The Deuce Club, 12.20
Season's greetings, Tribe! Hope you're all dreaming of dancing sugarplums and have completed the holiday shopping. (When I was a child, I always thought a sugar plum was a candied, sugar-covered plum. Alas.)
This photo looks very grey and wintry, taken at the grounds of Bercy. I'll let you guess who the extraordinarily chic dressers are who are inhabiting the empty steps. I ought to have made a pic that zoomed in on their shoes, which look especially fashionable.
Some of us do not achieve such greatness; if you don't believe me, ask Pete, whose first voicemail to me at the US Open, from his media seat to my high-in-Armstrong perch, began with what may or may not have been sarcasm, "[chuckle] Hi Heidi. Nice hat." I sweated my way through the day in my UNICEF t-shirt, which was my way of showing Federer-ship.
I just got back from a quick trip in Wisconsin. Everywhere I went, in each tiny town, I saw tennis courts. They may be snowed over at the moment and playing second fiddle to the camels penned up for the Nativity scene, but I'm always glad to see them. Despite the moans about tennis's low popularity, it seems quite alive and well to me on a recreational level, and that has to mean decent things for its long-term stability. Although it's not Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for that!
Merry Christmas! See you all next week. Don't forget to send photos of your various trees and holiday celebrations!