Wow, did anyone else find this a completely boring match? People, I fell asleep. Which is cool, as earlier posts attest. I like to nap while watching tennis. But still, dude, a total yawner for the final?
The semi between Krazy Kiefer and Simon was good stuff. The most fun was listening to Brad Gilbert be such an idiot, blabbing away, calling SiMON "Simon Says" and in general being a complete ass. The Beeg (that's what we call him, which is us mushing together B and G, and I think others on the telly call him that and that is why we call him that) is a true nutbar.
But that final. Snoozarama. Frankly, I needed the nap.
Cinci next week! I filled out my raquet bracket! My raquet bracket for Toronto had- OK, I was going for the upsets - a Tipsaravic/Safin final. Needless to say, I was very lowly ranked. Like, almost the lowest of thousands of people who did it on the ATP website. For Cinci, I decided to pick very few upsets. In fact, I think I have a Rafa Fed final, but with Fed winning.
Yours Truly,
Paula
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Gasquet v. Nadal, The Rogers Cup, 2008
I'm watching the first set tiebreak. This is great great tennis. Oh my God- 9.9 in the tiebreak and Nadal wins the next point with just amazing tennis and Gasquet playing unbelievably.
And they are showing Rafa's girlfriend in the audience and she is the most gorgeous thing in the world- she is such a real person, too, not scary fake celeb type -and I am just blown away right now.
More later. After this tiebreak, I gotta go buy food. I love tennis, but I must press pause to feed my family. Eating is important, too. In fact, it is almost as important as watching tennis.
OH MY GOD! What play by the Frenchman! I am so in love with tennis right now. And both of these young men, too.
LATER:
I am so feeling for Gasquet. I mean, the stupid dudes on TV keep talking about how great Rafa is- and I am a huge Rafa fan -but they are missing the point that Gasquet fell apart. I am so sad for him. The first set was so amazing. I have this thing where often I cheer for the underdog. I was doing that here. Especially at the end. Richard! Richard! We gotta work on your mental game. We gotta stop you from getting tight.
Yours Truly,
Paula
And they are showing Rafa's girlfriend in the audience and she is the most gorgeous thing in the world- she is such a real person, too, not scary fake celeb type -and I am just blown away right now.
More later. After this tiebreak, I gotta go buy food. I love tennis, but I must press pause to feed my family. Eating is important, too. In fact, it is almost as important as watching tennis.
OH MY GOD! What play by the Frenchman! I am so in love with tennis right now. And both of these young men, too.
LATER:
I am so feeling for Gasquet. I mean, the stupid dudes on TV keep talking about how great Rafa is- and I am a huge Rafa fan -but they are missing the point that Gasquet fell apart. I am so sad for him. The first set was so amazing. I have this thing where often I cheer for the underdog. I was doing that here. Especially at the end. Richard! Richard! We gotta work on your mental game. We gotta stop you from getting tight.
Yours Truly,
Paula
I Had a Dream About Rafa Last Night
Which is funny, because I have had mostly Verdasco, Lopez, Moya, Gasquet, etc.. on my mind. The dudes I saw in Toronto. And I didn't see Rafa. And I haven't watched the Rafa v. Gasquet match yet. (Its taped though!)
