Watching Andre Agassi play in what might be his last U.S. Open is a little sad to me. Nowhere near the sadness that so many are feeling in the New Orleans area right now, and it hardly feels acceptable to be talking about sports right now, but as I mentioned in a previous post, we all have different aversions in life…those things or activities that give us the calming sense of normality…for me it's sports.
I've been watching Agassi play tennis since the year after I graduated from high school. I've followed his career as he dealt with the various problems we all deal with—relational, personal, motivational, and others. I've seen him rise above it all and play well. I've seen him have little interest in the game and I've seen him take long breaks. Now he's married with children and he seems to enjoy and appreciate the game more than ever.
I'll probably never meet him (although I am a sports writer, so you never know), but oddly he's been part of my life for a long time. And it was hard to really appreciate him until he was on the verge of retiring. It's odd don't you think? We seldom appreciate what we have until we realize we are about to lose it.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
Even More Bad News
Thankfully the National Guard showed up today, but now we have this story about one of the busses turning over that was carrying the refugees to safer ground.
Coping
After we've written a check or helped in some other fashion, we all need to find a way to cope with disasters such as Hurricane Katrina. We find solace in work, in novels, in sports, or anything else that seems to bring a sense of normality—if even for just a few hours.
This morning, everything is relatively normal in the city in which I live. At least until I took my car in for an oil change and noted that gas is now a dollar higher than it was just a couple of days ago. But all over the city, people are working, getting their cars maintained, and doing the things that we do on any other normal day.
Of course, it's anything but normal. American citizens are living on bridges in New Orleans. Many family members cannot find relatives. Food is scarce in the Superdome, which doesn't seem all that aptly named right now. And the President is on his way this morning to see what he can do.
It's ironic though. Most days we long for anything but normality. Today we long for it in the biggest way, but it seems so elusive, doesn't it?
This morning, everything is relatively normal in the city in which I live. At least until I took my car in for an oil change and noted that gas is now a dollar higher than it was just a couple of days ago. But all over the city, people are working, getting their cars maintained, and doing the things that we do on any other normal day.
Of course, it's anything but normal. American citizens are living on bridges in New Orleans. Many family members cannot find relatives. Food is scarce in the Superdome, which doesn't seem all that aptly named right now. And the President is on his way this morning to see what he can do.
It's ironic though. Most days we long for anything but normality. Today we long for it in the biggest way, but it seems so elusive, doesn't it?
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Where's the Love?
Ivo Karlovic played an unbelievable match at the U.S. Open this afternoon and he lost 7-6, 7-6, 7-6 to Andre Agassi—who is still playing at a ridiculously high level. Karlovic is 6' 10" and he just crushes the ball on his serves. The rest of his game is a little lacking, but he's fun to watch.
If he had won today, we could have had an awkward situation. Players who win the premiere matches are interviewed on television and everybody in the stands can hear it as well. Problem is, Karlovic has a stuttering problem and he doesn't do interviews. He doesn't even openly question line calls even when he probably should. He's highly sensitive about his speech problem and you've really got to feel for the guy.
I can relate. I've had a weight problem most of my life and I know what it feels like to be made fun of, or worse, to be snickered at. I suspect we all have a hang up of some sort. Some hang ups are just more noticeable than others.
I know it's never going to happen, but wouldn't it be nice if people like Karlovic could just live his life and be accepted for who he is?
If he had won today, we could have had an awkward situation. Players who win the premiere matches are interviewed on television and everybody in the stands can hear it as well. Problem is, Karlovic has a stuttering problem and he doesn't do interviews. He doesn't even openly question line calls even when he probably should. He's highly sensitive about his speech problem and you've really got to feel for the guy.
I can relate. I've had a weight problem most of my life and I know what it feels like to be made fun of, or worse, to be snickered at. I suspect we all have a hang up of some sort. Some hang ups are just more noticeable than others.
I know it's never going to happen, but wouldn't it be nice if people like Karlovic could just live his life and be accepted for who he is?
U.S. Open Memories
I've been vegging out in front of the television this week watching the U.S. Open tennis tournament. It's an annual ritual that started around 1990. I've always love tennis. I started playing at the age of 12 with my best friend. I tried out for my high school team and made it. Well actually, everybody made the team. My high school wasn't exactly a tennis powerhouse. Sometimes we had a hard time finding enough people to even field a team.
