Sunday, July 6, 2008
Breakfast, lunch. . .and dinner at Wimbledon
Wowsa. Did anyone else catch that match? Never have I been so grateful to have my ENTIRE day hijacked by a televised sporting event. That was riveting stuff, people—best tennis I’ve ever seen, and I haven’t missed a Wimbledon or U.S. Open Final since I was 10 years old.
A few random thoughts on the match:
•I love John McEnroe to death, but where the heck was Mary Carillo? To me, when you combine his passion and knowledge of the game with her witty and literate insights, they are the absolute dream team. This gender segregation of coverage (she covered yesterday’s excellent woman’s final) is soooo 1972.
•Speaking of retro, thank God Wimbledon is finally installing a retractable roof on Center Court next year. I like tradition as much as the next gal, but our 7 hour epic journey could’ve been a much more reasonable 4 hour epic journey if they’d just had that damn roof. And hey, chaps, while you’re at it, you might look into these things called stadium lights. They’re awesome at nighttime.
• Rafa Nadal looks like a Japanese anime character come to life. Especially when he scrunches up his cute little face to make a shot.
•On the subject of Rafa’s hotness, I could devote an entire blog to his arms.
• But I’m still on the fence about the manpris.
•Roger Federer can hold his head high. After his humiliating defeat at the French, he could’ve totally folded here. Instead, he matched Rafa shot for shot, producing some of the most brilliant tennis I’ve ever seen. He sure as hell didn’t give his throne away—he had it forcibly taken from him in a coup. And he almost lived to rule another year.
• The guts and concentration of tennis is mind boggling. Basketball may be my favorite sport, but to me there is no greater display of individual athleticism, skill, and fortitude than you see in tennis. I dare anyone to challenge me on this statement. And if you bring up golf (or God forbid, NASCAR) I will hurl.
• A big serve always seems like such an unfair advantage when the other guy doesn’t have one. It’s like Nada works his butt off to win a single point on Federer’s serve, and Federer just neutralizes the whole thing—BLAMMO!
•Something about my personality, I guess, but I’ve always loved the counterpunchers more than the offensive wizards. I tend to love the gutty, gritty guys who run down every shot and wear their hearts on their sleeves. My childhood favorite was Jimmy Connors. I lived and died with the feisty (but woefully under-skilled) Arantxa Sanchez Vicarrio. And now my new favorite is Nada.
•I think McEnroe was starting to cry when he interviewed Federer at the end of the match. And it was such a cute guy thing when he said, “I let Federer go because I, uh, could see he was starting to cry.” Dude, don’t lie. You were totally crying yourself. And it’s okay, Mac, that match made everyone emotional.