Archive for July, 2008

          Some pretty good tennis today, eh?  And when I say “good” I mean, “downright awful.”  And when I say “pretty” I mean, “fucking.”  Thanks to the idiotic programming by the brainless twats over at the “Tennis”Channel” Channel (I guess it is technically a channel, so I’ll drop those quotations) my DVR recorded 95 minutes of Ivanostache and 25 minutes of Blake v. Seamoan.  Thanks, dicks!  How were they able to predict the two worst matches, know when I’d be recording, and fit it into that time slot?  Now I’m all paranoid, taping 24 hours of the “Tennis” Channel, recording shit on different channels, ya’ know, just in case!  I’m like dude from Slacker with 41 TV’s, with one strapped to my back for good luck.  So yeah, I just spent the shittier part of 2 hours watching balls fly into nets and whatnot, so I guess the next logical step would be to talk about that with you for the next 10 minutes or so.  

     Ivanostache, the blue light special of number 1’s, played Petra  (pronounced: who?) Kvitova (literally translates to: “who?” in Slavic).  I’ve literally seen more enthusiasm in  a teen-ager shoveling shit on a farm than these two.  And as far as Who? goes, is it possible to have a butter face and a butter body (her bio informs me that the ghost of John Candy is her strength and conditioning coach)?  Even her game was butter.  I don’t want to delve too deep into this, but actually, a “but” statement would have to be made in order for the butter to exist.  I guess it would go, “she’s a female tennis player, butter face! butter body! butter game!”.  Something like that.  

     Can I call bullshit on Ivanostache’s return of serve game?  Namely the crack-induced bouncing she does before the opponents serve.  CHILL THE FUCK  OUT.  You shouldn’t be running/jumping in circles, sideways, lookin’ all cock-eyed with your neck bent like Spock’s ghost is applying the death grip, standing more erect than the Statue of Liberty (ya’ know, our beacon of freedom) all while awaiting the serve.  Don’t worry, the ball is coming, I assure you.  If only my girlfriend would anticipate the unveiling of my hideous body with half as much vigor.  ‘Stache was getting caught off guard  on almost every return towards the end of the 2nd set.  The commentator mentioned that Ivanostache had no rhythm, somehow reading my mind from somewhere within my DVR.  After taking the 1st set 6-3, and being up a  break in the 2nd, her pre-serve epilepsy dance let her down as she gave up the 2nd, 4-6.  Yay, 3 setters in Montreal with a horribly overrated number 1 and 64th ranked eye sore.  Must be my birthday.  

     Real quick, anyone see those “1 minute Clinics” on the “Tennis” Channel? More like yawnics, no?  I don’t need geriatrics with busted chicklets who are too tired to stand up for 1 whole minute (this guy is sitting on a park bench in the middle of a tennis court!), to tell me to calm down after I’ve shanked a ball into the trees.  Having nervous breakdowns in public aren’t really a big problem in my game*.  I’m as cool as a pick pocket at a baggy pants convention for blind people out there**.   Yeah, thanks gramps, what other gems do you have for someone who could kick your ass on and off the tennis court?  The opposite of that are the Stan Smith comics that tell you how to kick serve.  Two illustrations followed by the simple instructions of: “…bend your knees…thrust up at the ball…push your right hip up and forward from the coiled position, keep your wrist loose…don’t exaggerate…wrist snap…rotate your arm outward…follow through…tilt your head up…swing your shoulder blades across the grain of the western hemisphere” and so on and so forth.  How about you teach me gymnastics with a brail book while you’re at it.  

     Ivanostache finally gets all those ESP’s I sent her 8 hours after the match via my DVR as she rolled in the 3rd set with 5 straight games.  She actaully bent her back forward and didn’t dance on the pre-return to go up two breaks.  Then she lost 3 games in a row ’cause she’s not really that talented, and her game is schizoid. Then bam! I get up to grab me some freedom fries and a gallon of fish sauce (for dippin’!) and she sealed the proverbial deal.  Stache’s over Czech bellies, 6-3, 4-6, 6-3.  More boring tennis awaits, I’m sure.  

     1 minute Yawnic!  For the 360 degree drill I’m suppose to hit a backhand, drop my racket (on the ground?!), do a 360 degree turn (while presumably stomping on my racket to make tennis racket juice), pick up the racket (why did I drop it again? oh right, to step on it) and hit the oncoming ball again.  This will supposedly help me make off-balance shots…and look like a fucking ass cake.  Howabout instead (heh, heh), I hit a backhand, pull down my droors, jagoff for 7 seconds, pull up my underoos, smell my fingers, then smash a forehand in your old, ugly mug? 

