch of other duties, too, like passing balls to colleagues and servicing the players (more on that in a bit). The overarching goal: Minimize disruption to play and ensure a seamless transition between points.

To be honest, I wasn’t optimistic about my own chances of making the cut. Even though I played tennis in high school and try to stay fairly active in my day-to-day life now that I can’t fall back on after-school practice, endurance has never been my strong suit, and my once-solid eye-hand coordination has declined over time. I didn’t think I’d be able to run for nearly 45 minutes straight, especially not in 90-plus-degree heat (or what felt like it). And when you strip away all the little formalities, that’s pretty much 75% of the job description.

But I resolved to not write myself off too soon. When I arrived at the stadium, I changed into a complimentary (and super sharp) US Open ball girl uniform—a navy visor, color-blocked polo shirt, and navy skort—and headed out to the courts, thankful that the hat provided some protection from the beating sun. There, I met the other person “trying out:” none other than Peloton cycling and running instructor Matt Wilpers, whose wife tagged along to capture footage.

Courtesy of Ralph Lauren

A few introductions later, Harry Villareal, a ball crew supervisor who’s been with the US Open crew for 36 years, started us off with a series of warm-ups that took me back to high school: two laps around the court and some basic stretches to warm up my quads, hamstrings, and calves. Not too bad, I thought, pulling my calf back to my thigh and feeling a pleasant burn.

Courtesy of Ralph Lauren

Then came a few drills that tested our speed, precision, staying power, and overall athletic ability. In the first, Matt and I sprinted back and forth across the court to retrieve balls that had been placed on the center service line and doubles sideline—mimicking, of course, a typical ball retrieval task. In the second, we rolled balls back and forth between the net and the back fence, trying to minimize bouncing and maximize accuracy. That’s how a ballperson by the net would pass balls to a colleague at the rear of the court. And there’s a necessary precision to this, as I found out: You want the ball to roll directly to the target, not merely near it, as Villareal reminded me kindly when my attempt veered sideways by a few inches.

Next, we practiced servicing the players: throwing—or “feeding”—them balls. Villareal explained that a proper toss involves bending your arm at the elbow, not the wrist, and the resulting bounce should land midway between you and the player. And all this needs to happen fast. Speed is important, since players have been known to berate ball boys and ball girls who don’t feed quickly enough. What’s more, there are all sorts of little gestures to remember. Once you’re out of balls, for example, you’re supposed to show your hands surrender-style to signal to the player that you don’t have any more.

Courtesy of Ralph Lauren

None of the exercises were that physically demanding on their own, but they came one after another (after another) in a relentless barrage. Our brief water breaks didn’t last long enough for me to catch my breath completely, and after about 10 minutes, my energy started flagging. From there, it was all downhill. Toward the end of the session (about 30 to 45 minutes in), I was seeing stars and breathing hard, my face red and my new uniform sodden with sweat. (Sorry, Ralph Lauren.) When Villareal, still seemingly fresh (how!?), suggested a second round, I asked to sit down for a moment instead—and took the opportunity to grill him a little more about the specifics of the ball crew selection process.

Villareal attended the ball crew tryouts as a teen in the 1980s and now, at around 50, is one of the US Open’s longest-serving ball people. (Contrary to popular belief, not all ball crew members are kids; in fact, the average age is 21, according to the US Open, the only Grand Slam tournament without an upper age limit. In 2023, 69-year-old Bob Kass even ballboy-ed for the second consecutive year, the AARP reported.) While the work is physically taxing and the pay low, the prospect of rubbing shoulders with the likes of Novak Djokovic and Coco Gauff exerts a powerful allure, so competition for available positions can be fierce. Every year, Villareal told me, around 1,500 people apply by submitting an online form available on the tournament’s official website. Of those folks, around 500 are selected to try out in person, and then around 80—the ones who score the highest on a scale of 1-5—are extended offers. If you haven’t already done the math, that means less than one in 15 candidates is actually successful, a pretty daunting stat.

That begged one question: How would I measure up to the folks who made it through?

When I asked Villareal how he would have scored me, he paused for a second. “Maybe 2, 2.5,” he said (though I suspect he tacked on the 0.5 out of politeness). By comparison, he said Wilpers—who, I must point out, is also a 3:01 marathoner—would have earned a full point more: 3 to 3.5. (During the ball-tossing exercise, I overheard another official jokingly ask Wilpers, “What are you doing later this summer?”)

Based on that information, I feel confident in saying that I wouldn’t have been asked back if I’d been trying out for real—but it’s not like the US Open is hurting for prospective applicants. By the time I left Arthur Ashe at 2:50 p.m., a line dozens of people long had already formed outside the gates. And besides, the lack of an age cutoff means that I can always give it another go if I want—whether that’s next year or a dozen (or more!) after that.