The 700 club
Last post about tennis…. I think. But this is my 700th post, shouldn’t it be about David Nalbandian?
Anyway, just to update, I did manage to get to the Open on Friday and was rewarded by seeing Nalby win in a fabulous match. I started to think about coming back Sunday, when I am really supposed to be planning what the hell I’ll be doing with my 1st graders. My phone was still clinging to life so I checked to see what court (Court 13, for instance, where he played Friday, isn’t usually streaming on the US Open site, thus necessitating a ticket). Oh, oops, he’s playing some guy called Rafael Nadal which will of course be on television, so I decided to just stay home. My TV will certainly have a better view than the rafters of Ashe.
I took this one Friday, and this is how close I usually sit. So you may understand why I’d just rather watch from my sofa.
I don’t have high hopes for this but one never knows. As Phillies fans used to say, “Why can’t us?”
Also, could someone please remind me when I am shopping for my next phone that I need one that lasts longer than six hours of heavy usage and a better camera is imperative? If you forget to remind me, it is also OK to poke me before next year’s Open and suggest I buy a second battery. You rock!
Lastly, a few other questions and comments:
1. How is it possible for a place to be bakingly hot during the day and freezing cold at night? Is Queens a desert? It is amazing in the space of one day to both burn your butt on a metal bench and later on recoil at a frigid one. I must have some meteorologist readers who can explain this to me.
2. Is beer very cheap at Citifield? Why must Mets fans be such loud drunks? Forget John Rocker, this is really what is most wrong with the 7 train.
3. Can you guess the only nation with really, truly rowdy fans this year? Did you say Sweden? Chile? No! It was Luxembourg. What a dark horse.
4. This isn’t a question or a comment. I lied. It’s a picture, yet also a stereotype. I was so cold at this match that there were goosebumps on my sunburn. I was seriously shivering. Yet here we were at Florian Mayer and one of his German compatriots sat in the chill drinking a tall frosty. I called him Horst in my head, but only because I had previously named someone else Kurt (a man with a “Deutschland” hat).
That’s Jean-Rene Lisnard, from Monaco, on the court. At one point he was wearing brown shorts, a black top with various colors, a white hat, and two different colored wristbands. I guess he was in a rush to pack after the big royal wedding.
I should have something else to post about later or tomorrow. You won’t really be interested in that either, don’t worry.