     Blake?  2nd round?  Damn, he is improving.  Blake’s giant Easter egg head with stylish blue head band gave up the early break mostly due to hitting shots into the net and outside those little white lines.  Two big no-no’s in tennis, it’s actually over the net and inside the lines.  How is this guy rated?  He can’t even apply sun screen like a normal human being.  You rub it into your skin.  He seems to have big problems with simple direction.  Luckily my DVR came to the end of it’s job, and asked me: delete recording? to which I responded with a resounding “fuck yeah I want to delete this bitch!”  Apparently Blake won in straights (no doubt by cheating), 6-3, 6-4.  France loses the 35 hour work week, and now Seamoan’s streak ends? Will France’s world ever be set straight again? Sacrebleu, indeed!

     Apparently Monfils faced Donald Young in the first round and explained to him that in France, people have respect for their hats, demolishing the youngster 6-1, 6-1. I’m lucky I didn’t see this match or I’d probably still be cleaning my population paste off the ceiling. My chub doesn’t believe in man crushes, but… I’m just sayin’ is all, ya’ feel me?  I would have traded 2 breakfast burritos to see that match just to see Young have an Andreev-like meltdown.  Two games in two sets?  Is there a suicide watch on that kid, or what?  Monfils recriered against Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas in the 2nd round with a tummy ache (*cough*) after being down 1-5 in the first.  Monfils, you know I love you and all, but man up for fucks sake, you don’t hit the ball with your stomach.  

     Sharapova recriered from the Rogers Cup after beating Domawhoska in three sets.  She needs a new shoulder to cry on ’cause hers is all busted up (oh yes I did!).  For all of you following Mattek’s labia’s intensely (I’m looking in your direction Tanner) Domawhoska beat Mattek in straights in the 1st round…thank God. That’s all you get.

     RAFA! showed his disdain for French new wave cinema by beating Serra 6-0, 6-1.  Uhhh, yeah, and the Cream Dream lost the first set to Stallone (Ginepri) with the 2nd going to tie break before upending the steroid abuser on his last cycle.  Who’s number 1 again?  This point system is worse than presidential legacies and the BCS combined. 

     Reliving the age old battles between Japan and Israel (their history together runs so deep it could almost, maybe, put Serena’s butt to sleep***), Sugiyama Mama defeated Peer 6-2, 6-2.  

     Boring as can be. Yawnic, indeed.  See you all tomorrow with more tales from the crypt…of tennis. Now I gotta proof read this shit?! AHHH!! Let’s Go!!!!!!


     **total fucking bullshit

     ***can you imagine trying to put Serena’s butt to sleep?  you’d need like 10 hypnotists, one of those black n’ white swirly things, some codeine (i bet she’s down with the sizzurp), a snake charmer, and a sledgehammer…just in case.


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       There’s lots of things I like hard.  I like my chubs hard (hard ons)…ummmm…wow I can’t think of anything else I like hard.  So just two things, the other being my courts, I like my courts super hard.  It’s as American as stupidity, obesity, and apple pie (which i believe originated in England around the late 1300’s).  It’s what I play on, it’s what you play on (in my mind).  I lost my virginity on a hard court in upstate New York when I was 5 for non-crying out loud.  Did you know the lost, 11th Commandment was “thou shalt not talk shit about hard courts”? Strange but true.  I love hard courts so much you’ll be lucky if I don’t bust out with a Spadea-like rap about concrete.  All unfunny joking aside it is the least annoying way to rep the U.S.  What else are you going to root for?  Ultimate Fighting? Nascar? Football? You might as well wash down that lobotomy with a Drain-O highball.  I can’t think of a better way to spend the next 2 months than to make some donut bacon burgers, strip down to your underwear and watch non-stop hard court tennis while waving that tiny American flag you bought after 9-11.   I seriously can’t, and I’m including jagginoff!  Maybe a 2 month-long oily handjob.  Or if you had one of those really giant, satisfying dumps, but it lasted 2 months. I did make out with my new girlfriend for an entire viewing of Footloose, that’s the closest second I can think of.  Just to recap:

1.  Hard court season

2.  Making out to Footloose (if you are chewing bubble gum or take cherry coke breaks for your salivaless,

      the experience is tantamount to being in heaven with all your favorite peeps).

3.  60 day oily handjob sesh

4.  Giant dump

    Titties should probably be in there somewhere. I might rearrange the order of things if the Cream Dream takes a Blake-like exit in the 1st or 2nd round, but that’d be bananas, right?  Right?????? Seriously, I am asking you a question over here.   So let’s go (*punches air above head with fist*)!!!!!!

     I have notes on Dirty Dick v. Cilic and Janko’s forehead implosion versus Safina, but I think I’ll keep this relegated to today’s match since the cooing pigeons outside my window are starting to make me angry (if anyone knows a good pigeon poison on the market I’d greatly appreciate it.  I’d break their necks and eat out their tiny bird hearts if I was quick enough).  

