Tennis Fever
It would be difficult not to have it. Australia has been hosting pre-Australian Open tournies for weeks now so that the top players and hopefuls alike can acclimatize. The summer heat can be brutal, with players on the side courts sometimes withdrawing. I’ve learned that center court can have its roof drawn and the air conditioning cranked up. The organizers cannot have the stars of the show faint or falter, at least not because of the heat. A good mental struggle can be mesmerizing, and has lead to some incredible comebacks. I just watched Clijsters come back to win a Sydney-based tournament after facing match point in the second set—and she was down several breaks.
I had a math professor in college that, after writing her questions, would give each the name of a tennis player. The player’s rank would signal the difficulty of the question. I can still remember, in a desperate state, looking up Philippoussis’ ranking, and being relieved to find he was not doing so well! Despite some moments of brilliance, his career has not proceeded as many expected. Come to think of it, my math career met the same fate!
I’m not a tennis player, really. I took a few lessons in the summer as a kid, but everyone did, so I cannot claim any particular devotion. I wish I had taken it seriously, though, because it is a game that travels easily! My interest developed as I watched the four grand slams with my brother and father. I’m not entirely sure from where their interest in the sport evolved. Probably it has something to do with the thrill of watching two people duke it out, physically and mentally pushing the limits. Or maybe it is simply because the game is enjoyable to watch, there are not a lot of players to keep up with, and the time commitment for fans is minimal relative to other sports. And now with the computer-generated replays, there are many fewer erroneous, spirit-crushing calls.
I’ll spend some time next weekend cruising the side courts, trying to catch a glimpse of players that won’t be lucky enough to make it into the finals, but who nonetheless play inspired tennis. If you get the chance to watch either the men or women’s finals at the end of January, have a look in the crowd. I’ll be at both with my college friend Jane, hoping for “the match” that goes down in the history books, but happy to just see some good tennis. Look for Sania Mirza from India. She is fun to watch, and has been hot in the warm-up tournaments!
posted by Maya @ 16:46
2 Comments:
Dugmaya habibty - I was shocked, shocked, I say, when, in a desultory reverie of floatation up and down my "Favorites" list of email sites, I almost inadvertently clicked on your blog address, fully expecting to see your cover page as I remembered it when you bid adieu to the post upon bowing out of Baghdad just a few, short, six (!) months ago. And, lo, there you are, with a new headshot (most attractive, I'd say without equivocation), announcing your resurrection with this piece titled "Tennis Fever." You never let on that you were heading back into the blogsphere. What a great serendipity for me! I'm going to rush right out and pass the good news on others out there who will be ineffably and indefatigably delighted! Your comments on tennis, formulated surely as you extracted full measure of your investment in tickets to the Australian Open, are, as all your literary peregrinations are, insightful and sensitive. Thank you, once again, for a a good read. I'll be more attentive from now on in staying abreast of your light-hearted musings and other rather more lugubrious ruminations. (Every time you write, you give evidence that you inherited a verbal gene or two from Martha & Ted, both of whom commanded first-rate vocabularies, but now perhaps sligthtly less so. And let's not forget your brother who is a veritable sesquipedalian! Wordsmithery was bound to be part of your persona.) Cheers. Sign me SPHE, short for Shaka's personal hygiene engineer
Dugmaya habibty - I was shocked, shocked, I say, when, in a desultory reverie of floatation up and down my "Favorites" list of email sites, I almost inadvertently clicked on your blog address, fully expecting to see your cover page as I remembered it when you bid adieu to the post upon bowing out of Baghdad just a few, short, six (!) months ago. And, lo, there you are, with a new headshot (most attractive, I'd say without equivocation), announcing your resurrection with this piece titled "Tennis Fever." You never let on that you were heading back into the blogsphere. What a great serendipity for me! I'm going to rush right out and pass the good news on others out there who will be ineffably and indefatigably delighted! Your comments on tennis, formulated surely as you extracted full measure of your investment in tickets to the Australian Open, are, as all your literary peregrinations are, insightful and sensitive. Thank you, once again, for a a good read. I'll be more attentive from now on in staying abreast of your light-hearted musings and other rather more lugubrious ruminations. (Every time you write, you give evidence that you inherited a verbal gene or two from Martha & Ted, both of whom commanded first-rate vocabularies, but now perhaps sligthtly less so. And let's not forget your brother who is a veritable sesquipedalian! Wordsmithery was bound to be part of your persona.) Cheers. Sign me SPHE, short for Shaka's personal hygiene engineer
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