The Deuce Club, 9.06
As I write, Darth Roger is breaking the game and the heart of Darth Roddick. But it took him two sets to get here, so I don’t know who was right: me or the person I was talking to at the TW party who thought that Roddick would be a severe test for Federer. I think I may have laughed a little.
As Pete already reported, the party took place last Friday on Andrew’s building’s gorgeous wooden roof deck, complete with bar, grill, frige, cushions, and nooks and crannies galore. The only thing that could possibly have made the party any better for a load of tennis fanatics, I suppose, was a television, but we didn’t even notice its lack amid the nonstop tennis conversation. Djokovic-Stepanek was the topic of the day, with appropriate anticipation of Fed-Isner. A couple of hours into the party, Tom Perrotta, his wife Rachel and I had dared to turn the conversation to other matters, and suddenly heard right next to us a passionate debate about Stepanek in the third set. Naturally, it was Steve Tignor and Ray Stonada.
The gathering gained critical mass early, with Andrew presiding over the grill (he had previously laid out beautiful snacks, including some highly addictive cheesy cocktail sticks). Pete and Ray Stonada swept in later, tequila in hand, after which Pete and Andrew reigned supreme behind the bar, Pete mixing his highly dangerous concoctions till the bottle was empty. Around 11:15pm, Andrew brought out a cake, very sweet in both senses of the word. And I have no idea how long the party lasted, but as of midnight it was going strong.
Next week will feature more pics from the party. I’d like to make sure those featured in the photos are OK with me posting them, first. Also, if you have photos of the Open or vacations, family pets, etc., start sending them in again!
I’m back in the Midwest now, in the land where the evening session starts at 6pm. I got caught by that last night and had to rush home from the gym to catch Jankovic-Williams; luckily, there was plenty more to come. Watching tennis on TV again is fine with me. Not so fine is tennis via telephone. I was at the airport on Monday afternoon when a friend called me to shriek, “Are you watching this match?!”
Me: Uh, no, I’m at the airport. What’s going on?
She: Blake is about to win over Tommy Haas in the fifth set.
I happily shut off my phone, boarded the plane, sat on the tarmac, sat through the flight, sat on the train, dragged myself home, turned on the TV to the ESPN crawl and saw… well, you all know what I saw.
“For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been!”