     Before I get to ESPN2’s crappy coverage may I share with you my favorite Tennis Channel gaff?  Chris Myers (the loveable douche) interview of Sam “I’m tall too” Querry (from the looks of the set I’d say the interview took place in 1979 or so).  

     Chris:  So, Sam, you’re an expert on losing, care to share your thoughts on losing since you do it so much?

     Sam: Well, I’ve become accustom to losing over the years and pretty much expect it to happen everytime I step out on the court.  

     Chris (smiling his giant douche smile): Hey, that’s great.

     Yikes.  Can Querry sue the Tennis Channel for airing something he actually said? Like, can you have a defamation suit against your own mouth? My guess is no, but I’ve failed the bar exam 64 times, so you might want a second opinion.  Basically apply that whole “second opinion” rule to every opinion I give you.

     So, Kiefer, think you got what it takes to beat the world’s new number 1 (sorry dudes, you know it’s true)?  No, we didn’t really think so either, it’s cool.  But maybe if you cover your back with electrical tape we might change our minds.  Oh my Monfils, he’s actually doing it!  Hey Kiefer, I heard if you put giant band-aids on your thighs it’ll help you play better.  Ho-lee-shit, this guy will fall for anything.  Kiefer did beat some pretty stiff competition to get to the finals, but I can’t really think of a reason why he’s overrated, so let’s just agree that he is and he’ll disappear from the Series faster than a dollar bill at a strip club.  So whatever, we had to watch RAFA! wipe his ass with some cheap, German toilet paper for two hours, it beats giant dumps (according to my list).

     Tied at 2-2, with Kiefer serving 0-15 Nadal showed Kiefer what he was made of (not atoms and shit you silly fuck), by splitting the court with two shots that time itself (himself?) couldn’t keep up with.  The camera shot was actually pretty spectacular as they caught it all from a court shot directly behind RAFA!  He hit the right corner, came up for what any normal human would’ve considered an easy volley, but instead ripped the felt off the ball sending it back down to the left corner.  There were murmurs in the crowd wondering if RAFA! wasn’t part jewish.

     Chris “When Does College Football Season and Panty Raids Start” Fowler argued that RAFA! isn’t the clear favorite to win the U.S. Open.  As he’s saying this RAFA! was knocking the painted lines off the court with 678 km/h winners.  Who is gonna beat this guy?  Two guys?  Maybe, even then it’d be even money on RAFA! if he played Australian doubles against Screech and Federer in the U.S. Open final.  Yeah, yeah, I’m drinking the juice, whatevs.  I’m thirsty for some dominance (in the form of bull sperm) and Federer’s sorry ass is too busy fucking fat chicks and making commercials for mens razors with 84 blades.  Sure, the Cream Dream got knocked out by a hot (not gay hot) Sea-Moan, but me thinks Federer has lost a few too many big matches (you can send all your hate mail to tennisburger@gmail.com).  I’m not officially writing off the best player of our time, but I’m not really returning his phone calls if you nahatamean. Everytime dude texts me I’m out with Monfils at the soda shop rolling my eyes like, “shit, you’re embarassing yourself dude.”  Shit, while RAFA! is dropping neck-high DROPPA!’s, putting the precision in precision (like that?) and getting after would be winners like they’re the cure for his incessant butt-picking, Federer is hitting balls further than Josh Hamilton and looks about as graceful as a quadriplegic belly dancer on oil slick.  If you don’t give it up for RAFA! now you’re pretty much a hater and that’s almost as bad as being a snitch, but way worse than cock blocking or dumping salt, and definitely better than murking someone.  Recap time:

1.  Murkin’

2.  Snitchin’

3.  Hatin’

4. Dumpin’ Salt

     So yeah, down a set, tied 2-2 in the second (you didn’t think there’d be a third did you?!) Kiefer threw his racket AT THE BALL.  Not a very high percentage shot.  Maybe, what, zero percent?  Is there such a thing as negative percent?  There is now!  Kid’s got moxy.  No game, but lots of moxy.  I’d like to seee him throw his racket more.  If I was his coach (new reality show alert! some horrible person like you or me gets to be a professional coach for a day and they have to do what you tell ’em) I’d have him try more of those shots, like on a return shot just chuck your racket at the on coming ball.  Fuckin’ fresh.  Or on his serve, just throw the ball up, then follow it by hurling your racket up into the sky.  Or just throw it in the guy’s face if he comes up to net.  You would definitely see a decrease in your opponents approaches to net.  Would that even be considered an unforced error? I mean you’re not sending the ball (sorry, I took an italics pill today) wide, you’re sending the racket wide. This is all starting to blow my mind.  

     When shots are good you often hear the robot/commentator modify the word “good” with the word “too”, and sometimes it just isn’t warranted.  In RAFA!’s case the “too” should pretty much be applied all the time.  He had some jaw dropping shots…which is crazy coming from me cause I just had my jaw wired.  I’m not fat, just tired of people expecting me to say something all the time.  

