Ferrer is losing. I once saw him beat Nadal at the US Open. But that was not clay. Rafa and clay is like shrimp and cocktail sauce or a burger and a coke, or vodka and cigarettes, or bourbon and cigarettes, or martinis and oysters, or brandy and chocolate cake. Wow. I just got inspired for going out to dinner. I slept until 1pm today, so I'm not tired enough yet to have a "tennis nap". I'll try to get into this match. Sometimes, at the end of events- the final four and the final-I feel bereft and detached, like I can't maintain the initial love and frenzy I felt at the beginning of the week, when I had ten hours of tennis every day. Other times, I savor the last moments like a fine cognac, or even a decent bourbon, or like, a perfect martini, or -shit-a Coors tallboy with a straw stuck down it.
OK. It's 2 all in the second. Perhaps something exciting will happen (that would mean something like Ferrer starts getting ahead, or, like, jumps out of the TV and into my lap.)