Few people outside her camp felt as happy for Dominika Cibulkova yesterday as I did.
When the 5'3" Slovak upset Victoria Azarenka, all the commentators referred back to the Sony Ericsson in Miami, when Cibulkova had the match on her racket, serving at 6-1, 5-2, and lost the game, the set and eventually the match to the world's #1.
I was one of a few thousand people in the Grandstand watching that match and, about an hour later, I was the only reporter in the post-match interview room. Cibulkova stood in sweats behind the stenographer who, thinking that I had come for a bigger name player, told me his interview would be held later. I explained that I had come for Cibulkova and the disheartened young woman turned and gave me a smile.
It was as unexpected as my solo presence at her press conference. I had hoped, as usual, to sit in the back, listening as other, more seasoned reporters asked her smart questions. I dreaded going to the press conferences of players who had just lost a match - especially a match they should have won. I always felt as if I had crashed a funeral and was grilling the widow on her inability to keep her husband alive.
Now, I was the only mourner; there was no hiding behind people with deadlines. Eventually, two other reporters arrived, but for the first minute or so it was just me and Cibulkova, who had moved to the dais while I had taken a seat in the empty first row. I asked her the only thing I could think of, sounding more like a parent than a probing reporter: "How are you doing?"
Norman Braman was outraged by the building of Marlins Park. I'm outraged that they've made it into an indoor stadium.
This past weekend the Marlins played one night game and two days games. I was tempted to go to the night game, but there were reports of possible showers (imagine that) and I figured they would close the roof. They did.
I've been to the stadium twice, once for an exhibition game in March, once for a regular season game in April. Both times the roof was closed. I knew not to go to the weekend games because I'd heard that the roof will be closed for all day games. Even day games at the beginning of May when there's no threat of rain and the temperatures don't even reach the high 80s.
We have either the most pampered players or the most pampered fans in baseball.
A letter writer in the Miami Herald this morning congratulated Shaquille O'Neal on his recent doctorate, and said that he would love to see other celebrities following Shaq's example. I wonder if Dwyane Wade and LeBron James think that by wearing clunky black glasses they are.
After the Marlins' sweep of the Giants in San Francisco, I suspect that the roof of the new stadium will be closed for good and the thermostat set permanently at 55 degrees.
The first prediction is not far off. I went down to Marlins Park last Friday, knowing that I had to go in spring to have any hope of watching a game outdoors. Walking toward the stadium I saw with dismay that the roof was closed. (The skies were overcast, and there were reports of showers later.)
Inside, the place looked livelier, more finished, than it had for the exhibition game in March. The bar above centerfield was open for business, under a big bright Budweiser sign. Normally I hate advertising, but I had to admit the red neon looked good above the lime green wall.
The Bobblehead Museum was now furnished with the little statuettes, their heads bobbing (apparently air is circulated to keep them moving). The collection covers both leagues throughout the decades, and includes mascots and famous announcers. People peering into it can't help but smile. It's a whimsical reminder of the humor in baseball, which usually takes place in the dugout or clubhouse, invisible to fans.
I walked around admiring the art work; there was not a piece I didn't like, including the Home Run Sculpture by Red Grooms. This time I found The Taste of Miami, set off from the concourse, and with outdoor walkways looking over Little Havana. The ceviche looked good - better than the piles of processed ham waiting to go into Cuban sandwiches - though it was served in a styrofoam cup. I headed over to Miami Mex (Kosher Korner was still closed) and got the steak tacos which were as good as I remembered them (actually worth the $12). The pickled onion gives them a unique flavor, and helps counteract the mildly fiery sauce.
I made my way up to Section 302 - I had asked for the cheapest ticket, which was $2 less than my tacos - just to see what the view was like. It wasn't bad, but I didn't find my seat; I headed down to the Budweiser bar, bought a beer, found a place at the wall (it wasn't easy; the area is a popular hangout spot), and watched the game from deep left-centerfield. Kids screamed "LOGAN!" and Morrison turned and gave them a quick, waist-high wave.
After a few innings I got tired of standing and walked toward the third base side. Coming down the aisle, I continued until I was far enough away from the blasts from the massive air conditioning units.
I found an empty seat with no problem. I tried to keep my eyes on the field - the grass looked rather anemic - and imagine that the roof was open. I hate watching sports indoors, especially baseball, the languorous game of summer. But it was hard to pretend because of the noise. A roof, of course, traps sound; at one point I thought that the experience of sitting at a Marlins game replicated my least favorite aspects of eating out in Miami: It was cold and it was loud.
In the latter innings, a characteristic, repetitive, South Beach bounding seemed to be emanating from the Clevelander in leftfield. How could this be, I wondered. Between innings perhaps - but during the game?
When the game was over I headed to Calle Ocho, for Cultural Friday, and watched the dancers on the sidewalk outside El Pub. It was heavenly to be outside.
The Marlins aren't hitting and I think I know why: They're too distracted by their new uniforms, the busiest and most colorful (some might say gaudy) in baseball. It's only the end of April, but I suggest a design change.
When I heard that Los Angeles Lakers forward Metta World Peace had been given a seven-game suspension for hitting an opposing player in the head with his elbow, my immediate thought was: If you change your name to World Peace you shouldn't go around giving people concussions. But then it occurred to me that perhaps he has a highly developed sense of irony.