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Saturday, September 02, 2006


Wet Balls

So a couple of the big things in New York this weekend have been rain and tennis.

We've been getting pissed on pretty much non-stop since last night. Thanks, Ernesto, you rotten putz. This means that all of our Labor Day fun is happening not outdoors. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. My wife and I went for a very nice run around the reservoir this morning. Got fairly wet.

And then there's the tennis. If you follow tennis at all, then you've probably seen at least some of the second round match between the aged Andre Agassi and the youthful Cypriot, Marcos Baghdatis. My wife and I watched it on Thursday, but both had to go to sleep before the finish. We were mighty glad to hear that he'd pulled it out, though, 'cause he's as old as we are.

It's nicer still because we've got tickets for the Open tomorrow morning. Arthur Ashe stadium, 10:30. Thanks to today's rain, Mr. Agassi will be taking on Benjamin Becker right in front of our eyes. So, this past week, I got to see Meryl Streep on stage, now it looks like I'll get to see a match in Agassi's last open, which, if you're watching CBS today, you know is roughly equivalent in importance to the Kennedy Assassination. Overly hyped or not, though, we're looking forward to it.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that my wife and I are die-hard tennis fans from way back. We're not. We're very much Johnny-come-latelys. During some crappy weather on our trip to the Bahamas, we sat in our room and watched some of the French Open. And for the first time, we really kind of enjoyed watching two people hit a ball back and forth over a net for hours. We've been paying attention since then, closely monitoring the Federer/Nadal rivalry at Wimbledon and seeing whatever games we can of this year's U.S. Open.

We've even been tempted to try to play ourselves, something we haven't done--literally--in a decade. Yes, we attempted to take up the sport not long after we'd moved to Seattle. We bought a couple of second-hand racquets and headed down to the court that was in our neighborhood. We popped open a new can of balls and started trying to hit them to each other and we discovered that the game isn't quite as effortless as it looks. Not liking effort, we gave up and have shlepped the racquets with us through every move since then, knowing, somehow, that the day would come when we'd decide we wanted to try again. And that now.

Or, more precisely, whenever the hell it stops raining.

You seem to forget that we are decidedly NOT the same age. I am much, much younger than you, and therefore, much younger than our dear Agassi.

--Your wife.
Oh, wow, a celebrity commenter: the legendary Mrs. Wack!

(If this has happened before, my apologies - I've been out of the blogosphere for a while.)
"Much much younger?"

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