Miss Carol LOVES this stuff.
All of the major Opens have to be greedily watched every hour we’re home and they’re televised real-time ’cause Miss Carol’s a purist and absolutely will not taint her tennis pleasure by watching a replay.
I don’t much care one way or another. It’s easy on my beer soaked brain, watching the little ball bounce back and forth and listening to the truck-driver-shaped women grunt with effort.
What’s not to like?
Only this- tonight one of the truck-driver-women playing, a chick with lots of consonants and very few vowels in her name- how DO you pronounce those things anyway?- was having a severe problem with the folks that pay to watch her play.
Seems a spectator had a medical emergency causing some crowd noise and it was severely affecting Miss Kizzvntwerrtismqqm’s play. She was actually crying with the effort to marshall on against all of the interruptions to her preciously crafted concentration.
Tough shit bitch? (Did I just say that or just think it?)
Last time I checked, you’re a professional- you do this for a living, and I’m guessing you’ve been doing it most, if not all, of your cushy little tennis playing pampered life.
You can do it- even with the cute little truck driver skirt on.