According to my calculator watch it’s about that time we bust out our Dubbonet, our Gitanes, and pretend we all have some class for the next two weeks. Of course, as I try to work anal nitrates and Dutch row boats into a tennis blog I may have to take off my indoor sunglasses and put out my Gitanes, but otherwise I think we should try and carry ourselves with a certain amount of imagined decorum. So no more biting your fingernails and dropping them behind the couch, no more sticking your finger in your ear (or your bum), no more listeining to your girlfriend (ladies, no more listeing to your boyfriend, lesbos, no more listeing to your girlfriend, gays, no more listeing to your boyfriend, mormans, no more listening to your wives). Basically do and don’t do all the things your mom told you to do and not do, she was after all trying to raise the perfect garcon ou fille (of course your dad got involved and they wound up raising a red neck cracker who couldn’t pass community college even if Stephen Hawking was your personal tutor, but that’s neither here nor there). Anyway, what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, the French Open. So it’s here, in your face as it were. I added red food coloring to my coke and just did a nasty rail of some wet claycaine. All I’ve got is a nasty headache and I can’t tell if my nose is bleeeeeding or drippppping the claycaine I just snorted. Pretty much the story of my life. I told my roommate to delete the 400 hours of Two and a Half Men he has recorded on the DVR to make room for my happiness. Actually, I just deleted it myself then whacked a little. I have “whack a little” checked off, “clear DVR” checked off, “fully realize claycaine idea” checked off, “make cinnamon toast” checked off, but I’m afraid “pay out the ass for The Tennis Channel” will remain unchecked until they offer it for free, in which case I can cross out the “pay out the ass for” and replace it with “get”. So this means I’ll be glued to (and sniffing glue, ironically) whatever Cliff Drysdale and company barf up over on ESPNdeux. Ahhh, Cliffy, your boring quips and stories about your glove will be the death of me (along with some type of liver disease I’m sure). To make matters worse I have a new girlfriend. To make matters even worser she’s bitchin’. This is the type of girl macho faux homos punch stuff over late at night when they’re drunk on Sluricanes. So if I’m not 100% on my game, just picture me 100% on my other game. Boo-yah indeed. Now that I’ve properly lined up my excuses, shall we?
French tennis fans welcome DJoke and track-suit-clad family to Roland Garros
Bobby Reynolds. The Sly Stalone of Tennis faces Gael MonFEE in the first round and. It. Aint. Gonna. Be. Pretty. Aside from dude being ugly I can’t imagine this gorilla is gonna lumber around the tennis court for very long before MoFILS lays to waste this corky look alike. Bobby Reynolds. Please. The only way this Assperger’s case gets into the 2nd round is with a paid admission. Looking at the bracket I see no reason for there not to be a Monfils v. RAFA! final. Do you? If you see a reason I’ll presume you’re on acid, then awkardly ask you for some. That trick knee might get him in some trouble, but for the love of himself, it’s Monfils! I don’t know how else to wrap this up and serve it to you. It’s what obnoxious geniuses call a no-brainer.
Screech is no longer being thrown into the RAFA! quadrant so let’s say Monfils is poisoned with some kind of Serbian nerd gas whilst quietly humping in his hotel room awaiting the next days match. There is now a possiblitly we could see a Screech v. Federer Semifinal. That wouldn’t be half bad, says my awakening chub. Of course we’d also have to presume that Samuel Powers doesn’t retire before requesting 80 groin rub downs. That’s a big stretch of my imagination’s groin. One that might actually tear. I say Djoke gives up halfway through his match with Ferrero, or Ferrer or Federer or whoever that that is.
RAFA! comes into this French Open having never won a match on clay. I bet that’s just eating him up, but I still don’t see how he’s gonna get past the 30 year-old Brazillian tennis star Marcos Daniel. Guy has 16 career matches under his belt. That’s almost two matches for every year he’s been pro. He won 2 whole matches this year. I’m just sayin’, I think this guy is on fire. I don’t know how you say “Brazillian fireball” in Portugese, but I’m sure that’s the guy’s nickname over there in Braziland. Fuckin’ LeBron James of Brazillian tennis, no doubt. RAFA! might have to wait til the next clay tourne to get that first clay win under his capris.
