I don’t know why I watch him play tennis. I’m watching the US Open and the dude is like a heart attack. One minute he’s brilliant. The next he’s crap. Then he’s brilliant again and then he’s down 40-love. Why, my adorable little Ivy League tennis man? Why do you torture me this way. Just kick this Tahitian’s ass already!
Venus and Serena only do this to me on rare occasions, but they make up for it by beating every heifer like she made a crack on their weaves. And usually all my tennis related heart-attacks for them are because I just know how Venus has the weaker serve of the two sisters and Serena’s always got something injured, but both go down in a hail of glory if they’re going to lose. I can respect that.
But James, despite being incredibly sexy (although I miss the dredlocks), tends to get all flat and wishy-washy like he forgets he’s at the US Open and not some backyard barbecue with the rest of the J-squad, tossin’ back the Heinekens with the white folks, joking about whatever people who can afford to go to Ivy League schools joke about. The cartoons in the New Yorker? Britney Spears’ wig/hat?
But by the time you read this James will either be giving me a heart attack in the third round or I’ll have lost all interest in men’s tennis outside of Roger “I’ve been hanging out with Tiger Woods too long” Federer, who showed up at last night’s match in all black, looking like a fey, tennis version of Joaquin Phoenix in “Walk the Line.” The ensemble was quite fetching, although R. Fed has too prominent of a Cro-magnum man brow for me. The Black Snob no-likely.
Other than that, he was sexy. Obviously El Tigre has been giving him Intimidation 101, lessons on how to out-fashion your opponents into submission. First the white on white suit at Wimbledon for R. Fed, now he’s the man in black. And fashion intimidation is real. I mean, one look at Tiger in beige and cream and Retief Goosen knew that all hope was lost. He could never be that skilled and look that good doing it. And when he wears red on Sundays? It’s all over.
I mean, just ask Serena. Or Kimora for that matter. If clothing could kill she’d be serving 15 consecutive life sentences.
And now the Tahitian wants to get a rub down instead of play because his such an obnoxious faker. Hurry up so my torture can END!
And it was the first time in James’ pro career that he beat a guy after a match went five sets. Much more satisfying than watching him just give it up to R. Fed a week back like a 16 year old girl backstage at a Fall Out Boy concert.
I think the R. Fed is awesome too, James, but dude, at least make an effort to damn his brilliant ass and mount a believable attack. After all, if I ever got to interview Prince I could probably contain myself just long enough to get the basics out of the way before begging Prince to adopt me and make me one of the Rainbow Children.
It’s the New Power Generation, bitches! The only thing standing in our way is you.
I’d give anything to be one half of those afro, not-black-black-girls who dance around Prince on stage pretending to strum their legs like guitars. That’s so hot. Everything about Prince is hot. To see him fall out on the stage while singing “Beautiful Ones” one more time. I mean, I’ve seen it three times, but it only gets better.
But, um, my point was to Blake. Keep up the good work. And find more excuses to take your shirt off during matches. I kept having to stare at the gross, hairy Tahitian (and not hairy in a good way like I like — see “Allen Payne.”) His gross thigh rubdown and his gross shirt removal and just … grossness. All players not named James Blake and Roger Federer keep your fucking shirts on. Just sweat that bitch out. No one wants to see.