     Uh oh! Brad Gilbert prediction alert! Sea-Moan over Keef in the first round of Cincy.  Not a stretch but if this guy walked up to me and said I wasn’t going to die today I’d run out and buy myself a hooker and some life insurance.  Anyway, let’s enjoy that one together, shall we?  

     RAFA! unleashed his hate for German tecno music and Weiner Schnitzel fast food chains by deconstructing the German deconstructionist 6-3, 6-2.  

      No more school for me  for a few weeks, so I’ll be up on my shit (*crossing fingers behind back*) for WKRP and the Communist games.  I know I said (to one person) I’d report on Serena’s licorice whips and chocoalte lava cake ass at Stanford but she played the day match and my tix were for the night match.  I saw Sugiyama Mama screech her way to a semi-chub inducing loss to Bah-Toe-Lee (if you say Bar-toe-lee, you’ll fool yourself into believing she’s Italian, trust me), hence no reportage.  Sorry, I’m a huge flake, ask anyone.

     See you guys sooner than you think (unless you think I’m gonna be back tomorrow, in which case I will see you much much later).  Let’s go!!!!!

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  Yes I have all the symptoms of being a baby.  I shit my pants, drooled, threw a tantrum the size of Ted Robinson’s eyes (dude looks like a puffin, I finally figured it out), and in the end, yes, I cried.  It was more like an uncontrollable weep.  Tears weren’t dripping from my ducts, it was like a goddamn water works show in Vegas.  Why I’m telling you this, I’ll never know (actually I’m drunk off Jagermeister and Sparks which might have something to do with my admission).  That’s my (HD)TV up there in the corner.  I put my head through it a number of times just after Roger (not rogAH you fucking tea slurpers) hit the final ball into the net.  Is there really anything I can say to make you all feel better? The answer is no.  In fact, if I recap this epic match you might bust out crying and short circuit your Commodore 64.  Well whatever, let’s cry together and open up old tennis wounds, shall we?  Seriously, as I write this I feel like I’m punching myself in the face.  You’re all sick for even being here.

     After being broken it was 1-2 in the first set and the Cream Dream came back from 0-40 for his first break chance.  But then he looked a buff, Spanish gift bull in the mouth and blew it harder than a virgin attempting her (his?) first blow job.  Serisously, that’s sloppy stuff.  

     What’s this? McEnroe “hit with RAFA! the other day”? Hit what?  I know that decrepit motherfucker couldn’t survive RAFA!’s feed in a rally let alone “hit” with the guy.  What could they have been hitting???

     Federer gave some fight at the end of the first set but RAFA! took the first high-five, while Federer got the gentle pat on the back.

    In the beginning of the second set one of the line judges scurried up to Federer and whispered into his ear that it was indeed RAFA! who killed his dog.  Hearing this Federer went on a Swiss tear (unheard of in all of Switzerland’s history) going up 4-2 before being broken, with Rafa to serve at 3-4.

     How many pounds of shit filled Federer’s pants in the 8th game of the second set?  5? 10?  Federer won 2 consecutive points, but RAFA!’s errant shots actually (and quite deservedly) received the applause.  I mean, the guy is losing points and making you look bad?  Could somebody drag Bud out of his coffin so he can explain paradigm shifts again?

     In the middle of the 10th game, 30-30, the chair umpire threw the yellow flag for delay of game…out loud…over the P.A….right before RAFA! was about to serve…in front of everyone.  Is that not the equivalent of your mom walking in on you while you’re vigorously pulling your pork?  For once I agreed with the Puffin and the Muffin and found the ill-timed admonishment awkward and pointless, much like your mom barging in on you while you jerk your Jamaican chicken.  It didn’t matter though as Nadal went up two sets and my chub went down two inches.  

     Real quick (it’s actually going to be really drawn out and boring, my cat is doing that thing when she senses earthquakes), someone (who you’ll soon see is undoubtedly an idiot) asked me why I called bullshit on Carillo’s “prediction” on this match hinging on their ability to win their 2nd serves, so I’ll clarify (for once).  I actually think the entire stat is bullshit (in regards to this match).  Both of these guys pull winners out of their ass (i.e. very low percentage shots and defensive shots somehow morph into winners).  Sure, there is a snowball effect throughout a point that could begin with a sloppy 2nd serve, but I don’t think you could hold  a candle to that fart in this match.  Federer needed to break RAFA! (I’ve already been over the importance of a break and how you can’t win matches without it), something he did once out of thirteen fucking chances!  So when you look back and cry at Federer’s 52 errors (high if your Federer, low if your Monfils) can you really point to the 2nd serve as a starting point?  These guys aren’t thrown off the trail too badly when hitting a return shot from their 2nd serve.  How many of Federer’s 52 errors were made while on his 2nd serve.  That would be a much more telling stat.  I’m just sayin’, sometimes statistics can be very general, like Manritilova’s gender.  And anyway, I was right and Carillo, you were wrong (they had nearly similar success with their 2nd serves, both in the high 50 percentile).  I’m pretty sure our bet will hold up in court, so just go ahead and send me the deed to your lesbian super palace post haste.  

