I'd Like To Ace His Deuce, If You Catch My Meaning

I'm not what you'd call a "sports fan". Certainly I'm KO'd by Olympic fever every couple of years, but to me, that's quite different from the usual weekly fare. First off, I get to brush up on my flags of many nations identification skills and secondly, I get to realize my affinity for things not normally covered like the biathlon the bobsled and thirdly, there's about 1,000 other reasons I love the Olympics, but this is not a post about the Games. Those will come in 2008.

So, yeah, sports. I have never found myself interested in those that end in "ball" - basket, base, foot. They've never been my cup of tea as they seem too repetitive, too slow, too homoerotic. Sure, I had that dalliance with college basketball during the Duke domination years, but let's face it, that's solely because Christian Laettner was such a dreamboat and because I so desperately wanted to go to Duke at the time. Since then, I've occasionally been forced to feign interest in them due to boyfriends or parties or because I'm actually at a game. I think I could like hockey because it's always cool in the arena, but the only parts that interest me are when the teams change lines or they get into a brawl. Other than that, it's too hard for me to see the puck and my attention drifts to people watching.

But there is one sport I've always enjoyed, one I've tried on many occasions to learn, and that sport is tennis. Yes, I do have a crush on Roger Federer, but that's because he's so sublime. He embodies what tennis should mean - manners, good looking in white clothes, grace under pressure. That's tennis. Now, his occasional nemesis, Rafael Nadal is a good player, but he's too aggressive and certainly too much of an ass-picker for my liking (seriously, he tugs at his crack more times per match than he lands aces). Plus, Roger is the portrait of stoic swatting as he never ooogahs like the rest of the players - honestly, do they have to grunt everytime they put racquet to ball? So, why have I never taken up the second favorite sport of Palm Beach? Well, it all started back in the day when my Cranial Gravitational Pull was in full effect.

You see, I have an ailment. One so insidious that all sports took a dark cast - every pop-fly was cause for concern; every lay-up another moment to dodge out of the way; and speaking of "dodge", let's not even begin to discuss the torment wrought in that arena. Cranial Gravitational Pull (CGP) is a disorder in which a cranium, in this case, mine, is gravitationally stronger than the area around it causing all round, airborne objects to be pulled in its direction. Hit in the head with a basketball? Check. Volleyball? Definitely. Softball? You know it. Tennis ball? Got a black eye. So, as a youth, all the rites of passage involving team spirit were lost on me because I was usually way the hell out in left field or warming the bench while those without CGP were off enjoying base hits and whatnot. Now certainly the CGP wasn't the only thing standing in my way. I failed spectacularly at gymnastics (springboarded straight into the vault and still can't do a back walk-over) and there aren't any balls there (no snickering). And, to be truthful, I think I rather enjoyed my ailment's benefits - a nice, stress-free afternoon sitting out in the grass or sitting over on the bench. As I got older, those stress-free afternoons involved sitting next to the cooler of beer so really, is it all that terrible?

Well, when it comes to the tennis court, yes, it is. I desperately want a cute little tennis outfit, my own little racquet bag, maybe even a visor. And all fashion aside, I especially want to lob and volley and backhand and ace like Roger. (Maybe even with Roger, but as I told Henry, it's probably better if I don't learn and can use my "I wouldn't recognize a sports figure if they told me point-blank they pitch for the Cardinals" routine [which isn't so much a routine as general ignorance].) I want to trot out to a close-clipped grass court and swat little white tennis balls like Lucy Honeychurch. And I'm trying. I've gotten myself a really ripping badminton set for the lawn and have at least been able to play moderately well, when I can find an opponent. I've also noticed that at the last baseball game I attended there weren't any line drives headed straight for my sightline. Perhaps, like some allergies, CGP dimishes over the years and I just might end up at 40-love someday. Just don't expect me to be standing in centerfield for your summer league. I'm far too happy over by the beer cooler.