The MLB game played in Williamsport, PA (home of the Little League World Series) is like the one played in Dyersville, IA (home of the Field of Dreams): hyped by announcers as a contest that gets to the true meaning of the sport. Yet I wonder how many of the players (i.e., spoiled millionaires) moan about traveling to these two backwaters.
Hania, taking a quick glance yesterday at the women's tennis match I was watching: "Ova versus ina."
Last weekend I was on the court with our neighbor Petra, who not too long ago played on the WTA tour. I was struggling more than usual, especially when she worked on my backhand, and I mentioned this to her during one of our breaks.
"We say in Slovak, 'Not every day is Sunday,'" she said. Then with a smile she added: "But today is Sunday."
First the death of Bill Russell and now the death of Vin Scully. Two very different men, with two very different jobs in two very different sports, but both models of how to live a full and purposeful life.
The finals were disappointing: The women's was plagued by too many unforced errors and, in Jabeur's game, too many drop shots. A drop shot is like a joke: it depends on the element of surprise. The men's final had a higher level of shot-making but not of suspense; you knew what the outcome would be as soon as Kyrgios started mouthing off. If he had one-tenth of Nadal's mental toughness he'd be #1 in the world. But he doesn't care to be. Asked in the post-match interview if coming in second gave him a desire to return to the final he replied: "Absolutely not. I'm so tired."
My dream of Wimbledon 2022 champions came closer to fruition yesterday as the Russian Elena Rybakina beat Simona Halep to advance to the final, and the bad boy Nick Kyrgios – who since my last post about him was presented with a domestic abuse charge back home in Australia – also advanced to the final after Rafael Nadal, his would-be opponent in the semifinals, announced his withdrawal from the tournament due to an abdominal tear. (This announcement came less than 24 hours before Boris Johnson announced that he was stepping down as prime minister.)
Kyrgios, even before the charge came to light, was like a train wreck on court: you couldn’t look away, always waiting to see what might happen next. Running monologues with his box (while his opponent was getting ready to serve), between-the-legs shots, arguments with the chair umpire over some perceived injustice. As Tennis Channel’s Brett Haber said, announcing one of his matches, “It seems he needs to find someone to be angry with.” And, spread out among the acts of guerilla theater, shot-making of a breathtaking quality. It is hard not to root for someone who possesses so much natural talent and yet squanders it with equal measures of showmanship and rage - and sometimes apathy. You feel sorry for the tennis player trapped inside the crazy suit. And who wouldn’t be all ears during his victory speech?
Rybakina, on the other hand, seems quite normal – or as normal as an elite athlete, especially a solitary tennis player, can be. Yet not as normal as her opponent Ons Jabeur, the Tunisian who brings a joy to the game that not even Ash Barty, the laidback Aussie, managed. After her semifinal win over her good friend Tatjana Maria, Jabeur pulled Maria back onto the court and quietly stepped aside so the 34-year-old mother of two could bask in the applause. It was an extremely touching moment, made even more so by the fact that Jabeur did it so casually and, seemingly, spontaneously. It showed her true nature, which is – despite her mean drop shots – kind and loving. (She is probably the most popular player on tour.) I hope she lifts the champion’s trophy on Saturday.