The dream goes like this: I was on some island, on a beach with another girl, a friend, and it was sunny and the water was beautiful and there was Rafa! In board shorts! And, as sometimes dreams can be tricky this way, it was really Rafa, not someone else. You know how you can dream it's "Rafa", but really, it's, like, your neighbor? Cause dreams don't make sense? Well, this was Rafa, except he spoke English really well, which isn't true to life, of course. And he said, I've never had a girlfried. And I said, I saw you with your girlfriend in US Magazine! (Which is true.) And he said, I've never had an American girlfriend. And I said, Oooh. Then, somehow, Rafa and I are in a bed that is, like, in the middle of some outdoor shopping area or something. We are under the covers. It's very exciting, but there are people milling about the shopping area. He has a beautiful, hairless stomach. Then, Cheesewad jumps on the bed. Sort of like how Cheesewad jumps on the bed here at home from time to time. Also, wierdly, Cheesewad has mosquito bites all over his back. Then Rockytoad comes in, as he is known to do as well here at home. So now, it's not so exciting, it's just like Rafa and I are hanging with my kids. But I try to get them to go play video games or something. THEN Rafa's coach comes over and starts giving him lip service about not doing what he was about to do! But it wasn't Rafa's real coach, Uncle Tony, or Roig, the other guy. It was a dream person, not a real person. At this point, Rafa is standing up and no longer in bed with me. Then this writer I know and don't really like came to buy towels! I decide to get up and put a shirt on, or buy a shirt, since I don't have one on. Then, in real life, the phone rang and woke me up.
Yours Truly,
Paula
The dream goes like this: I was on some island, on a beach with another girl, a friend, and it was sunny and the water was beautiful and there was Rafa! In board shorts! And, as sometimes dreams can be tricky this way, it was really Rafa, not someone else. You know how you can dream it's "Rafa", but really, it's, like, your neighbor? Cause dreams don't make sense? Well, this was Rafa, except he spoke English really well, which isn't true to life, of course. And he said, I've never had a girlfried. And I said, I saw you with your girlfriend in US Magazine! (Which is true.) And he said, I've never had an American girlfriend. And I said, Oooh. Then, somehow, Rafa and I are in a bed that is, like, in the middle of some outdoor shopping area or something. We are under the covers. It's very exciting, but there are people milling about the shopping area. He has a beautiful, hairless stomach. Then, Cheesewad jumps on the bed. Sort of like how Cheesewad jumps on the bed here at home from time to time. Also, wierdly, Cheesewad has mosquito bites all over his back. Then Rockytoad comes in, as he is known to do as well here at home. So now, it's not so exciting, it's just like Rafa and I are hanging with my kids. But I try to get them to go play video games or something. THEN Rafa's coach comes over and starts giving him lip service about not doing what he was about to do! But it wasn't Rafa's real coach, Uncle Tony, or Roig, the other guy. It was a dream person, not a real person. At this point, Rafa is standing up and no longer in bed with me. Then this writer I know and don't really like came to buy towels! I decide to get up and put a shirt on, or buy a shirt, since I don't have one on. Then, in real life, the phone rang and woke me up.
Yours Truly,
Paula
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Train Ride Home, Day 5 of the Rogers Cup, and a Meditation on Fandom
The train is pulling out of the station. It’s day Five of the Rogers Cup and it is all being taped on the DVR back out our house. I’m exhausted, although we managed to get to bed early last night. We rode the elevator down with Soderling and his fine ladyfriend – he looked really, really tired – and then Monfils walked RIGHT by us- Rockytoad loved that. Then I had the great fortune of spotting Almagro- the guy is an absolute Bull, thick as a house.
I now did some serious math, and having done that same math incorrectly earlier this week or month, I finally figured out that this is Year Five of our Canada sojourns. Earlier, I though it was Year Four. Every year I do this trip, and every year I say to myself, maybe next year I won’t go. I spend a lot of money, it’s work, the packing, the passports, the day on the train (which is kinda romantic, I love trains, actually)-- and the minis are troopers and frankly enjoy it more than they did at age 4 and 7!—but it’s extra work taking care of them, getting the picky Cheeewad fed, sending them off to the men’s room alone, finding hotel card keys, dealing with the rain, where are the autograph balls, and so on and so forth.
But next year I am going, for sure. If I stop doing this crazy trip, Montreal will be my farewell trip. It’s the better event, the more manageable City (much less sprawl.) And how can I stop going, the year Nalbandian doesn’t show up?
