wimbledon specials

it is monster/magic/mad monday at wimbledon, probably the most intense day of the fortnight. we'll have the highest potential for greatness and upsets: both williams sisters in action, and the blonde bombshells (azarenka, sharapova, wozniacki, lisicki, kvitova), plus the wild ms marion, the top 4 men, and a "deliciano"...

i want to watch them all of course--it's a good day for playing hooky.

but the only match i really care about is nadal/del potro--i'll have to set the dvr and listen live to radio wimbledon while i'm at the office. i'd like to think i'll watch the recording of all the day's matches later tonight, but then there will be more tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. there will not be enough evening hours to catch up.

but i don't mind relying on the radio commentary (alternately serious and clever, but always smart and fun. gigi salmon is my girl crush!) and of course, on steve. he's running a new feature called "keeping tabs"--a daily look at all the crazy, cheeky headlines (and some interesting tennis news bytes) from the UK. i love to make that my first read of the day with the first coffee of the day, though it's just as fun in the afternoon and evening...

oh, and then he writes more and more...even on his day off.

here at home, i have been trying to celebrate the slam by taking advantage of some of the restaurant partnerships, sponsored by HSBC, at places like tea and sympathy.

when i dined there last week, the "andy murray chicken curry" was sold out. everyone on the bandwagon even here, i guess.

our waitress tried to hard sell the "sampras sussex chicken," but it sounded like a feast that could put me to sleep sitting upright (not unlike sampras' game). i opted for the traditional (that's the wimby spirit, isn't it?) : stilton/apple/walnut salad, bangers and mash, and the celebrated eaton mess: meringue, cream and mixed berries.

the eton mess is not on the regular menu as the meringue is a little challenging to make, especially in the humidity of the ny summer. indeed they didn't quite make or store this dish properly--parts of the meringue were chewy (one could mistake it for stale, even).

but i was in too good a mood to quibble about that. it was the thought--wimbledon specials--that counted.

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tea and sympathy is at 108-110 greenwich avenue (intersected by jane street! in ny's west village)

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all photos © anita aguilar

transition game

the wimbledon preview issue of tennis magazine was a nice surprise in my mailbox (along with a very awesome double elvis postcard from cousin jenny, making her grand tour of the PCW, and a birthday card with a george burns quote from my aunt and uncle. cute card, but sort of alarming that i've reached the age where a george burns quote is considered relevant?).

the magazine's arrival is perfectly timed, not just because the slam starts on monday, but because last night i decided i'm taking a furlough from team sports (to recover from whatever nameless thing just happened in los angeles). it's going to be tennis. only tennis for the next two weeks.

i have to confess that while i've been a fan for, you know, decades, my grasp of tennis history pre-1974 is pretty weak. i know a lot of names and have a general sense for who the dominant players were during the various eras, but the historical underpinnings, the larger dynamics surrounding the sport are pretty much unknown to me. but i got a good lesson last night from mfw, about the how the ground started to shift in the 1940s-- to paint it broadly, the game began its transition, from east to left coast, private to public, artistic to tactical, amateur to professional.

the article will help round out some of the names that might ring familiar--at least it did forme. for all i knew, jack kramer was a great enough player to have the racket; bobby riggs was the guy with the black spectacles who lost the battle of the sexes spectacle against billie jean king; pancho gonzales had the cool nickname--"lefty." i'd never heard of ellsworth vines. and i never knew that there was a tennis executive named "mr. jones" -- who sounds not unlike a certain mr. steinbrenner, at least in how how expects players to look.

it's a lot to try to wrap your head around, but really interesting (and worth picking up the july/august at the newsstand, since i don't know that that content will be shared online).

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pancho gonzalez, who dominated the men's game for about a decade, is an intriguing character. i think it's easy for a lot of people to look these pictures and consider his success, and make assumptions...perhaps that being a champion also equated with being happy, that being a tennis champion in particular conferred a gentlemanly dignity...

photo by allan grant, may 1949. via life magazine

photo by allan grant for life magazine. may 1949.

but of course, his life and experiences are more complex. there are less than rosy stories about him--as he became more dominant, be came more surly, a loner. i wonder--and would have to read his memoir to see if its possible to discern-- how much of that was part of his natural personality, how much of it was formed by the experience of being a mexican-american player--and champion-- in a then-predominantly white sport? i'd honestly never thought about it before...

