People! The Madrid Masters is playing right now on the Tennis Channel!

ATTENTION: THE INTRODUCTION TO THIS BLOG IS THE NEXT POST!
Dear fellow tennis fans,
I was digressing in my facebook group, Fernando Verdasco, about the women's Moscow final and got cut off by the persnickity word limits there and I don't think I can accurately capture the spirit of that digression but -- I must write about tennis NOW.

Verdasco, on my DVR, is playing the world's number three, Djokovic. They are in Madrid. Verdasco is from Madrid. In fact, his family own a restaurant there. And, the last time I was in Madrid, I seriously considered trying to find his family's restaurant there, and then eating there, and saying, "Hi! I think your family member -- perhaps he is your son? -- is very handsome and such a great tennis player. I am his fan!" I would have said that all in Spanish, which I speak rather well. And maybe they would freak out and think I am a stalker. Or maybe they would bring me some free tapas. I most likely would have been with either my entire family, two boys and a husband, or with just my two sons, or with one of my sons. And most stalkers are alone. I'm just a fan!

Anyway, last night at midnight, I was watching this match, feeling a little worried that Djokovic was going to kick Verdasco's ass on his home turf. (Confession- I have not finished watching the match, because it was late last night and I was sitting by the window smoking and had a vodka in my hand and I didn't want to smoke and drink anymore, although I only had two cigarettes, but man, that is enough, and I didn't want to feel like complete shit this morning, so I'm going to go watch the rest in a minute). But I was also very happy to watch Verdasco strut, because that is what he does. He struts around like a Cock, like a male chicken, but I prefer to compare him to a bull, or a Spanish bullfighter, because comparing him to a chicken isn't very nice, even if it's a male chicken, and I really love everything about this man.

So, it's a night match in Madrid and the ball girls are... Models!! Right? You all know that, I know, but I feel the need to clarify. And the models are wearing pink mini-dresses that are totally skin tight. And in very big letters is the logo BOSS right on their squeezed boobs. And every time they bend over to get a tennis ball--which is every time they pick up a ball, my friend! Every time! And they are ball girls! So that's what they are out there to do!! -- their boobs sort of bounce and fall downward toward the little tennis ball on the ground. And the back view? Bending over to pick up ball in a tiny skin tight mini-dress? Something special. But -see here is the problem-- I had trouble focussing on the tennis. And I like guys! In particular, I like tennis players! And even more particularly, I like Spanish Tennis Players! But I kept getting distracted by the ball girls, because I am human. And male, female, tennis fan, non-tennis fan- when presented with jiggling boobs and the possibility of seeing someone's gentilia, one looks. Yes, one looks. In fact, I bet that more women looked at Britney Spears' crotch shot photos than men did. Right? Want to bet? And that doesn't mean they are gay. (Not that there is anything wrong with being gay! Au contraire! Being gay is great and maybe even better than not being gay! I'm just riffing on why a very boring straight lady like myself stares at boobs and crotches while trying to watch male tennis stars that I actively fantasize about in very specific, sexual ways.) It's like when I drove past a street load of hookers in Berlin when I lived there. I tried not to look, but I did. Not that these ball girls are hookers. They are not. (Not that there is anything wrong with being a hooker, or more politically correct, a sex worker! There's not!)

I'm going to go watch some tennis. Go Verdasco! Although, I like Djokovic. He signed my kids' oversized tennis balls in Montreal in August, where we purposefully stayed at the same hotel as all the players. He's sweet. But I am a bigger fan of Verdasco. So I go to cheer him on right now. I hope your Thursday morning is as productive and deep thinking as mine.
Yours truly,
Paula