Here’s a quick meditation on fandom, too. I spend a lot of time thinking about these guys, my guys, my tennis heroes. I know they need me in some way – if no one watched tennis, would the tennis ball make a noise? Perhaps, but no one would make a living making that noise. And yet, even if there is this mutual –they need me or they couldn’t be tennis players- I think about them and they don’t know who I am!!! Yes, folks, they have no flipping idea who I am. And I know sooo much about them, in my own way. I know Rafa speaks the Mallorcan Catalan, I know Nalbandian lost relatives in a freak elevator accident and was so emotional playing the tournaments at that time. I know what music they listen to. I’m pretty sure I know they are all uncircumsized (see my important posts links). But they know nothing about me. And that’s just the un-mutually thing about being a fan. So to walk by them, to see them in the flesh (much much better than TV), to maybe have them glance at you, to have them smile at you, is some vindication. I exist too, man! And, dude, you are sooo much hotter in real life.
That said, as the general tone of this blog attests, the most important thing about being a fan is a sense of humor. If you can’t feel the ridiculousness of loving people who don’t know you exist, then you are missing the point. Of course, the complete lack of mutuality in many ways is probably the point- to love someone from afar, to worship them from afar, is to be back in high school, staring at the senior star quarterback and even though you are a lowly freshman, you love him with an intensity that can’t be replicated in real life, in a real relationship, a marriage, no matter how good of a marriage you have. Indeed, our fantasies and dreams are potent drugs, tied to the blossoming of loves that we had as young young people, the unrequited loves we all go through and then must discard. But who doesn’t want that pang, that breathless thrill, of loving from afar? Yes, it’s a much bigger high, watching and worshipping athletes, much bigger than arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes and discuss whether the bills are paid. Life is sweet. It’s the only thing we have. But we need to dream like we need to eat and sleep and drink wine and buy shoes with crazy four inch heels that you can only wear to, like, the restaurant across the street. I write all this wistfully, as the flat Canadian countryside goes by, revealing a train yard full of train cars forlornly piled on top of each other, that each have the sign “Do Not Hump” pasted on them.
Yes, Do Not Hump. Even trains need reminders about this fact of life. And even trains, it seems, want to hump! Or are about to be humped, and need to remind people not to hump them! I teased my minis endlessly while they got autographs (they got Monfils yesterday after a practice match, they got Gonzo after his doubles loss!, the got Murray after his win against Wawrinka…) that I was gonna ask Verdasco to sign my boobs. They actually feared I would do it, sorta. (I’ve got a good poker face.) The look on their faces!! But also, they know I’m full of shit. “Yeah, man, I’m gonna ask him to sign my boobs!” Then Rockytoad quoted Will Ferrell from Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (imitating the accent perfectly), After he signs a baby’s forehead, he goes, “You’re not gonna want to wash that forehead, you hear me now?” Then we all cracked up.
I now did some serious math, and having done that same math incorrectly earlier this week or month, I finally figured out that this is Year Five of our Canada sojourns. Earlier, I though it was Year Four. Every year I do this trip, and every year I say to myself, maybe next year I won’t go. I spend a lot of money, it’s work, the packing, the passports, the day on the train (which is kinda romantic, I love trains, actually)-- and the minis are troopers and frankly enjoy it more than they did at age 4 and 7!—but it’s extra work taking care of them, getting the picky Cheeewad fed, sending them off to the men’s room alone, finding hotel card keys, dealing with the rain, where are the autograph balls, and so on and so forth.
But next year I am going, for sure. If I stop doing this crazy trip, Montreal will be my farewell trip. It’s the better event, the more manageable City (much less sprawl.) And how can I stop going, the year Nalbandian doesn’t show up?
