Me, Watching Tennis

Me, Watching Tennis
Me, Watching Tennis

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Day Two, The Rogers Cup 2010

Well, we got there, as usual, an hour late and I didn't yell at Rick Rock even once during the drive! It was a very hot day, but we kept telling each other we can't complain because at least it wasn't raining.

David Nalbandian (link to follow), my all time favorite player of all time, was playing David Ferrer, also known lovingly around our house as the Turtle, in the main stadium. We had great seats. The sun bore down on us. We sprayed sunblock all over us and wore hats and occasionally threw a towel over our heads. It was a great three setter. Cheesewad took AMAZING photos (soon to come). I love these guys so much and Nalby was so typical- he'd break, then he'd get broken back immediately- then he'd curse like crazy. We love to listen to
Spanish curses and guess what they could be saying. Ferrer says "hostia" a lot, which means "Holy Ghost". It's a very bad word in Spanish. Once, we're pretty sure we heard Nalbandian say "Puta Vieja" which means "old whore" and is also a bad word, or phrase. He said that after he made an error, and it may have gone like, "I just hit that ball like an OLD WHORE", and so it was sort of that thing where he screamed out the
end words of his muttering to himself.

Here are some pictures. This is RR and Minis (oops forgot not to call them that):

Here is RR and the minis, who I must call- the boys? The Boys. They are not very mini anymore. Sigh. We are about to watch Nalby and Ferrer. The two Davids. We had many moments where I'd scream "Vamos David" and one of the boys would say, "which David? (Ferrer and Nalby are both David). So then I said to the boys, "Vamos los dos Davides?" (Go both Davids?) And that was not greeted well by the boys, so I never yelled it.

Before the Davids played, we watched Berdych beat this guy, Stakhovsky. It was rather quick. Yet-
Good God Berdych is hot.

I may fill out this post with lots of more stuff. But I'm moving toward the end of our evening here. We were watching Monfils who was supposed to play Gonzalez, but he withdrew, so he played this Indian guy Devvarman. At that
point, we'd been watching tennis for Six hours in the sun. We were fried. I drank a million iced teas, and yet, I was failing mentally, due to the heat, the hot men, the hot air, the watching hours of tennis. We were right up front, and it was an amazing match. But we were all - fading. It was a tight match, Monfils is so fucking hot, but we were getting goofy. Some of the line calls were questionable. I got a bit huffy, I said, "no that was good". Or I said, "see that was out, like I thought". Rick Rock started with his opinions. He said, "You were right." (There was no shot spot or whatever you want to call it, so lots of opinions bandied about). Then RR said, "you were right" (to me), you should call those lines." Then Monfils hit a ball into the net. And RR said, "I'll call them when they go into the net!" He was really excited about this job. So, his job was to go, "that was in the net!" like it was a call. So then we started to a laugh so hard it was hard to not be problematic. Then we started to fall apart altogether. Every time someone hit it into the net, RR would look all bug eyed at me and say, "That was into the net!" And then I would start snarfing ice tea. Mind you, I was sunburned and tired. And then we started laughing so hard, well, the boys were embarrassed. So - Monfils won the first set, it was after 6pm, and we left.

Oh, on the way to the Monfils match, I was walking alongside all sorts of people, with my boys. And I looked to my right, and I was walking, meandering, next to this man I recognized. He was very handsome, tall and incredibly strong. I thought I recognized him. Heat stroke was effecting my brain, so I turned ( he was, like, Right, next to me) and said "are you someone's coach?" And then he started with, "well, I blabla" and I interrupted him and said, "You are Killer Cahill!" And he smiled, not a big smile, mind you, and said, "Yes". And I said, as we meandered along to where we both were going, "You're great, we love your commentary". And he said, "Thank you". And then we parted ways. He did smile. Also, Killer Cahill? At least 6'3. Hot. Maybe Fifty years old, I don't know. Strong as shit. HOT. I now love Killer Cahill. Food for thought, he is, that Aussie Man.

More soon. More Pictures!

Yours Truly,

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