Look what the homosexuals have done to me!

Category: Tennis

The Wide World of Sports

Roger Federer’s so good that he often has ball boys hold books for him to read during matches. He won this point while engrossed in Dr. Zhivago.

Roger Federer, the tennis genius I refuse to call the Swiss Maestro because it makes him sound like a character from a Seinfeld subplot, has withdrawn from next week’s Stockholm Open. He explained his decision by saying, “I feel fortunate to be healthy again, but I want to remain at the top of the game for many more years to come and go after the No. 1 ranking again. In order to do that, I need to get a proper rest and get strong again so that I am 100 percent fit for the remainder of the year or next year.”

Good plan and everything, but why didn’t he try it earlier in the year when his game was suffering the most? I’m a Federer fanatic, as some of you might know, and I’ll probably be in therapy over his Wimbledon loss for the next several years. His performance at the U.S. Open made some of that anguish (yes, anguish — I was like a character in an Ingmar Bergman movie following that Wimbledon final) subside, though there were times during the Andreev match when I almost threw my remote at the TV in frustration.

Work prevented me from writing much of anything about the U.S. Open this year, but nearly a month later I can say this: It will be a long time before I forget the feeling of Zen-like calm that came over me when Federer dismantled Novak Djokovic in the semis. It was apparent that his desire to win was great enough that neither Nadal nor Murray would stand a chance in the final, and in many ways his win over Murray was anticlimactic.

As for Murray, while I’m appreciative of his improved game and enjoy his celebratory flexing, I’ve yet to buy into this “Murray as master tactician” line of thought. A master tactician wouldn’t have played Federer the same way he played Nadal — anyone could have predicted it would result in a loss.

On a tennis-related side note…

To everyone who finds this blog via the search string “maria sharapova lesbian” — and there have been a lot of you lately — let’s get something straight. Yes, I joke about Sharapova every now and then. She’s one of my favorite players and she’s someone who registers on quite a few gaydars, so for me it’s an ‘I kid because I love’ kind of thing. To save you any time you might waste poking around for previous mentions of her, here’s the deal: I haven’t written anything about her personal life. I don’t know anything about her personal life, though I’m aware of the rumors.

If asked to comment on her personal life, there are three things I would say:

1) I can’t believe people were stupid enough to fall for those fake Adam Levine quotes. (Please, don’t be fooled by Yakov Smirnoff, humor does exist in Russia.) Okay, fine, I can believe it. People are really stupid.

2) It comes off as pathetic when tennis commentators are eager to romantically link her to any male player she’s friends with. How often do you tune into an NFL game just in time to hear Joe Buck say, “And there goes #45, who is rumored to be boinking that redheaded cheerleader with the smokin’ ass!”

I know that just about everyone who makes a mint off the sport is eager to assure the viewing public that those “four in ten” figures Rennae Stubbs offered to The Age are baloney, but they should also understand that we don’t turn on tennis coverage expecting to hear breathless reports about the mating (or shopping) habits of the players. That’s better left to Entertainment Tonight. Mary Hart can sell that kind of crap. Tennis analysts can’t.

3) You’re off your ever-lovin’ rocker if you think the highest-paid female athlete in the world would come out in her early twenties, when she’s still a top player and raking in endorsement cash. That’s assuming she’s not straight, of course.

Anyway, let’s recap: Federer should have worked on the proper rest thing months ago. And if you’re looking for photos of Maria Sharapova playing naked doubles with Camilla Belle, you’re in the wrong place.

The U.S. Open, Presented by Vince McMahon

When Andy Roddick and Novak Djokovic meet tonight at Arthur Ashe, will they be clad in neon spandex and trailed by an entourage of menacing, mullet-sporting goons as WWE music plays in the background? We’ll find out soon enough, but in the meantime I just wasted a good five minutes looking for a picture of a wrestler holding a tennis racket. Didn’t turn up anything useful, FYI, and I wasn’t even directed to a bunch of adult-oriented websites featuring “straight” college jocks experimenting with each other. It’s like the Internet is broken today.

Related: Roddick, Djokovic have an edge

The Obligatory U.S. Open Post

Oh, yeah. You knew I’d have to whip this bad boy out.

Do any other tennis fans start contemplating suicide every year when USA Network subjects us to countless hours of Tracy Austin nattering on about her accomplishments and her family and her lunch and what she’s wearing? I’ve had the TV on mute for several days now because of her.

But this afternoon, in the first set of the James Blake-Steve Darcis match, the gods of tennis smiled upon us and let Mary Carillo (or MarCar, as they call her in the tabloids when they cover her late-night club crawls with Puff Daddy and his crew) pop into the booth with her pal John McEnroe (who, as the Times pointed out over the weekend, still throws tantrums like he’s a pop diva with five ex-husbands, three sassily-attired Chihuahuas and a huge gay following) to say hi to us miserable bastards.

Carillo, as everyone who tuned into NBC’s Beijing Olympics coverage knows, just spent a couple of weeks filing stories on Chinese cuisine curiosities and the mating habits of pandas (zoo officials can say whatever they want, we all know the pandas listen to Al Green and do what comes naturally). The assignments were weak stuff compared to her antics with ice queen Johnny Weir at the 2006 Winter Olympics, but I guess it could’ve been worse — she could’ve been dispatched to milk more tears from the mascara-streaked eyes of Debbie Phelps, or we could have endured an extra ten minutes of Bob Costas’ self-important blathering each night.