Here’s a quick meditation on fandom, too. I spend a lot of time thinking about these guys, my guys, my tennis heroes. I know they need me in some way – if no one watched tennis, would the tennis ball make a noise? Perhaps, but no one would make a living making that noise. And yet, even if there is this mutual –they need me or they couldn’t be tennis players- I think about them and they don’t know who I am!!! Yes, folks, they have no flipping idea who I am. And I know sooo much about them, in my own way. I know Rafa speaks the Mallorcan Catalan, I know Nalbandian lost relatives in a freak elevator accident and was so emotional playing the tournaments at that time. I know what music they listen to. I’m pretty sure I know they are all uncircumsized (see my important posts links). But they know nothing about me. And that’s just the un-mutually thing about being a fan. So to walk by them, to see them in the flesh (much much better than TV), to maybe have them glance at you, to have them smile at you, is some vindication. I exist too, man! And, dude, you are sooo much hotter in real life.
That said, as the general tone of this blog attests, the most important thing about being a fan is a sense of humor. If you can’t feel the ridiculousness of loving people who don’t know you exist, then you are missing the point. Of course, the complete lack of mutuality in many ways is probably the point- to love someone from afar, to worship them from afar, is to be back in high school, staring at the senior star quarterback and even though you are a lowly freshman, you love him with an intensity that can’t be replicated in real life, in a real relationship, a marriage, no matter how good of a marriage you have. Indeed, our fantasies and dreams are potent drugs, tied to the blossoming of loves that we had as young young people, the unrequited loves we all go through and then must discard. But who doesn’t want that pang, that breathless thrill, of loving from afar? Yes, it’s a much bigger high, watching and worshipping athletes, much bigger than arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes and discuss whether the bills are paid. Life is sweet. It’s the only thing we have. But we need to dream like we need to eat and sleep and drink wine and buy shoes with crazy four inch heels that you can only wear to, like, the restaurant across the street. I write all this wistfully, as the flat Canadian countryside goes by, revealing a train yard full of train cars forlornly piled on top of each other, that each have the sign “Do Not Hump” pasted on them.
Yes, Do Not Hump. Even trains need reminders about this fact of life. And even trains, it seems, want to hump! Or are about to be humped, and need to remind people not to hump them! I teased my minis endlessly while they got autographs (they got Monfils yesterday after a practice match, they got Gonzo after his doubles loss!, the got Murray after his win against Wawrinka…) that I was gonna ask Verdasco to sign my boobs. They actually feared I would do it, sorta. (I’ve got a good poker face.) The look on their faces!! But also, they know I’m full of shit. “Yeah, man, I’m gonna ask him to sign my boobs!” Then Rockytoad quoted Will Ferrell from Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (imitating the accent perfectly), After he signs a baby’s forehead, he goes, “You’re not gonna want to wash that forehead, you hear me now?” Then we all cracked up.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Day Four of the Rogers Cup 2008
We are leaving the hotel for the tournament now. Our last day...there is some rain, but I am feeling hopeful that we will get to see lots of great tennis. They really doubled up last night- they had Blake playing on Court One, which is incredible. He's a top ten player and they have him on a tiny back court? Is that why he lost the first set so badly? He was pissed?
Anyhoo, here we go. The last day is always sad, but we are missing the co-creator of the minis very much so it will be nice to be back home, too.
LATER:
Due to rain delays and me being a bit of a 'tard, we ended up spending the day on the back courts and actually, that was just fine. It's such a different atmosphere and to be soooo close to those guys! Yeah, baby.
First we watched Gonzalez and Sa play against Ancic and Coetzee. Now, I don't think of myself as a fan of doubles, but it all depends on who is playing . It was great to watch Ancic and Gonzo. There were amazing points. Anci and his boy pulled it out. Then, we stayed put on court one, because -Gulp- Verdasco and Feli Lopez were playing doubles against the Polish duo, whose names I will fill in later here, and who are a very good doubles team. OH MY. Many more pictures were taken. The Spaniards won, but not after some contested ball-on-the-court moment that involved a near fight betwixt A Polish man and Verdasco!!! "You calling me a fucking liar?" Woah. Fighting words indeed. I felt sorry for the Poles even though I wanted my boys to win. I mean, here they are, across from two gorgeous top single players, two guys who get more tail than pin the tail on the donkey, and the only thing they have- and it is a big thing, but still- is their doubles game. Not much tail, no singles really, no big endorsements. And they lose their doubles match to these Spanish Gods.