     In the third set, Nadal serving 2-3 he was facing two break points and offered up Federer two more gift horses in the form of two 80mph 2nd serves to which Federer awkwardly refused (and looked in the mouth).  See Carillo, 2nd serve don’t mean shit around these parts!  Federer lamb shanked both of ’em and my chub actually receded back into my groin area.  

     At one point McEntoe enquired about track n’ field.  All I had to say (yell) to this (at my TV) was, “FUCK TRACK N’ FIELD UP THE ASS WITH A BATON!” Really?  Running?  Imagine photoshopping the tennis rackets and tennis balls out of the players hands and watching them run around for 5 hours.  I’d rather have a pack of wild hyenas attack my bare ball sack than watch men run around in a circle.  Makes NASCAR fans not look so inbred.

     Third and fourth sets were actually pretty pedestrian until the fourth set tie break.  Federer was all, “I’m not going to share my serve, and RAFA! was all, well I’m not gonna share my serve either.”  There mommies didn’t intervene and let them be greedy with their serves.  Yes, lots of holding on, not much sharing.  

     In the fourth set tie-break, Federer, down 5-2, RAFA! choked on a double fault sandwich and a lamb shank.  Then 6-7, Federer serving RAFA!’s Championship point.  BOOSH! 7-7.  It’s okay, chub, you can come out, nothing to be afraid of.  Down 7-8 Federer launched a backhand up the line and I started to realize what an honest to Monfils heart attack feels like.  Seriously, at 8-8 I had a brain aneurysm and after Federer pulled out the 2nd tie-break 10-8 my chub had an aneurysm…all over my tighty whiteys.  

     5th set (somewhere (in Ozzy land) Hewitt was clenching his fist and murmuring to himself “that could’ve been me out there”):  I can’t really take notes while hiding behind my pillow, clenching my sheets, jumping up and down, kicking my cat, and throwing my house speakers through a wall, so it’s pretty sketch for me (therefore for you too) as I don’t have much to go on.  Federer had a break chance to serve for the match, aaaaaaaaaaaand, deuce.  My chub died faster than the grass at the baseline (actually that took a few days, so it was much, much faster).  RAFA! held his serve and I let go of my chub.  At 8-7 with RAFA! serving the crowd started chanting “blah! blah! blah!…blah! blah! blah!”  Can those people do anything right? Answer: No.  You know the rest, shit was crazy yo.

     RAFA! induced a million, shitty, unoriginal writers to put in print “changing of the guard”, 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7.  I’m not really proud of my headline and what it reveals, but it’s better than that shite. I don’t want to get into the post match crap, like RAFA! saying it’s his favorite tournament (uhhhh, you can’t have two favorites dummy), or McEnroe’s extremely awkward interview sesh where he tries to hug a very uncomfortable Federer.  Tons of shit there but I am truly heart broken for the Cream Dream (which I guess will only now live on in my bed with my girlfriend…when she’s not looking).  I don’t hate RAFA!, he’s aight, and we’re going to need someone to keep down the Screech for the next 5 or six years and I don’t think Federer is the man to do it.   

     Hard court, my fave!  See you all when something truly bizarre tries to fly under the burger radar.  As long as the Tennis Channel does it’s job between now and the U.S. Open you’ll see me here from time to time postulating on everything from masturbation to tennis.  Actually those are the only two things I cover, oh! and juicy asses!

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Black on Black Crime

     Okay, so it was the elegant side of black on black crime we’re usually not privy to, but I did feel a crime was being committed by the two sisters having to play each other (in front of a bunch of white people, no less!).  From their poorly constructed fox hole, Private Googley Eyes and the Face Contortionist presided over the criminal proceedings.  Let’s replay the match in staggered, King Cobra time, shall we?

     In the first game Serena and her buns of hot molten steel melted Venus’ service game to a blob of green goo.  You had to feel for Venus early in the match (actually you didn’t have to, it wasn’t required or anything, don’t worry).  After being broken and Serena holding serve, the British sun which comes out two times a year, came out and was poking her in the eyes for her service game.   Oh, but then she, uhhhhh, held serve?  Good for her!

     Quick question.  How come Isha doesn’t play tennis?  What’s that?  People who weigh more than pickup trucks don’t play tennis? My bad!  Actually Mary Carillo said “Athletes. Win. Wimbledon.” Does that mean, “Isha’s. Win. Roland Garros.”?  Seriously, who wins the other slams?  What a tool.

