C'est Moi

see that beautiful gorgeous smile. a 22 year old boy from an island in the mediterranean, 6 grand slam titles to his name, 13 masters shields, 33 atp titles in all. after winning his first hardcourt grand slam title last january in melbourne, the world didn't notice. not really. everyone was talking about the crybaby that was roger federer and his waning moon in tennis nightdom.

finally, against a gracious red-haired scotsman who owns that swiss crybaby, my rafa got the attention he deserved from fans and media alike.

down-to-earth, hard-working, self-effacing, charming, matter-of-fact, simple, and silly.

rabid roger fans will never know how it feels to rejoice with someone who works so hard to be the best, to celebrate the victory of someone with an unparalleled work ethic, to be happy for someone they snobbishly dismiss as "just a clay court specialist". roger fans can be blind to the virtues of other players, disdainful snobs who might not even know their tennis at all. (i sat in a noisy shanghai stadium of roger-only screaming fans who couldn't even recognise roger's impeccable placement skill in serving --- they were disappointed that his serve speed didn't go upwards of 180 kph --- and they called themselves fans of roger. be fans of the game!)

as for rafa, well, he's for down-to-earth folk. not to mention lascivious, promiscuous, and salivating over the comely sight of biceps and buns.

vamos rafa the king!


(my son has started his tennis lessons and i've never seen a happier boy on the court. for him and his dreams i would do anything. anything. i will not make him adjust to my schedule nor make him feel he has to fly to the moon and back in order to deserve a chance to be happy.)