Date: 1996/07/17
rec.sport.tennis
What, no fatted calf?
Yes, it is true ... after a month of traveling the world (well, OK,
Britrailing through England and Scotland) I have come crawling back to
r.s.t. seeking shelter and solace. See how abject I look?
But this geek has come bearing gifts: a stack of Wimbledon press clippings
(err, rippings) from the British press. Boy, the Brits really know how to
write about tennis: profane, punny, sensationalistic, sexist, racist,
gossipy, highly enthusiastic, and full of personal opinion and personal
attacks of those whose opinions differ. Just like r.s.t.!! I felt right at
home.
And when not reading about tennis in the fishwrapping, I was able to watch
it at virtually any time of the day or night at practically any pub with a
TV. Ahhhh, two of life's greatest pleasures: big-screen TV tennis and
pints of Boddington's. Additionally, I attended one FULL day of Wimbledon (with a couple of r.s.t. pals) and even managed to scare up a few matches
with some locals. All in all, a perfect trip ... and oh, yeah, art and
music and theater and a lot of half-ruined castles and gardens sitting on
property that would make perfectly swell tennis courts. Someone tell the
National Trust they could stand to lose a *few* stately homes, border
gardens, and tea shops; instead, they could make money selling
strawberries-n-cream and grass-court tennis lessons.
Well, it's an *idea*!
Anyway, I don't promise that I will type in the complete text of *all* the
articles I brought with me, but I will, over the next few days, try to do
justice to the best of them, as well as share some details of my day at Wimbledon and my nights of passion in the arms of a certain highly ranked
tennis professional.
Just checking.
dar
--
Will play tennis for food.
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