Then we watched Murray and Wawrinka and were cheering on "Stan the man". It was close, but our dude did not win. And after bagelling him in the 2nd set? Murray is so testy, so hot and cold. He stopped playing in the second set, more or less. And then in the third, at the business end of the set, Stan had a string of unforced errors. It was, to me, a choke. Damn.
Then it started to rain. We came back. And here we are. Last night. We're heading down to dinner now.
Cheesewad took many many pictures and some movies that we hope to post.
More later!
Yours Truly,
Paula
Anyhoo, here we go. The last day is always sad, but we are missing the co-creator of the minis very much so it will be nice to be back home, too.
LATER:
Due to rain delays and me being a bit of a 'tard, we ended up spending the day on the back courts and actually, that was just fine. It's such a different atmosphere and to be soooo close to those guys! Yeah, baby.
First we watched Gonzalez and Sa play against Ancic and Coetzee. Now, I don't think of myself as a fan of doubles, but it all depends on who is playing . It was great to watch Ancic and Gonzo. There were amazing points. Anci and his boy pulled it out. Then, we stayed put on court one, because -Gulp- Verdasco and Feli Lopez were playing doubles against the Polish duo, whose names I will fill in later here, and who are a very good doubles team. OH MY. Many more pictures were taken. The Spaniards won, but not after some contested ball-on-the-court moment that involved a near fight betwixt A Polish man and Verdasco!!! "You calling me a fucking liar?" Woah. Fighting words indeed. I felt sorry for the Poles even though I wanted my boys to win. I mean, here they are, across from two gorgeous top single players, two guys who get more tail than pin the tail on the donkey, and the only thing they have- and it is a big thing, but still- is their doubles game. Not much tail, no singles really, no big endorsements. And they lose their doubles match to these Spanish Gods.
Then we watched Murray and Wawrinka and were cheering on "Stan the man". It was close, but our dude did not win. And after bagelling him in the 2nd set? Murray is so testy, so hot and cold. He stopped playing in the second set, more or less. And then in the third, at the business end of the set, Stan had a string of unforced errors. It was, to me, a choke. Damn.
Then it started to rain. We came back. And here we are. Last night. We're heading down to dinner now.
Cheesewad took many many pictures and some movies that we hope to post.
More later!
Yours Truly,
Paula
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Roger Federer loses to Giles Simon
I am speechless. I'm in the hotel. I may have something to say later.
Donald Young has to be feeling less bad about his loss!
The great thing, for me, is hearing the Canadian announcers. They are much more respectful, kinder, thoughtful. I sort of want to go down to the bar and see what's happening.
LATER:
I took the elevator down to the bar. The minis were playing games on the TV in our room. The moment I got off the elevator, there was Gasquet and a big entourage. I got nervous. I'm shy! Then I walked to the two bars I know here at the Hilton, I peeked in, no groups of tennis peeps were there. So I gave up. I went back to the lift. Lo and behold, MOYA walked out when I was walking in to go back to my minis. I nearly melted. I behaved, though.
I gave up. I freaked out about Fed's loss all alone. Thinking about my run-ins, all alone.
Yours,
Paula
Donald Young has to be feeling less bad about his loss!
The great thing, for me, is hearing the Canadian announcers. They are much more respectful, kinder, thoughtful. I sort of want to go down to the bar and see what's happening.
LATER:
I took the elevator down to the bar. The minis were playing games on the TV in our room. The moment I got off the elevator, there was Gasquet and a big entourage. I got nervous. I'm shy! Then I walked to the two bars I know here at the Hilton, I peeked in, no groups of tennis peeps were there. So I gave up. I went back to the lift. Lo and behold, MOYA walked out when I was walking in to go back to my minis. I nearly melted. I behaved, though.
I gave up. I freaked out about Fed's loss all alone. Thinking about my run-ins, all alone.
Yours,
Paula
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