June 14th, 2009

Charah coffee

Weekends are made of tennis and fun!

Before I finally post my Epic Roger Picspam (more epic than the Madrid one), I'd like to announce that I'm aching all over from yesterday's crazy-intense tennis session. NUS Wall Guy mandated that, in order not to remain stagnant in tennis, I had to try and sustain rallies that were at least twenty shots from the baseline. He'd hit everything back even if the ball was out, even if he had to run from the deuce court all the way to the ad court and back to the deuce court again.

That went on for at least an hour and a half. It was SO tiring. In one of the rallies that was about thirty shots, I was fucking dying towards the end. I felt like my arm was about to break, like I had no strength to hit the stupid ball anymore, and for some reason he kept hitting to my forehand which concentrated all the torture in my right arm. A few times I tried running to the backhand, just to fail utterly because I have no footwork.

It is very sad indeed. It's even sadder that I can't even remember what shot I hit that ended one of the rallies with a winner (usually I'd end the rallies - on a stupid error).

The bright side is, the forehand is more and more consistent - which I wouldn't have believed was possible six months ago. Yay! I just changed my overgrip, which marks the second time in history I ever put the overgrip on myself, and now I have no overgrips left. This guy was supposed sell me 12 overgrips but when I met him at Clementi to pick up some stuff I bought online, he didn't bring them. And I forgot to ask. It's much cheaper buying in bulk than buying packs of 3 for $10 from Royal Sporting House. The guy said he'd sell me 12 for $25. Or something like that.

I still cannot serve though. Actually, by that I really mean I haven't attempted a serve in the longest time. The result is usually embarrassing so I've been avoiding it...which is really, really sad.

Know what else is sad? I was SO hungry after tennis last night that I ordered a regular-sized pizza at Modesto's and practically ate the whole thing. If Tong hadn't stolen a slice from under my nose (I honestly didn't even notice he took one until he'd eaten like half of it), I would've eaten the whole freaking pizza. On top of that, I also more or less ate the entire basket of bread + olive oil/vinegar/garlic. Then he ordered a panna cotta, and since it was just in front of me, I obviously had to eat it.

I am such a pig, I'm gonna grow fat one day and kill myself. Depressed max.

Tong was also utterly retarded last night. He fell for the same trick I pulled to wrestle his cigarettes from him - TWICE. Hahahahahaha! I laugh out loud just thinking about it.

Okay I'm totally not in the writing mood, so I shall post this now.

Charah coffee

Picspam; The Greatest of All-Time.

When I jokingly suggested that Roger made the French Open his next title after Madrid in this entry, I had no idea that it would actually happen. I'd joke about him winning in Roland Garros, thinking it was a near-impossibility, if not an outright impossibility; he'd tried four times, and all four times he failed. His most recent French Open final defeat at the hands of Nadal was a straight-sets loss, with one set resulting in a bagel - and it was not Roger that dished out the bagel.

Such is fandom, though, and the perils of hero worship, that while you rationally do not expect your tennis hero to win the French Open at the start of the tournament, you irrationally hope that he would anyway. When his biggest obstacle to the title was inexplicably taken out in Round 4, that hope became less of a hope and began to feel more and more like it could actually happen. Finally, rationality and hope didn't have to be at odds with each other; because for once, it was entirely rational and logical that he would win the French Open - finally win the French Open.

To be honest, when I sat down to watch the final last Sunday, I wasn't even that worried. I was nervous to be sure, but it was nowhere near the level of anxiety that I experienced during the Australian Open final and the Madrid final. I wasn't pleased that the second set had to be pushed into a tie-break, but when he served those consecutive aces, and donated one point to Soderling, I knew he had the match in his bag. I knew the match was his to lose.

He was nervous closing it out. Soderling probably blew what was potentially the biggest opportunity of his career when he missed a forehand on break point when Roger was serving for the match. But Soderling never stood a chance. The enormity of the occasion was against him; but more importantly, it was Roger Federer at the other side of the net. No one stands in the way of Roger Federer and his Grand Slam, his spot in tennis history, except Roger Federer himself. He lost the Australian Open final, but he wasn't going to lose this one. He played an "unplayable" game, hit a trusty, reliable big first serve on championship point, and when Soderling's return, overpowered by the sheer force - of physical speed, and of will - of Roger's serve, found the net, Roger collapsed to his knees, hands covering his face, overcome with joy that he'd finally, finally won the French Open.

During the awards ceremony, when the Swiss national anthem was played, Roger couldn't contain his tears. And it's this human side of him - the human side to genius, to a great, great champion - that makes him so appealing, so easy to root for, so worthy of devotion and idolatry. He is the biggest earning tennis player in tennis history; he can retire today and be set for life. But he doesn't play for the money, for the fame and fortune; he plays for the passion for the sport, all the while carrying in his heart the great respect he has for the history of his sport.

He is amazing. Truly, utterly amazing.

Beauty in Action

Beauty in Reaction

The Elusive Trophy

His Human, Human Tears

Mirka and Roger's Camp

Greatest Players of All-Time: Agassi and McEnroe

Eiffel Tower

Arc de Triomphe

Congratulations, Roger

Sigh. I love him. So much. Seeing him at the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe makes me even happier and brings back wonderful memories of when Mag and I were there, same time last year. Roger and Paris is a really great combination!