Tennis Chatter

Almost by the time I sit down to wax about the current tennis dealings, the information I present is old news. Such is the case during a non grand slam period. Soon us fans will have more tennis than we can swing a racket at. But for now we will have to feed our appetites with small draw tournaments and gimmick matches. Of course with the latter I’m talking about the Battle of Surfaces which Nadal won over Federer yesterday in his home country. The match, which was NOT televised here in the states, went to three sets with the players only really heating up for the final one. Here’s my rendition of yesterday’s exhibition.

Federer miscalculated on a return volley into the grass side and lost the match. “Haha,” said Nadal who stroked his imaginary beard in delight, “I kind of beat the Swiss on his surface. Half way anyway. And there is nothing that can stop me on my way to world domination.” (why Nadal is portrayed as an evil dictator here, I’m not sure) Federer, hung his head and wished he was home rolling around in his millions of dollars. He smiled for all of the cameras, shook hands with his opponent, and plotted his revenge. Little did the Spaniard know that Federer held the trump card.

Sure Nadal had won 72 1/2 straight on clay. Sure he had beaten Federer 7 times while only losing 3. Sure he was the hottest tennis player in the world. He even had a patented fist pump that was becoming legendary. But what Nadal didn’t have was this. A big trophy from Wimbledon. 4 of them in fact. 4 trophies that Federer kept close to his side and actually travelled with (not true, but funny to imagine). Even though Nadal held clay supremacy over Federer’s head like a chewie treat over a insubordinate dog, Federer ultimately held the Queen of England’s favor.

The Swiss King resided over the biggest tennis tournament in the world. The tournament which could be seen by turning on NBC at 11 o clock in the morning during the middle of the summer. Federer was a household name and Nadal knew it. Even though he laughingly sprayed champagne at his defeated foe, Nadal knew his Achille’s heel. He knew that he would always be second best. Unless. Unless he could finally surmont his grass court deficiency. Only by beating Federer at the All England Club could he finally put those nagging naysayers in their place and take up the mantle of Number One.

To be Continued…