Magic Jewball

all signs point to no

 

The power of positive thinking

Filed under : Tennis
On August 29, 2007
At 1:30 am
Comments : 4

Well, for an hour there I knew where in the world David Nalbandian was. Right in front of me! The match started around 4pm when I was still toiling at work but I had e-mails from Brother2′s Blackberry. See, he was kind enough to cheer on Nalby in my absence as well as taunt me with statements such as “Something unbelievable happened at the match: Nalbandian won the first set.” Oh ha ha. But as we know, or I know and have told you too many times, Nalbandian never makes things easy for me so I knew there was a good chance it would still be going on when I got there at seven. Which I was determined to do. Never mind that Bob the Triathlete, my companion du jour, had to work late. I pretty much hounded her until she left the office and then dragged her through the streets and subways to the Tennis Center. I mean that was literally how it went: “There’s the train! “I’m right behind you!” “We can make the light!” “I’m right behind you!” “There’s the express, let’s transfer! Hurry, doors are closing!” “I’m right behind you!” And so forth. She said she had never seen me move so fast but that’s only because she’s never seen me in Riverside Park when I’m jogging near an unleashed dog.

When we arrived, they actually weren’t letting nighttime ticket holders into the Grandstand because it was a day session match and was overfilled. Have you ever seen the Brady Bunch episode where Marcia pleads to be let into Davy Jones’ TV taping? “But I’m the president of the Davy Jones fan club! You don’t know what this means to me!” It was kind of like that. “You don’t understand! I wait all year for this! He’s my favorite tennis player! I ran all the way from Manhattan.” To which the guard gave me the most unexpected reply I could imagine. “What is it with people and this Nalbandian guy?” Really? He has other insane fans? Who knew?

Anyway, finally we got in, got primo, if highly uncomfortable, seats, and Bob got to watch bemusedly as I turned into a little kid, alternately stressed out and delighted over my hero. I think the funniest part to her was that I am not a loud cheerer but rather mutter my little Vamoses and Come On Da-veeds under my breath. She has this odd idea that Nalby needs to hear me, rather than the truth as I know it which is that I help him along with MY MIND and so speaking loudly and clearly just isn’t important. What?

But who cares, because he won! Which means I get to watch him again Thursday. And perhaps take some less blurry pictures. If anyone sees him in Manhattan on his off day tomorrow, be sure to ask him about how I helped him with MY MIND.

Then we went shopping where I narrowed down my annual souvenir to three possibles and Bob got an attractive hoodie. My nutritious dinner of the evening this time was a Ben & Jerry’s mint shake after I managed to get it out of the nice Russian kid at the B&J stand that they no longer sell my favorite cookie ice cream sandwich. It went like this. (Make sure to picture the brightest, sunniest smile which he beamed at me after each and every thing he said.)

Me: Do you have am ice cream sandwich?
He: We have ice cream!
Me: But the sandwich? It was like one of you pre-packaged bars, you know?
He: We have bars! (points to illustration of bars)
Me: But the sandwich?
He: (begins to describe all the bars)
Me: Ummm… how much is two scoops?
He: We only sell one scoop.
Me: Really?
He: The cup only comes in one size!
Me: I’ll have a shake.

Luckily, Shrieky had finished her match by then and we got to just watch Andy Rod-Dick and Justin Alef-Bet-Gimelstob play. It was surprisingly close! As were we to the clouds and planes above.

Now, you may have noticed there’s another big sports series going on in New York this week and I did keep track of that via Blackberry. But I think I forgot about it for a bit until I stopped into my local Duane Reade just now to pick up some sunblock for the rest of the week. Understand, there are two budget hotels near me and the DR is at the foot of one of them. It’s usually Europeans but tonight I overheard this conversation between the two Americans ahead of me on line.

College age kid: What’s this store called?
Father-type: Duane Reade
College age kid: That’s what I thought, Duane Reade. Huh.

As you can imagine, I could hardly fathom this conversation. It would kind of be like hearing “What’s this coffee shop called? Oh, Starbucks.” But then the kid turned around and he was wearing a Red Sox shirt and hat. Ah, I gather you’re an out-of-towner visiting for something-or-other.

Tomorrow: Gourmet Alfa, Mardy “Smoked” Fish, and Day 1 of my vacation.



I really wanted Davy Jones’ fabulous “Girl, Look What You’ve Done To me” but it is shockingly unavailable on Napster.

 

4 Comments for this post

 
Celia says

I lied. I came to see what you wrote even though I knew it would be about tennis. And it was very entertaining!

By the way, when we are on an airplane, my husband takes very seriously his obligation to help the pilots fly the plane. He spends the whole time listening to the channel where you can hear them talking to air traffic control, presumably ensuring our safety in the air WITH HIS MIND. So I’m familiar with this concept.

 
JF says

That was funny. Not that I understood it all, but still funny.

 
CarolAnne says

I understood it perfectly! Remember, Marcia told Bob Newhart’s secretary, Carol, that she could get Davy Jones to perform at the school dance. Well, after trying different tactics to meet up with him, in a last ditch effort she shows up at the studio where he’s recording. Someone leaves the studio’s mic on and Davy over hears Marcia beg his agent to speak to him. She doesn’t want to let her school down by not delivery Davy Jones! Well, Davy, being the great guy he is, shows up at the Brady house to escort Marcia to the dance. She even gets to give him a kiss, and then another on the flip side! President of the fan club indeed!

You’re welcome!!

 
Becca says

Celia, I do that when other people are driving. Don’t tell the other people, it might unnerve them.

JF, I don’t suppose they have The Brady Bunch in France. Or Duane Reade or the Red Sox. But I’m glad it was funny anyway!

Today’s post is more tennis-y. Sorry, everyone!

Anyone who doesn’t remember that BB episode, kindly refer to Carol Anne’s comment. Oh, and I prefer to think of her as Mrs. Krababble rather than Bob Newhart’s secretary but same difference.