     How brilliant, and classy and perfect and talented and well-mannered can these two possibly be (according to Dr. Goog, and Mary)?  Along with the tennis rags-to-tennis riches  stories I hear in my sleep (over the din of witty Chinese banter and cooing pigeons) I’m also sick of everyone slobbing on their knobs in regards to their “classiness”.  Anyone notice they’re also extremely arrogant, full of fake modesty, far too over protected by their paranoid father, and maybe, dare I say, a wee bit overrated?  I mean look who they beat to get to the finals.  It was like the who’s who of tomato cans and wheelchair tennis dropouts.  

     So Venus came back in the first set to win it as Serena won a whopping (is “whopping” ever used in a non-sarcastic way?  Poor whopping. From now on I will only use whopping when it is, indeed a large number.  “Whopper” on the other hand is used literally way too much especially in regards to catching fish, so in contrast, when I catch a tiny fish I will refer to him as a whopper) 1 point off her second serve which will not, as George Bush would say, Git ‘er done.  Venus realized half-way through the first set that if she was going to forego holding up that ridiculous tea tray after the match she was going to have to force her sister to get on those licorice whips (I’d love to ghost ride those whips!) and run a bit.  

     Mary Carillo at one point said she “couldn’t believe how quiet it was” (no doubt in a sameless attempt to add tension where it wasn’t needed).  Uhhhh, Wimbledon is usually quieter than an English bungalow full of mute Brits during an air raid.  Seriously, when watching tennis (and listening to the ass cakes with giant drive-thru headsets) just follow the teachings of Flavor Flav and, don’t believe the hype.  They’re quiet because they’re British AND they’re tennis fans.  I’ll take “deadly combinations of boring” for $500, Alex.  

     Tied 1-1 in the second set, the following game (that’d be the third of you who can’t follow bad writing) went on longer than a Bud Collins explanation on paradigm shifts.  May I propose a sequel to Weekend at Bernie’s?  They unearth Bernie from his grave (for some weird, movie reason), and the living corpse slowly takes on characteristics of the living (talking, breathing, body movement, etc…) but not really fully alive, and the dead/kinda alive Bernie is played by none other than Bud Collins.  I am amazing, aren’t I?  So yeah, Venus had to fall on her much smaller ass, but Serena took the third game after 7 or 800 deuces.  

     Let’s take a minute to note that Mary Carillo predicted that the men’s final will (also) be decided on their ability to nail their 2nd serves.  I find this to be the biggest spoon plane of horse shit I’ve heard all tournament and I hereby bet my (landlord’s) deed to my house against Carillo’s deed to her house that this prediction couldn’t fly even if you attached two jet engines and some wings to it.  Me and you Carillo.  Toe-to-toe.  

     Anyone hear Serena’s hawk scream at 2-3, 15-30, in the second set?  My chub did.

     There were some holds, a break, I went to the fridge to eat some moldy cheese, took a dump, and when I came back the match was over.  Venus banged and mashed Serena in straights, 7-5, 6-4.  Not a lot of celebration from Venus to which many speculated it was because it was her sister on the other side of the net.  I agree, but would like to add, her much bigger and plumper sister.  I predict many headlocks and cat scratches in the Williams flat tonight.  And what’s up with Serena thanking her God, Joel?  Is her God Billy Joel?  I mean mine is Tom Cruise (Scientologists unite!), so I guess I shouldn’t judge.

     Tomorrow I will be nursing a giant hangover in my underwear by watching two grown men hit balls back and forth on grass, until one of them hits it into the net or past a white line.  How gay is that?  You’re gay too though, I just know it!  Tally-ho you gay butt fuckers!!!!!!

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     The Cream Dream came out in the first set versus Ancic and, well, he creamed him, okay.  There, I said it.  We’ll tuck that one  in and put it to bed.  In the second set Ancic looked better, but you know you’re in trouble (and/or playing the greatest tennis player on either side of the Mason-Dixon line) when you get stoked over holding serve.  That’s kinda expected (*nudge nudge*), like graduating high school or masturbating 14 times a day.  (Every) one might argue that the true test is breaking your opponent AS THAT’S WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO WIN.  In the 3rd, down a break and two sets (mere minutes from the Jersey Turnpike) he was pumping his fist after winning a point.  A point.  What did he do after losing the match, throw himself a party?   Sure it was close at times, as close as a win in straight sets can be (that means not close at all).  So yeah, cardigans beat popped collars, 6-1, 7-5, 6-4.  Ancic came to net 50 times.  All I can really glean from that is that he was trying to spook him.  He did have some amazing volleys, but the Cream Dream had a lot of answers for the boy who cried net, as his passing shots did what the name implies; they passed his opponent.  Ancic only had 68 winners so you’d guess Federer had a lot of errors but you’d be guessing wrong if you’ve been listening to me.  As I stated before, the match wasn’t close at all, hence the lopsidedness in stats.  Do not let these commentators feed you anymore spoon planes filled with baby food and dog shit.  Federer crushed him, yet the hypnosis attempted by those in the studio would have you believing that Ancic played well, and that you don’t crave Virginia Slims after your vodka martini night capper anymore.  What am I getting at?  Federer already has this tourney wrapped up like a tightly rolled spliff.  Don’t believe me?  I’ll add a counter to my blog to denote the days/hours/minutes/seconds to your impending disbelief.  My rant is getting kinda douchey so I’ll move on.