But I fell in love with the game. I loved the strategy and it became "my" sport—the one that I enjoyed the most and performed the best in. I was never great, but good enough to compete. After graduating from high school, I tried out for my college team. Like high school, they didn't really cut anybody, but they had a ranking system. The top eight guys played in matches. I never got higher than 10, but I had a blast in the process—even winning one tournament on campus.
After college, I played briefly (one summer) in tournaments around the Midwest. Then, other things took a higher priority—things like work, women, and partying. I wish I had stuck with the game, but I've never really abandoned it. I kept playing recreationally, but after sitting down to watch U.S. Open one year, I began to appreciate the sacrifices and discipline of professional players.
In 1990, at the age of 39, Jimmy Connors made a run at the U.S. Open. He was a wildcard into the tournament—which means he didn't even have enough cumulative points that season to gain an automatic bid—even though he'd won 109 tournaments (more than anybody else in history) in his career. But that year was magical. He dug deep and found a way to beat the younger guys. With each win, the crowds got more and more excited. He chased down shots he had no business getting to and he pumped his fists after hitting unbelievable passing shots. And it was so much fun to watch. He made it all the way to the semifinals before finally losing.
A year later, John McEnroe made a run at the U.S. Open, defying time, like Connors did and he made it to the quarterfinals before losing.
During the 1996 U.S. Open, a young Pete Sampras got into a battle with Alex Corretja during a quarterfinal match. Sampras was dehydrated and out of gas as they went into the fifth set tie-breaker. Sampras ended up puking, but somehow, overcame his exhaustion to win the match and eventually win the tournament.
Many other great memories run through my mind as well. A wild-eyed, aging, Todd Martin making a run at the title late in his career. Peter Korda doing celebratory scissor kicks after making a mini run one year. Michael Chang running down every shot that came his way year after year. Andre Agassi winning the tournament in 1994 as a young, long-haired rebel who would later become the model of hard work, a good spokesman for the game, and a great humanitarian. And so many more.
So, I'm watching the U.S. Open again this year. Hoping to add another memory or two and trying to get motivated to get back out on the court again myself.
But I fell in love with the game. I loved the strategy and it became "my" sport—the one that I enjoyed the most and performed the best in. I was never great, but good enough to compete. After graduating from high school, I tried out for my college team. Like high school, they didn't really cut anybody, but they had a ranking system. The top eight guys played in matches. I never got higher than 10, but I had a blast in the process—even winning one tournament on campus.
After college, I played briefly (one summer) in tournaments around the Midwest. Then, other things took a higher priority—things like work, women, and partying. I wish I had stuck with the game, but I've never really abandoned it. I kept playing recreationally, but after sitting down to watch U.S. Open one year, I began to appreciate the sacrifices and discipline of professional players.
In 1990, at the age of 39, Jimmy Connors made a run at the U.S. Open. He was a wildcard into the tournament—which means he didn't even have enough cumulative points that season to gain an automatic bid—even though he'd won 109 tournaments (more than anybody else in history) in his career. But that year was magical. He dug deep and found a way to beat the younger guys. With each win, the crowds got more and more excited. He chased down shots he had no business getting to and he pumped his fists after hitting unbelievable passing shots. And it was so much fun to watch. He made it all the way to the semifinals before finally losing.
A year later, John McEnroe made a run at the U.S. Open, defying time, like Connors did and he made it to the quarterfinals before losing.
During the 1996 U.S. Open, a young Pete Sampras got into a battle with Alex Corretja during a quarterfinal match. Sampras was dehydrated and out of gas as they went into the fifth set tie-breaker. Sampras ended up puking, but somehow, overcame his exhaustion to win the match and eventually win the tournament.
Many other great memories run through my mind as well. A wild-eyed, aging, Todd Martin making a run at the title late in his career. Peter Korda doing celebratory scissor kicks after making a mini run one year. Michael Chang running down every shot that came his way year after year. Andre Agassi winning the tournament in 1994 as a young, long-haired rebel who would later become the model of hard work, a good spokesman for the game, and a great humanitarian. And so many more.
So, I'm watching the U.S. Open again this year. Hoping to add another memory or two and trying to get motivated to get back out on the court again myself.
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