Today was one of those days at the French Open in Paris at Roland Garros for the Men’s Singles Finals. So much at stake for the two men playing each other on the Centre clay court but the Weather Gods were having none of that High Drama without applying extra pressure through intermittent raindrops that kept fallin’ on everybody’s heads. Nasty. And I’m not just talkin’ about the weather, either.
The old woman Slow’s Perpetual Pick Rafa Nadal came out swingin’ like a house afire and jumped early on to a seemingly insurmountable lead of two sets to zip. Brothers and Sisters, he was KILLING Novak Djokovic those first two sets. Pretty was pulling for Djokovic – she wanted him to get GRANDE SLAMMED four times in a row and wasn’t happy with his lackluster start this morning. Apparently neither was he. Ouch.
Boo Hoo, Boo Hoo Big Boy.
Paw Lick Annie was as interested in the Men’s Final today as she was in the Women’s Final yesterday. Please contain your excitement, Miss Annie.
And just like that – the Fickle Finger of Tennis Fate cast a Spell on Nadal and the wheels fell off his bandwagon right there in front of a packed house at Roland Garros and in living rooms and sports bars across six continents. I’m excluding the continent of Antarctica because I don’t know if they have televisions, but I’m thinking they don’t have sports bars for sure. Whatever. At any rate the worm turned and Djokovic thumped Rafa in the third set and found the Mo Joko he hadn’t been able to muster during the first two hours of their battle. Paw Snaps for Pretty!
And then…and then…oh, be still my beatin heart…they had to stop because of the raindrops on their heads. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you get rained out. And today was a rain-delay day in Paris. Who knew such excitement would continue yet ANOTHER day tomorrow morning. At 7 a.m. for God’s sake. I’m sure we’ll be up at our house to catch the final finale! Will Rafa repeat for a record 7 French Open titles, or will Djokovic be the undisputed King of the Grand Slams with four in a row? Will Slow be a gracious winner or a sore loser? Will Pretty be awake to watch?
In the immortal words of Rhett Butler:
Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.