     Is McEn______’s favorite phrase “come in.”  I’ve been over this overly used analysis by other commentators/talkers but McEn@*&$ is the worst offender of this tripe.  I bet when a burgerlur (like that?) is breaking into his house he exclaims, “come in!”.  I bet when he was 16,  butt-naked and whacking off in his room his mom would knock on his door and he’d shout, “come in.”  Like Mars Blackmon said of Jamie Overstreet’s poetry written to Nola Darling, “It’s like ice cream on a hot day, soft.  It’s not the answer.”  Okay, okay, so I’ve been trying to quote Mars Blackmon for a while, not the best, but you catch my drift.  You just can’t throw that “come in” shit around like it’s the be all end all.  There’s got to be sometimes when playing back is the answer…say, when you’re losing less than 50% of your approach shots. I dunno, call me crazy (horse), since I drink it for breakfast.

       When they cut to the (already played) Safin match McEnbeak quickly says of Safin, “he’s already got the head shakin’.”  This was towards the end of the second set.  Uhhhh, McEncrap, the guy already smashed 8 rackets, kicked a line judge in the nuts, skied 52 balls out of Court 1, and shit in the Queen’s bagged lunch.  As usual McEnbarf shows up late to the studio in his pajamas with sub-sub-sub-par commentary.  Just keep quiet and enjoy your free oily handjob courtesy of Dr. Googley eyes to the right of you.  I only got to see the 1st set and a couple of games of this match thanks to the crime lord of tennis, NBC, and their stranglehold on the game.  Not like you don’t know (pretty much everything I write here you already know anyway), but ESPN talked for 3 hours before showing us one set of the Safin v. Somebody Else match, then switched over to the Cream Dream match (which by the time they aired it it was already over, along with the Safin match as their play conincided).  I DVR’d (a pretentious way of saying taped) according to the “guide”, but apparently they showed the Nadal v. Murray match when they were suppose to be showing my mom’s stories (i.e. soaps).  ESPN didn’t offer shit but a mexican boxing match from 1982 and sports talk radio (on TV? How pathetic could your life possibly be to watch something you shouldn’t even be listening to?) so out of the 10 hours of tennis I thought I taped I only got 1 match.  BRAVO! assholes.  This is all a very roundabout way of saying I didn’t see shit tonight.  Safin (apparently won) 3-6, 7-5, 7-6, 6-3, and as I said before, he went haywire in the first, so I’m kinda (really) mad I didn’t get to see him go Donkey Kong in the second.  

     Nadal beat Murray’s dental work in straights 6-3, 6-2, 6-4.  That’s all, sorry for the short post, please direct all your hate mail to the cyborg that runs NBC.  I’ll be back tomorrow to cover Rick James and Flash Dance, come hell or 40 water.

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     If you actually do come here for tennis updates I feel sorry for you.  Its like going to Dirty Dick Roddick for advice on how not to date rape someone.  With that said I do apologize for the break in the action.  When people say, “I strive for quality over quantity,” what they’re really saying is, “I’m extremely lazy.”  It also probably means they take too many drugs.  Actually I had a little stint in a Mexican jail and didn’t have the spondulicks to grease the proverbial wheels of the justice system.  So maybe you should be filling me in.  My blog could be the equivalent of the U.S. trade deficit; all import, no export.  Based on well crafted assumptions and painstakingly drafted suppositions I’m sure Popov, Ivanostache, Screech, Jankohead, and damn near most of the top seeded players are still in it.  Am I right or am I right?  Well, shit, then let’s get on with it!  Tally-ho bitches!!!!!

     What would be the Ozzy tennis fans equivalent on the periodic table? Would they be an actinide or a lathonide?  Lathonides are abundant in nature while actinides are all radioactive (aka, can kill you with short, to long exposure), so you make the call.  I’d put ’em up there with Boron as it’s the closest to “moron.”  Seriously, send those guys back on the scorpion they rode in on. Either that or clip their tongues before they enter the stands.  And Llllllleyton’s sister is pretty classy, eh?  That chick from the C&C Music Factory called, she wants her hat back.  Actually, she just called again and said you can keep it as it hasn’t been 1992 for sometime now.  Very quiet from the Ozzy camp.  They had all packed their vegemite sandwiches in expectation of a 5 setter.  Oooops!  (*Ozzy talking to himself and looking at the day’s matchup*) Let me see here, Federer, Federer, Federer… how is this guy doing on grass courts lately?  D’oh!  It was quick and painless, then painful…like a kick to the groin.  Did anyone hear Federer growl like a tiger after winning the 2nd set?  Forget ligers, I wanna see a Federiger, or Ferion (see where I’m going with this?).  Yes, Federer finally put a stop to the Hewittnappings, rubbing him out in straights.  Federer had more slices than a Ron Popeil infomercial, and more aces than my sleeve at poker night in my garage.  Can ESPN or NBC get some of those old 60’s “Boosh!” graphics from the Batman series and lay ’em up over Federer backhands?  No? Well fuck you then.