I’m just glad that USA allowed her to check in with viewers today, because the monotony of their coverage has been driving me crazy. And the commercials! Oy vey. We get it, you want us to watch Burn Notice. Things explode in Burn Notice, and hip characters wear sunglasses and pepper their top-secreet cell phone conversations with sarcastic barbs, impervious to the danger around them. Now shut up about it. But the commercials for the remake of The Women that they’ve shown incessantly during the night matches, those can stay. Eva Mendes looks fetching in those.

I’m Still Around, People

Jeanne Moreau has always been a sharp dresser.

I just need a few days to recover from Roger Federer’s Wimbledon loss before I’m ready to face the world again.

Anti-Tuxedo Prejudice in the Tennis Community


Color me outraged! Maria Sharapova, who indulged her love of menswear by dressing in a tuxedo top and shorts at this year’s Wimbledon, got her ass kicked by Alla Kudryavtseva today. (If her name is unfamiliar, it’s because Kudryavtseva generally sucks.) The final score was so awful that I can’t bring myself to type it here, but that’s not the source of my indignation. What has me all riled up* is what Kudryavtseva said when asked what propelled her to victory: “I don’t like her outfit. It was one of the motivations to beat her.”

C’mon, Kudryavtseva! You have to give Sharapova some credit for making a bit of a Marlene Dietrich-like, Katharine Hepburn-esque fashion statement at Wimbledon. (For those of you who don’t watch tennis, even the tacky British newspaper The Sun, which initially criticized Sharapova’s tux, later apologized for their rush to judgment. Check out the third picture in the slideshow if you want to see why I think her getup was altogether badass.)

All the dress-wearing gets boring to watch sometimes, and I encourage Sharapova’s fellow WTA player to change things up every now and then, just as I encourage the men of the ATP to consider a little on court cross-dressing of their own. ‘Cause you have to admit, Rafael Nadal would look handsome in a skirt.

* Maybe “riled up” wasn’t all that accurate. Mildly annoyed would be a more apt description, and even that was offset by Kudryavtseva adding, “She’s brave enough to experiment. Sometimes she has good ones, sometimes not. That’s my personal opinion. Maybe someone will tell me I dress terribly.”

But I wanted to post something today, and it was either this or complain about Sarah Bird’s recent ‘blah blah gay son blah blah stereotypes blah supposed satire’ monstrosity at Salon.com. Problem was, I couldn’t make it past the second or third paragraph of the Bird whatsit, so all I could honestly say about it would be this: The way A.O. Scott felt about The Love Guru — in his words, “an experience that makes you wonder if you will ever laugh again” — that’s how I feel about Bird’s strenuously unfunny piece.

Wimbledon!

“I used to play doubles with Dana Fairbanks, if you catch my drift.”

Wimbledon starts in just under eight hours, and questions about the tournament abound: Will the swashbuckling Rafael Nadal make it to the finals again? Will Ana Ivanović continue to pump her fists every two seconds? Will Novak Djoković’s family continue to annoy me from the stands? And perhaps most importantly, what will Maria Sharapova and Roger Federer wear? We’ll find out soon enough, provided there aren’t any rain delays on Monday. American viewers can look up TV scheduling information here, and don’t forget that ESPN 360 will stream 250 hours of live coverage and press conferences as well.

Related: Official Wimbledon website

Sharapova Tops Ivanovic … In Bed

“I haven’t been this excited since I found those Mulholland Drive clips on YouTube!”

Yeah, that juvenile title was just to get your attention. Congratulations to Maria Sharapova, who beat Ana Ivanovic 7-5, 6-3 in the Australian Open final last night. In her victory speech, Sharapova cited an inspirational text message Billie Jean King sent her that read, “Champions take their chances and pressure is a privilege.”

Said Sharapova of King, “She’s always a person who texts me if I have a tough moment or a great win. I woke up this morning to the text. I had those great words in my mind during the match.” My guess is the text continued, “BTW, how long do you think this Shane celibacy thing is going to last?” but Sharapova chose to keep that quiet rather than risk alienating her sponsors.

Australian Open Programming Reminder

“I used to play doubles with Dana Fairbanks, if you catch my drift.”

North American viewers, take note: ESPN2’s coverage of the Australian Open begins tonight at 7 EST. The Australian Open, like all Grand Slam tennis tournaments, has special significance to the gay community. Every year, for two weeks at a time, it allows us to gawk at a seemingly endless parade of lesbians dressed in small amounts of clothing, locked in sweaty battle with their rivals. On the men’s side, there are the cheeky antics of Novak Djokovic to look forward to—and it’s just a matter of time before some crazy straight women start writing X-rated Federer/Nadal slash fiction.

As for me, my favorite part of the Australian Open is the commentary provided by Mary Carillo, who is more likely to quote Simpsons episodes as she deconstructs a player’s game than gab about her jewelry or what she had for lunch. (Yes, Tracy Austin, I’m looking at you. I don’t watch tennis to hear about your salad or what you’re wearing.) My love for Carillo, which blossomed when I read that she once explained a loss by saying, “I blame society,” and grew when I saw her spots with Johnny Weir during NBC’s Olympic Ice, is sometimes the only thing that keeps my TV off mute during ESPN2’s tennis coverage. One can only listen to so much Patrick McEnroe, Pam Shriver, Chris Fowler, and Mary Joe Fernandez before lapsing into a coma, and I’m expected at work this week.

UPDATE: The Internet is a truly magical place. Not long after I posted this, I was sent a link to Tennis Slash. While I’d never given much thought to a Safin/Federer pairing, I have to say, until Rafa cuts his hair and burns every last pair of those awful capri pants, it’s the hotter alternative.

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