The only way Murray would have a tough time with his draw is if the chair umpire deducted a point for every cavity he had in that giant tooth house of his. Dudes dental records must be like some type of rap sheet. Sorry, these Murray teeth jokes are getting a bit tired.
I don’t even like Querry, but you’ve got to feel bad for that ogre. I mean Gulbis in the first round? Kids fallen off the map a little, but I’m sure he’s just trying to deal with all this new found poon he’s acquired vis a vis the tennis circuit. Lord knows I am.
If anyone can tell me how Robert Kendrick got into the goddamn French Open I’ll award you the silver star of head scratchers. I keep wondering about this guy and it’s pretty much on par with me going back to the fridge every 15 minutes as if it won’t be just pumpernickle bread and a lone gogurt. I don’t know or care if that made any sense. I’m on this weird court ordered community service thing where I have to use gogurt in a sentence twice a day. Same goes for Wayne Odesnik and his eyelashes. If anyone can explain to me how this fembot got into the tournament, let alone the men’s draw I’ll personally come to your house each morning wearing only a velvet Crown Royal pouch around my twig and berries and handfeed you your Cheerios one-by-one. Now that we got that out of the way.
Baghdatis faces Monaco in the first. The guy is just a big Cyprian tear. If I had a drop of water for every drop of crying juice that guy has expelled from his tear fountain I could take care of the world’s water shortage by myself. I used to be excited about the guy, but I’m just embarassed. Like the fact that I used to smoke Newports.
Special agent Dale Cooper faces Kohlschreiber in the 1st round
Kevin Kim of the U.S. will have to be my adorable long shot as Donald Young aint with it this year. Although he faces Solderling so he should fall right in line with all past predictions. One prediction that I’m usually pretty spot on about is the fate of Blake. He actually doesn’t have it that bad, which don’t mean shit here in reality, but I’m gonna say 4th round. Mark ‘em Donnie!
I obviously don’t have time to go over all these buttholes, and you really shouldn’t be hear for insight or intrigue. You should be here donating money and possibly for a chuckle or two, nothing more. Lord (and Kristina) knows I love the women, so let’s pop in on the women’s side for a minute and stick it in a bit.
Hate on Haters
Sharapova. Is. Back. I know all you haters out there are hating away which is fine, it only adds to the mystique and the naughtiness of it. Ever since finding my first porn magazine in the creek and my mother subsuqently finding it and scolding me I’ve been a sucker for the forbidden. Okay, so maybe she’s not forbidden, but I get a lot of shit thrown my way for liking the Pove. She’s won two out three matches this year, so you might want to record this on your Beta Max as I don’t think the squeals will be around for too long. Her part of the draw aint so bad except for the occasional Williams.
Venus faces Mattek in the first. That’s sure to be televised, so you just know Mattek’s gonna come out with labias a flappin’. Do you think before each match she texts her probabtion officer, “tit, lip or ass?” If so, you just know her probabtion officer is a a lip man.
Cornet has been relatively busy this year and I hope to see her face Jelena in the 3rd round as it’s the only way I’ll get to see those rainbow shots (there’s some sort of US broadcasting mandate where they can only show the Williams’, Jelena, Safina and the occasional Dementieva match). I don’t like her chances against Jelena anymore than I like my chances of not fucking it up with the new gf, but here’s to hoping (*swills giant bottle of MD 20/20 while clutching photo of the new girl*).
Bartoli has been shakin’ her booty on the court quite a bit this year too. Could Cornet and Bah-to-lee actually face each other in the fourth round? Meh, doubt it. But that match would pretty much bury the hatchet between my hand and my wienerschnitzel.
I’d pick Safina to go all the way but our favorite here at Tennisburger, Meusburger stands in her way. Odds are this might be the year she wins a match.
I dunno, all this talk about women is making me a little horny so I’m gonna have to end this kind of abruptly. I’ll be back tomorrow night, Monfils willing.
Allez!
p.s. are you good? everything alright? i kinda missed you guys a little. okay, okay, see you soon.
Allez, homes. Welcome back!
Ahhh, there’s ma’ man!