Sunday, July 4, 2010

Dallas does...Wimbledon.

Another early morning, this time more Rafael Nadal related than a continuation of my care for Mr. Luke. Woke up within 15 minutes of the start time, pretending as usual that my earlier alarm must have failed to go off.
My stroll downstairs was rudely met with a "you better get your butt over to Luke before tennis starts" kinda hello from my cruel momma and then an agreement between both parental units that No, I could not wear my pajamas through our neighborhood.
I, for one, would love to see how Mayfair reacted to a pseudo-Walk of Shame.
Decided to sprint over there (I had deemed myself far too sleepy to drive), and made it back home in time for the opening serve.
As most will know from various media sources, Rafa took it in three sets. Berdych was tricked into thinking each set was going well with both men trading service games, until suddenly Nadal would step it up to the next level and seemingly effortlessly create a break of serve to win the set. It was stunning, and somewhat out of place in a grand slam final.
Not that I minded.
And as I happily watched Nadal hoist that Wimby cup for the second time (his eighth major win), I continued to wonder to myself just what marks the change from 'fan' to 'fanatic.'
While, yes, my Facebook friends may get fed up with the various cartoonish hearts after his name in my statuses, I can always argue the fact that I have a general respect for the entire sport. I may sink into day-long slumps when he bombs out of a tourney, but I wouldn't call myself unable to finish out the rest of the viewing schedule with other favorites in mind.
I might admit, though, that my obsession could use a redux if the nasty habit of random Lincolnites calling the man from Mallorca my 'boyfriend' continues.
But I stand by the idea that I respect his game first and body second, that I can see him with his real life girlfriend without a pang of jealousy, and that I value his need to heal his knee problems over his continued successes in tournament after tournament.
Not that I won't cry if I ever see him in person (a very large possibility now that my fantastical parents bought my Cincinnati tournament tickets).
So some, noting my personal attachment to his every victory and supersticious routines on days that he plays, may call my fanatic weaknesses out of control.
I just call it love.

Today's thought comes from the beautiful Rafa himself:
"I look forward to the US Open. For me, it's always a goal to win there, no? I must perform well in Toronto and CINCINNATI while preparing."

Looks like I better pack my Kleenex.

Peace, Love, and Raging Rafael Nadal love.

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