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LaRosa's Sweet Spot: Jan 12, 20101

1/12/2011 3:00:00 PM

LaRosa's Sweet Spot Archive |

The Australian Open is a magnet for mayhem. Who can forget the 150 Serbian and Croatian fans who were ejected in 2007 for going at it with flagpoles, bottles and boots? Or the rowdy spectators pepper sprayed by police during the ’08 Fernando Gonzalez/Konstantinos Economidis match? 2009 saw The Great Chair-Throwing Brawl, and last year 11 fans were dragged out after smuggling in flares.

And this is the Happy Slam.

Needless to say, any bottle of booze Down Under might as well have a gasoline-soaked rag in it.  In my bid to keep us all safe from harm, I give you the Sweet Spot’s 2nd Annual MOST UNFUNNEST DRINKING GAME EVER, Australian Open edition!  With this drinking game you’ll be in no danger of having to irrigate pepper spray out of anywhere! And wouldn’t Sister Andrea Jaeger (a 1982 Australian Open semifinalist) approve? Of course she would. Good luck getting a buzz!

Take a swig if…

Andy Murray isn’t tipped to win it all because he’s ‘under the radar’ or ‘there’s no attention on him.’ Take two swigs if his tears from last year aren’t replayed over and over while discussing how little attention is on him.

Bernard Tomic doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth…and punch it.

Bethanie is ready to play

A commentator isn’t asked to try vegemite on-air. Take two swigs if they don’t mug for the camera in mock-horror, three if they don’t outright spit it out.

Novak Djokovic’s breathing problems aren’t referred to constantly. Take two swigs if his breathing problems in fact do not come into play at all.

Esther Vergeer loses.

A certain No 1 isn’t asked incessantly about the flu. Take five swigs if, when invariably questioned about how he’s feeling, he replies “you know, just awful.”

Gael Monfils doesn’t make one unnecessary dive in each and every one of his matches. 

Justine Henin doesn’t downplay her chances after demolishing her opponent each round.

John Isner doesn’t lose his body weight in sweat.

Juan Martin del Potro doesn’t get a hero’s welcome on his return to Grand Slam play after a year away. Take two swigs if he doesn’t draw someone crazy juicy crazy early.

Kim Clijsters isn’t asked about being a mom. BECAUSE SHE’S A MOM!

Lleyton Hewitt and Venus Williams aren’t asked about retirement. BECAUSE THEY’RE OLD!

Michael Llodra keeps his pants on.

Nadia Petrova takes the court wearing something demure and understated. Down a 40 if she does not look like a PAAS Easter Egg.

Oracene Price goes her entire stay in Melbourne without tweeting something fantastically blunt. Take an extra shot of Patron if she apologizes for it.

We aren’t treated by at least one round of epic Patty Schnyder 3rd set hair.

You aren’t pissed that Nicolas Mahut was made to qualify. Take three swigs if he doesn’t do something adorable that makes you want to jump on his back and ride him around Melbourne like a My Little Pony.

Roger Federer doesn’t attempt a single tweener. Down a cerveza if Rafa doesn’t then attempt one himself the following match.

A player isn’t carried off the court with sunstroke. Fasten your lips to a keg tap if that player isn’t Victoria Azarenka.

The top 4 women’s seeds all make the semis. Or the quarters. Or the 4r.

Andy Roddick doesn’t berate at least one umpire.

Fernando Verdasco wears a shirt.

Caroline Wozniacki isn’t held up as the personification of all that’s wrong with the ranking system. Take four swigs and a giant rip of salvia Miley Cyrus-style if she isn’t made the personification of all that’s wrong with women’s tennis altogether.

A certain female player will not have to answer any questions about an alleged XXX home movie blowing up the interwebs. Down a six pack of Schlitz if you haven’t already or won’t immediately Google the identity of said player. Down a whole case if you’re not a filthy liar.

You don’t hate me even more for doing this to you yet again.

You catch any Zzz’s over two weeks of mind-numbingly questionable tactics, baffling fashion, expletive-ridden tirades and psychotic meltdowns, and that’s all just by me in my daily Aussie Open blog. Which of course you’ll come back for because you’re a masochist with too much time on your hands.  And you’ll be stone cold sober! If you reach the point of white knuckling it, have no fear. I have an ill-tempered sexually confused fuzzy yellow Serbian friend who makes a brilliant sponsor.

The madness kicks off Monday.  See you then!


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