"Who's Gronkowski?" Hania asked me last night over dinner. We were sitting at a restaurant a few hours after the Dolphins game, and the man sitting behind me was wearing a shirt with the name spread across the back.
"He's a tight end for the New England Patriots," I said. Then, thinking this would mean nothing to her, I added: "The man who throws him the ball is married to Gisele Bundchen."
"That's a good catch," she said.
Ned Rorem divided the world into masculine and feminine: London was masculine, Paris feminine. Yet, judging by the people in the stands, the French Open is masculine and Wimbledon is feminine.
Forget Jenner. What about the transformation of Boris Becker from slick-haired playboy in a pinstriped suit to red-faced rube in a trucker's cap?
Tracy Austin, Paul Annacone and Brett Haber - the best announcing team in tennis that doesn't include John McEnroe - did yesterday's Madrid Open final. After one of Rafael Nadal's numerous shanks, Austin noted that the ball hit the Spaniard's racket frame in two places. The slow motion replay showed that it did exactly that. Annacone expressed amazement that Austin had been able to see that as it happened.
"Moms," Haber said sagely, "see everything."
I'm hoping some horse knocks out the Derby favorite and then Pacquiao and Mayweather spend 12 rounds chasing each other around the ring.
I preferred the scrappy, underpaid, overachieving Marlins.