     Have you ever seen Rick James and Venus Williams (she’s the one with the smaller shelves) in the same place at the same time?  That would be totally fucking weird if you answered yes to that question.  I’m not accusing Venus of kidnapping a woman at hot, crack pipe point, I’m just sayin’ she kinda looked like Rick James during her post match interview. I think Gimelslime called her a “very freaky girl”, if that means anything.  She slipped at the end of the match which was weird only because she usually slips out of the gate, not the finish line.  She remains the favorite despite having the smaller of the two life-giving booties.  She went A-yo for Yay-yo, 6-3, 6-4, over Kleybawhova.  

     Speaking of smoking Russian crack, Vaidisova won in straights (after losing the first), 4-6, 7-6, 6-3.  Can we relegate the term, “dropping the hammer” to Vaidisova’s serve? We can? You’re awesome!  Seriously though, she drops those bombs from the 10th floor and her victims are walking away before the shit even hits the grass/fan.  In the second set tie-break Chakvatadze got skunked, walking off the court before Vaidisova’s serves even touched down.  Scared much?  I know I was, and I was some 10 hours away, on my couch, in my underwear with my blanket, clutching a bottle of bright blue Mad Dog 20/20.  

     Jankohead got knocked out by someone from Thailand, but I didn’t get to see it ’cause who ever is in charge of programming (yes, this one again) has something against butter faces.  If you don’t know what a butter face is, ask your older brother (and stop reading my blurger).  Tamarine Tanasugarn head butted Jank in straights (I didn’t know Thailand rolled like that!), 6-3, 6-2.  

     Remember when your parents bought you some Superman or Spiderman underoos (yes, my second reference to underoos in as many posts) and you strapped ’em on and ran outside and started playing in ’em?  Then your mom yanked you back in the house and explained that just because your underwear is blue doesn’t mean they’re pants.  Well it looks like those in charge of dress code at Wimbledon had the same talk with 69th ranked (you can’t make this shit up…actually I do it all the time, but the ranking is true, and gross) American (could any other country have crapped out this monstrosity?) Beth Mattek.  Although I think I did see a pube or two blowing in the breeze just south of her skirt line.  Serena eventually yanked her back in the house and told her not to take her tennis racket outside anymore.  She actually didn’t look play too bad in the 1st set.  Seriously, if Mattek was a Transformer do you think she’d transform into a mobile home or a can of Old Milwaukee?  Serena goes on to play Radswanka Wanka Don’t Chya’ Wanna while Mattek goes on to play dueling banjos.   Serena sideswipes Mattek, 6-3, 6-3.  

     Ancic, who doesn’t know the heimlich maneuver allowed Verdasco to choke (again) on his tennis skills, in front of everyone at the dinner table.  Ancic played dumb for the second half of four hours, 3-6, 4-6, 6-3, 6-4, 13-11.  

     One less threat to my chub as Kooze gets knocked back to the barber shop to tighten up those corn rows.  Radswanka Fanta’d the Menace to Society 6-4, 1-6, 7-5.  

     Gasquet.  Gasquet!  Gasquet blew it after being up two sets to the most annoying Brit next to Mr. Bean.  If I have to watch Murray flex his white, deep-fried cod-cep to the delight of pale, toothless 16 year-old mothers I may have to invest in a blindfold for the rest of his matches.  Oh, wait, RAFA! is on deck.  Poof!  The idea of buying a blindfold just vanished from my memory.  Murray “muscled” his way into the quarters (or wherever we stand at this point), 5-7, 3-6, 7-6, 6-2, 6-4.  And don’t worry, I’m drawing up blueprints for an epic long tirade on that horse-faced tyrant Sue Mott as we speak.  

     Youhzny and his bear lost.  No salutes, just toots.  Uhhh, and Tiptsaravic lost to Shitler?  I’m really confused now.  Shitler v. Clement.  Stop! The suspense is killing me!  By killing I mean boring.  And by boring I mean boring me to death…so yes, I mean killing.

     Did something else happen? Please let me know and I’ll ignore your email and steal your idea and post it here.  I hope to be back tomorrow to relay more ear-piercing commentary that runs on longer than a Sunday barf.  Tally-ho, ho’s!

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