I'm getting in shape for Wimbledon by watching the tournament in Eastbourne. (Hey, it's not just the players who need to adjust to grass.)
As I type, Caroline Wozniacki is playing Aleksandra Wozniack in the semi-final match. Two big-boned blondes, they live in Denmark and Canada respectively, but their parents are Polish and they both speak the language. The opening round saw a Radwanska-Radwanska match, as Agnieszka (from Krakow) played her younger sister Urszula.
Polish-speaking women have a growing presence in tennis, though it can't compare to that of the Russians. As a Polish film critic said to me once: "Russia is an opera. Poland is an operetta."
Yesterday, Roger Federer did something we may not see again: he moved effortlessly from colloquial French to fluent English and back again - neither one his native language - in accepting his first French Open trophy.
The greatest player in the history of the game, and one of the most emotional, shed tears at the playing of the Swiss national anthem. Later, in his interview with John McEnroe, he was giddy with happiness and relief, giving excitedly long-winded answers to every question. The man who can't stop winning couldn't stop talking.
In the evening I went to Cinema Paradiso to see Out of Tune, one of the films of the Brazilian Film Festival. It was about a bossa nova group from Rio that travels to New York City in the early 60s. I love bossa nova, and last night, listening to the music - smooth, elegant, sophisticated, cool - I thought it would make the perfect soundtrack to Federer's movements around a tennis court. I may try it during Wimbledon.
What do I know?
Andy Murray lost yesterday, within 24 hours of Federer's prediction that he wouldn't win the French Open. But I still think Federer's statement was ill-advised, and may yet come back to haunt him - perhaps at Wimbledon. Lately, Murray has been as successful against Federer as Nadal has been. And as loved as Federer is in England, you know the crowd will be pulling for the Brit.
So I'm happy to see him leave Paris, though the highlight yesterday - for all lovers of the underdog - was Dominika Cibulkova's upset victory over Maria Sharapova. It was a 6-0, 6-2 blow out, and as satisfying as the match was, the meeting at the net was even finer, as the 5'3" Slovak happily offered her hand to the 6'2" Russian. Dominika and Goliath. After acknowledging the crowd, she scurried to her towels, like someone who had watched countless other winners toss their belongings into the stands and couldn't wait to finally do it herself.
As a footnote, I first saw Cibulkova at the Sony Ericsson in Key Biscayne in 2008. It was an early round match on an outside court, and I sat in the small stands in front of her coach, who is also from Slovakia. Her father and his buddies - all shirtless as I recall - stood at the back and chanted, between points, "Dol-cia! Dol-cia! DO-mi-ni-ka!" At one point her opponent looked over at them and pleaded for mercy. The coach was not happy about it either. He seemed a very nice guy, and I was impressed that, while obviously focused on the play of his pupil, he graciously took time to talk to a stranger (me). I have been a Cibulkova fan ever since.
What has been overlooked in the shocked response to Rafael Nadal's Sunday loss to Robin Soderling (whom the NBC Sports website called Soderberg - just to give you some idea of the size of the upset) is that the four-time French Open champion may never wear hot pink again.
Though perhaps Bud Collins mentioned this and I missed it. I haven't watched every minute of the Open, but I've seen quite a few thanks to the Tennis Channel, which last week fed my addiction by televising the action on five, sometimes six, courts simultaneously.
As usual, my favorites have been eliminated. This is what happens when you root for underdogs like Santoro and Poles (same thing) like Radwanska. (And even Wozniacki, who grew up in Denmark with Polish parents).
The one exception to my support of the also-rans is Roger Federer, though he was an underdog until the unseemly departure of Nadal. As much as I like him - his grace of movement, his classic clothing, his fluency in three languages - I grimace at his propensity for unforced errors both on the court (especially with his backhand) and off. The last of the latter was his comment that Murray wouldn't win the championship. I can think of no better way to inspire a fellow player to win than to say he won't.
Still, I want Federer to take it all, wowing the crowd with his elegant game and then, much more joyfully, with his beautiful French.
Because the commissioner of baseball did not heed my call to end the season after two weeks, we are now forced to watch the Marlins slip ever lower in the standings.
I am not a great student of the game, but it seems to me that the Marlins have two rather serious problems. The first is an inability to hold a lead. The second is an inability to come from behind. The combination could make for a very long summer.
A rare weekend post to ask: Can we stop the baseball season now? The team with the lowest payroll in the game - the marvelous Marlins - continue to find ways to win - (they just beat the Nationals in 11 innings after coming up with three runs in the top of the 9th) - and now have a franchise-best record of 10-1. Meanwhile the Yankees - who have one player who makes more money than the entire Marlins team combined - are, as I write, losing to the last place Indians 16 to 2.
Maybe we don't need that new stadium after all.