Every year I take my Dad to the U.S. Open Tennis matches. I get to spend a day with him and he gets to watch his favorite sport. There’s just one problem. The Tennis Center is like most of the people you play tennis with, they're dressed great but they suck.

Bad First Service. The will call window line—two open windows, 50 people on line. It took us a solid half an hour to pick up our tickets. Luckily there are three thousand workers there doing absolutely nothing but telling you where to go. Apparently the ticket-dispensing skill is advanced.

Douche (I mean Deuce) Security. It's a tad high. A guy wearing a turban and a, “Fuck the Jews" T-shirt at the El Al terminal in Kennedy airport would have an easier time getting through this place than me and my 81-year-old poorly sighted father who decided to bring a jacket and a box of raisins. Bomb sniffing dogs, pat downs, random searches, a million cops—I could navigate through a Victoria’s Secret one-day sale faster. WHO THE HELL WANTS TO BLOW UP TENNIS? Yeah I’m sure Osama Bin Laden right now is saying, “We must destroy Tennis! Roger Federer and Justine Henin-Harden are infidels! Tennis Jihad! Lalalalalalalala...ve - 40."

Ad-vantage capitalism. Ticket prices are like a swift backhand to the face. The cheapest nose bleed seats in the big stadium, $64. In the sun! For $64 a want a way better look at Maria Sharapova’s ass. The cheapest t-shirt with a bad logo, $25. A beer, $9. A turkey and swiss baguette, $8.50. Water, $4. Air, $7. Pay toilets, $13.50. (Boredom, free. It’s tennis, not a Kung Fu movie.)

Gay, Set and Match. The irony of the whole day is that they just named the whole place after Billie Jean King, who couldn’t be more liberal, and the whole event couldn’t be more Republican.

Championship Point. Prices, ridiculous. Security, ridiculously annoying. The event, frustrating. A day with Daddy, priceless. There are some things money can’t buy, but this I can. I’m going to buy him a big plasma TV and we’ll watch it at home.