Lately I've been having issues with the letter "j" and things/people whose names begin with the same letter.
I love tennis. It's a realization that I feel has come a bit late; however, when I look back, it's probably the sport with which I've held the longest love affair. From as early as I can remember the sound of NBC's Wimbledon coverage compelled me to plant myself in front of the television where I'd pretend that my tea set held that sumptuous strawberries and cream treat.
My mom, although she would never readily admit a preference for any sport, is the reason I love tennis so. She always watches Wimbledon. We're Anglophiles, as I may've already mentioned at some point, and this display of Britannia sufficed in those times when Royal celebrations were scarce. My mom worked as a housekeeper and the family had their very own tennis court that they rarely used. The day I found that discarded wooden Spalding Poncho Gonzales tennis racket was a great day. With my 3-pack of freshly opened balls I remember walking around the court swatting at the ball, wishing I had an opponent worthy of my Navratilovaness. I wound up finding a brick wall that kept me entertained for hours and days and years, even. I worked on my backhand and forehand, slicing and mimicking the volley pose ...
Years later when a high school coach would suggest I take up tennis because he had a haunch that I had a better future in it opposed to volleyball, I shrugged him off because I loved being a part of the volleyball team. He was probably right, and in retrospect, I would've preferred bloomers with a skirt as opposed to just bloomers.
At any rate, the U.S. Open is underway and since there is no Pete Sampras or Stefan Edberg upon whom I can lavish my silent crushes and the cameramen/commentators are far-too-fond of reminding me of Federer's lady, Mirka, I turned to James Blake and decided that from my sofa, I would become a faithful member of the J-Block. The other night he was playing the delightfully flashy Fabrice Santoro (whose shirt made me want a lollipop.) As Mags and I tuned in, he had just won the first set, 6-4. As the second set was underway it became apparent that my J-Block debut was less about James and more about a jinx. We quickly changed the channel. I silently cheered him on from 2 channels away and was relieved to find he had won the following day. What is it to love pure and chaste from afar?
Last night, I thought I would try to re-induct myself into the J-Block. Apparently he felt my presence and it was not good:
Granted, this wasn't from last night's loss, but the sentiment is totally the same. He lost another five-setter to Tommy Haas.
Thus, "j" is for jinx and sadly not for James, who next year, will "fire it up one time" for real.
In other "j" news, Scrabulous.com is the joint. I am available to play during the hours of 9 a.m. - 5:20 p.m. on Facebook or via e-mail. So holla!
With this Scrabulous, at which I'm not exactly fabulous, please note that I never get the opportunity to place the words "joint," "juice," "jaded," "joy" "jackass" (at least not on the board), "joker" or any of the other 10 or so "j" words I know.
I need to learn more "j" words. I also find that whenever I get a "j" I also get some "k," "n," "i," "h," and "w" to go with it. I got nothin' for that and my foes know it.
Well that's all really. I just felt like sharing.