Monday Could Be It

For the past two weeks Carol has been waking up to the sound of tennnis balls being hit by tennis rackets.

Breakfast at Wimbledon, baby. I have been waking up to it every morning. The first week, with a thousand matches to be broadcast, they start at 6 am our time. The second week it is later - 8 or 9.

I sleep in my recliner. I am so glad we spent $100,000 on this recliner. I literally live in it now. I love it more than life itself. I wake up and turn on the TV. Instead of reading, on many days. Like some fool addicted to The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Except I am watching professional tennis. Stunning. Delicious.

I have seen so much exciting tennis. It saves my life. It extends my life. When I watch tennis I forget about my life. It brings me peace. Sweet, unadulterated, blissful peace. Unless I have to leave a match to go to work. Then I want to kill.

I have been examining my relationship to this sport. Tennis is life. You are alone, baby. On display for everyone to see. Win or lose. Deliver or perish. It is hard and it is emotional. It is unpredictable.

Top players go head to head and never know where they will end up. There are physical considerations, emotional considerations - so many intangibles play into it. Practicing 170 hours a week does not guarantee success. Those intangibles bring magic and mystery to the sport.

If someone is down two sets to Novak Djokovic, and suddenly has an impressive flurry of points and games won, I thrill to that. You know they are gonna lose - Djokovic is God. But that flurry is hope, and I connect with what the opponent feels. Maybe, just maybe..........................

The tennis is amazing to watch. So many times I react verbally to amazing shots - holy shit, wow, maybe a groan - I cannot help it. I shift left and right in The Chair - is it in? Did it hit the line? Christ, I love it.

My emotions were rolling like ocean waves this morning as I watched Ons Jabeur lose to Aryna Sabalenka in the women's championship round. Sabalenka won Wimbledon, baby - and she was unseeded. The first unseeded woman to win Wimbledon!

I was rooting for Jabeur - she is ranked 6th in the world and is very emotional. She felt the championship was her destiny after winning the semifinals. She was the runner up at Wimbledon last year. She lost today. That is life. You can't always get what you want. You rarely get what you want. She cried. I shed tears.

TOMORROW: Alcarez vs Djokovic in the men's final. 9 am. A dream matchup. I cannot wait.

They faced off in the semifinals of the French Open, but it was disappointing. Alcarez ran out of gas. Djokovic won 6-3, 5-7, 6-1, 6-1. Alcarez is 20, Djokovic is 36. I could not understand it.

I hope tomorrow is the greatest tennis match ever played. I hope Alcarez eats his fucking Wheaties. Because on Monday I will wake up to my life again. Without anesthesia. When I watch tennis I am a junkie with easy access to heroin. When it is taken away from me we're talking cold turkey, baby. Shaking, sweating, cursing and screaming.

I gotta win the fucking lottery.

You hate it when I talk tennis, don't you?