FAREWELL A-ROD
One of my all time favorite tennis players retired this week. As most of you know that read this blog, I’m a tennis fanatic, and
have been watching it since I was young when my mother would have Wimbledon
on in the house. Back then I remember liking the civilized, almost hypnotic
nature of the game (must have calmed the chaotic kid mind!), the sound of the ball being whacked back and forth, the
singular sound of the racket meeting the ball (this was long
before the uber moaners and grunters that now fill the game), and of course the occasional,
‘you can’t be serious!!’ hurled out by McEnroe (when I was a teenager I truly
started appreciating Macs outbursts).
Anyway, I’ve had many favorites along the way. It began with Borg, although back then I think it was all about how he wore his
small white shorts, with that magical wooden racket of his and Mac of course; a fleeting thing with Edberg (although he was
always on the dull side) and Graf always won my admiration for her sheer drive
and unflappable calm on the court (by the way, the woman reached 31 Grand
Slam finals, winning 22 titles. Why the hell is she never mentioned when people
are talking about the greatest tennis player ever? Federer, Shmederer). There
were other dalliances here and there until Agassi came along, and then it was
sheer dedication to the little pigeon-toed wonder from Las Vegas. As a brief
Vegas inhabitant myself, I appreciated the flair he had for the dramatic, not
to mention the crazy outfits he would bust out from time to time.
But it was in 2003 watching Andy Roddick win the US Open
against Juan Carlos Ferrero that my obsession truly was born. I’m not sure if
it was his rocket fueled serve that first hooked me, or his quick, don’t mess
with me pace, or his overall witty, brash demeanor (I knew there was a softie in there
somewhere), but I would go on to follow this man’s career like a true fanatic.
My husband can tell you that I don’t take my tennis lightly. It’s not a pretty
sight, but I’m woman enough to admit that actual tears have been shed in this
house over Roddick matches. The 2009 Wimbledon loss to ahem, that Swiss person,
almost killed me. After that tortuous loss (it went to the fifth set,
16-14) my admiration for Andy and his composure and dignity after that game skyrocketed. I would’ve most likely beaten Federer over the head with his little RF monogrammed blazer,
but that’s why I’m not an athlete.
That was the thing about Andy. He played hard and fought
even harder, but for every win, there was also an ‘almost.' And as a fan it was
frustrating as hell (I’m sure he felt the same way come to think of it). But,
the loyalist that I am, I never gave up on him and was happy to boast to anyone
who dared pick on him that there was nothing shabby about 32 career titles, one
grand slam, four grand slam finals, and remaining in the top ten for over ten
years.
This is the part of sports that I love the most, the fact
that you can rise with an athlete and ride along for the journey, the ups and
the downs, the injuries, and the unbelievable matches that make you run around
the living room screaming like a lunatic until the neighbors complain (is that
just me?). Even the King began to support dear Roddick, purely because he found
it hysterical when mommy would shout at the television for no apparent reason
(to a toddler, the little yellow ball was clearly the main attraction. He
didn’t care who was hitting it).
So Andy, I know you don’t know me, and would probably issue
a restraining order against me if I came careening towards you in a restaurant
wanting an autograph for the King…okay, for me…but I must thank you for the
years of tennis watching pleasure. Your skill, your drive, your 140-mile
serves, tip of the hat, and occasional grab of your crotch will all be sorely
missed.
Happy Friday all.