While the players bash backhands and fling forehands across the net, the French Open entered its second week with several top seeds taking the court. On days like this, it takes a stealth reporter to find stories in the underground. Thankfully, I’ve been lucky.
In the far corner of Roland Garros, a conversation took place, and one really had to put an ear to the ground to hear it. What follows is a transcript of what was said:
“Ze US cement lacks ze aesthetic artistry of what we ‘ave ‘ere. “It is tennis for Neanderthals. Zere is nothing but bludgeoning.”
“Bludgeoning? You are dirty, slippery, and turn footwear into stuff whose color resembles lingerie. Real athletes play on cement. Sliding is for sissies!”
“Gentlemen, cement and dirt are playing fields for peasants. Tennis shall be played for a fortnight upon the lawns, where one matures into something sensible. Athletes are not artists, but rather, aristocrats. Anything else would be uncivilized.”
“Mates, how ’bout a knock around and a beer?”
“Zis Aborigine thinks ze ball should never bounce. Zere is no art in serve and volley!”
“Oy, yoy, oy! Frenchy, you and your drop shots and angles and parabolic spins work too hard. Tennis is like life – camaraderie and cool suds beneath a brutal sun.”
“Plexicushion is for criminals – plus it’s hot enough to burn fish and chips. The clay canvas is an avante-garde auteur’s aesthetic wasteland, and the points on Flushing’s rectangles have less stamina than a post-pubescent teen. When you chaps seek class, plant some grass.”
“Post pubescent—! Listen up, Sir Gramineae, fifty weeks a year, you look like the ground in a dog park! And even when you’re in season, none of these players want to move forward on you anymore. They all run side to side like windshield wipers – which you could use by the way, damn rain!”
“Ruffians, ze lot of you. This week I am hosting ze true talents of the world’s greatest artists. It is only upon my surface zat zey can showcase their abilities. Any sculptor can tell you today, real art is made from clay.”
“Beer and me mates. Maybe some prawns. The rest is just surface stuff.”
The conversation ended abruptly. Apparently, Maria got beat. Novak and Rafa will play in the quarters and then argue about who got the worst draw in history. Roger too the pencil that is Monfils and sketched a victory into the terre batue. And after his victory, Andy is wondering whether the Orange in his hair is from Scotland or France. As for me, this is my article to prove I care about the Earth.
Topics: Craig Cignarelli, French Open, Paris, Roland Garros, Tennis News
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