That Time an Iguana Stole the Show at the Miami Open

I have been lucky enough to soak up some wild sporting moments in my years as a tennis fan, but even in 2026, I occasionally pull up the clip from that steamy Florida afternoon and shake my head. The Miami Open usually serves up sunshine, power hitting, and the occasional celebrity sighting, but on that day, the biggest star did not carry a racket. It had scales, a tail, and absolutely zero respect for court etiquette.

The scoreboard read 3-3 in the final set when a large iguana decided the regular seating was not quite good enough. Rather than lurking near the palm trees like a sensible reptile, he hauled himself up onto the on-court scoreboard, settling into what can only be described as the best seat in the house. He looked less like an intruder and more like a tiny green tournament director surveying his kingdom. Honestly, you cannot make this stuff up.

Jiri Vesely, understandably, was not loving the extra pair of reptilian eyes. He walked toward the official and asked for the unwanted spectator to be removed. The official stayed impressively calm, basically saying, “Forget about it. It’s not dangerous, it’s not a dangerous animal. If it comes onto the court, then we can [remove it].” That is a very Florida response, if you ask me. Meanwhile, the iguana blinked slowly, probably thinking, “I’m not moving for a baseline rally.”

Tommy Haas, on the other hand, saw the whole thing as a once-in-a-lifetime photo op. While Vesely tried to reset his focus, Haas wandered over, grinned, and snapped a quick selfie with the reptile. Talk about a plot twist. One player was losing his rhythm, and the other was making a new friend. I remember laughing out loud because the iguana did not budge, as if it had already signed a release form.

Eventually officials decided enough was enough and staged what I can only describe as a low-budget rescue mission. They approached the scoreboard with a stick, a sack, and a towel. The iguana, however, had other ideas. He dodged the first grab like a pro athlete slipping a defender, scampered onto the court itself, and stretched his five minutes of fame into a full highlight reel. The crowd ate it up. I was half-expecting someone to start a chant.

Haas later joked, “Maybe the iguana got the note that this is most likely the last time playing here, and he wanted to say hi and take a peek or something.” That line still cracks me up because it captured the absurdity perfectly.

The little escape artist eventually ran out of open court. A patient official finally managed to scoop him up, and the arena erupted in loud applause, the kind usually reserved for a championship point. The reptile exited stage left, probably plotting its memoir: “From Scoreboard to Stardom.”

After the delay, focus returned, sort of. Vesely managed to shake off the distraction and closed out the match, beating Haas 6-7(5), 6-3, 7-5. I would love to tell you the tennis was the main event, but honestly, the scoreline felt like an afterthought. Even now, whenever someone mentions animals interrupting live sport, I think of that iguana looking down from the scoreboard like it owned the place.

Here is how the chaos unfolded:

That day remains one of my favorite examples of live sport doing what live sport does best: going completely off script. The players were brilliant, the heat was brutal, and the tennis deserved more attention. But sometimes a giant lizard decides he wants the prime seat on the scoreboard, and the rest of us just have to sit back, laugh, and enjoy the show. No script could have written it better.