Señor Nadal

My father, in the hope of making a boy out of a fag son, tried introducing me to tennis when I was 9 or so. Every Saturday he would bring me to the tennis court and hire this instructor to teach me backswings and stuff (god, I hardly have any memories of the game).

When my father is out of sight, I would always add some campiness to a serve by ending it with a twirl like the ballerina that I should have been in the first place. Until one weekend I refused to go to the tennis court with my dad, which is yet another failed attempt of him to "straighten me out".

The only thing that connects me and my dad when it comes to tennis is how we enjoy watching it on TV, especially Wimbeldon and the French Open. For some reason it is one of the few sports that I enjoy watching aside from synchronized swimming and ice skating. Oh yeah, I also love watching diving, swimming, and gymnastics for obvious reasons. Anything that features muscular men in skimpy clothing, dahling, I'm so there!

But who said tennis does not have its share of yummy guys? At that time when Goran (something something ang family name... basta that Croatian) won Wimbeldon in 2001 (or thereabouts), I was hooked on tennis. That guy is cute! I also had a short affair with Lleyton Hewitt of Australia but his is too scruffy for my taste eventually.

And emerged Spanish Rafael Nadal. That guy could be the father of a dozen of my kids! Time magazine likened him to a bull from Pamplona (actually he is from Majorca).

And you can easily tell why. He is ferocious on the court, especially on clay where he is best. And boy, I heard he could grunt like nobody else on the court can. Yup, not even the William sisters. And those arms dahling; he can crush me with them anytime, I would not even give out a whimper.

Hay Señor Nadal...

The US Open is currently in full swing. These are the days when I desperately need a television.