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i was looking for a "tennis" poem, less heady than a tennis court oath. i found this poem for pancho gonzales.

there will be more tennis poetry on the way, as wimbledon has an official poet, matt harvey. i have no idea what that will be like, but i'm definitely going to read them...

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i will be spending the next two weeks, fully immersed in wimbledon: watching the matches, listening as much as i can to radio wimbledon, and reading a lot. though i'll personally be trying to take photos and post more about non-tennis things, expect links to all that really good stuff...

and: CHEERS.

"it really is your birthday..."

for the last couple of years, i have been engaged in a row of sorts with a friend, who is a federer fan. (you know where i stand.) beyond merely being a fan of federer, it's fair to say, he cannot stand nadal, which staggers me. but i suppose, it makes for some good wagering and sparring between us.

a couple of weeks ago, i mentioned that my birthday was coming up on june 21st.

late last week, we were engaged in an im exchange that went something like this:

friend: oh my god

me: what?

friend: it really is your birthday on sunday. wanna know how i know?

me: how?

friend: the new york times is running a cover story on rafa on sunday.

me: yes! fantastic coincidence

friend: that was god

i was amused by the exchange, but in the context of nadal's lame knees and his withdrawal from wimbledon, this is really not the dream birthday cover that it should have been.

photo by ryan pierse/getty, via nytimes.com

under injury-free circumstances, i might have thrown a frame around this nadal cover and hung it up on one of the big, white blank walls in my apartment. or at least pinned it to the grey walls of my cubicle at work. instead, i filed the magazine away, in my "to read someday" pile, in pristine condition. i did not even flip the cover. i had read the first several paragraphs of cynthia gorney's article online earlier in the week, when the times decided to give readers a little "teaser." but that was all i could bear. and that was before he officially bailed on the tournament.

(i did scroll through the accompanying photo gallery. this is one of only 2 original photos related to this cover story:)

nadal, photographed at the grand hotel parco dei principi, by paolo pellegrin/magnum, for the new york times.

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nadal is the player who brought me back, fully and heartily, into the game a few years ago. i've felt like a kid--unfettered enthusiasm, now powered by the internet. these eyes followed the "smaller" tournaments, not just the slams, tracked news and "pressers" and followed blogs (and happily discovered a world of the most engaging, thoughtful writing). but it got so that i started to wonder if i was really loving tennis, or if i was merely loving it when nadal played.

after nadal's withdrawal on friday, my first feeling was to skip wimbledon this year altogether.

but that same night, my favorite writer posted a preview of the ladies' championship. and i felt a little stirring...

hey ladies! i had forgotten about the ladies.

my favorite, ivanovic, has been a shadow. but there are others that i will cheer for (caroline wozniacki!). and wow, sharapova is back--i never thought i'd be happy about that, but i find i prefer that merciless competitive glare of hers, to the sight of the other players...whiny and limpy and dragging her body and her racket (read: serena), ever-wincing and ready to burst into tears, even after a win (azarenka).

and if they weren't all so plain loud (ok, nothing plain about larcher de brito's "grunts")...

oh well. i will still have to watch the ladies "on mute," but i will most certainly tune in.

and: the cherry on top? mfw is blogging from wimbledon (terrifically prolifically--twice daily, so far).

i still miss rafa, but it's looking like there will be plenty during this wimbledon fortnight to satisfy this tennis fan.

cheerio!

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steve tignor @ wimbledon, to date:
ladies' preview: "fortnight forecast"
gentlemen's preview: "fortnight forecast"
a little london color: "calm before storm"
peek at the london rags: "keeping tabs"
nice report on the young ones: "queen bees"

read a good poem, or hear one read by nadal and fed

I found this 2008 wimbledon video of roger federer and rafael nadal reading kipling's "IF," via a post by thomas lin, on the straight sets blog, on the nytimes.com.

tonight i will be heading out to jla studios in dumbo for something called the gelf's varsity letters sports reading series--si tennis authority and tennis mag contributor l. jon wertheim be there to chat about his book, strokes of genius: federer, nadal, and the greatest match ever played.

IF you don't already have plans, i suggest heading out there. it's a great lineup of writers, and brooklyn is beautiful in the rain.

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IF

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling