Wimby!

(written during the height of Wimbledon 2008 fever)

Before I die, I want to go to at least one tennis grand slam event.

I've spent the last few days holed up in my room watching Wimbledon '08. The fashion, the game, the tennis. I've never enjoyed a tournament the way I've enjoyed this one.

Rafael Nadal incessantly picks at his butt, and when he bends over, you can hear the sound of a million women creating a drool tsunami. The man has a wonderful rump, seriously. And he delivers. Plus he's sweet. I hope he's not gay. He isn't my type, but knowing all that hotness is going to waste just breaks my heart.

I want to hit Roger Federer for never losing (people who win all the time incite envy, yes; they also incite boredom). By now I know he's lost Wimbledon 2008 - despite Gavin Rossdale rooting for him 100% - and I'm actually happy Rafa pulled it off. It's about time the Fed tasted a little losing on the grass court.

They say tennis is a gentleman's sport. My ass. It's gladiatorial. Full of showmanship, guts, emotion, screaming, pain, euphoria. The ball is a metaphor for your head, and your head is getting the crap knocked out of it. Watch the matches on Center Court - 15,000 cheering, screaming people watching you get your ass handed to you on beautiful green grass. It's civilized paganism at its best. I keep waiting for Roger Federer to hold up his racket and scream "Are you not entertained?!?!" at the crowd.