Tuesday, May 31, 2011

A Game Where Love Means Nothing

I've always loved tennis.  I love that it is a life long sport.  I love the fact that it burns calories without feeling like rigorous exercise.  And, I love tennis outfits.  Sadly, it is unrequited love.

I started tennis lessons when I was five, tried out for high school team when I was sixteen and even had private tennis lessons with a red headed Irishman from Columbia just last year.  I've been chasing this wretched game for 20 years to absolutely no avail.  Tennis has been a life long sport all right....a life of trying to develop even the slightest skill with absolutely no success.

Luckily for me, to attend a tennis tournament you do not have to have any skill in the game what so ever.  So, the Mr. and I made our way down to Roland Garros stadium last week to catch some of the French Open.

Doesn't it look so easy? 

Put out by the fact that I am quite possibly the worlds worst tennis player (ask the Mr. if you think I'm exaggerating) I haven't really been keeping up with the sport.  Beyond Federer, Sharapova and the Williams sisters, I don't think I could even name a player.   Nonetheless, we had a great time.  The ticketing system was pretty inefficient (I know, French inefficiency? shocking!) and from what I've heard, I don't think the experience at the French Open comes even close to that of Wimbeldon, but the clay courts were magnificent made even more beautiful by the fact that they were lined with boxes of red geraniums on either side. You can always count on the French to get the aesthetics right.

The downside - I am back back off the horse, in love with tennis all over again.

But everyone knows, love means nothing in this game.

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