9/21/2011 1:00:00 PM
The emotional and physical trainwreck of the U.S. Open/Davis Cup tag team didn’t just traumatize fans. It also traumatized players, with Andy Murray yanking the thin veil off Rafael Nadal’s threats to strike by stating the possibility outright. The calendar is too packed, Andy said to the BBC, and players are going to convene in Shanghai next month to decide if they are in fact going to go all Norma Rae on the ITF’s and ATP’s asses.
For most of us, the idea of a player strike is unfathomable. We haven’t experienced it in our tennis lifetime. We’ve been mainlining a steady stream of the fuzzy yellow stuff since we got that first hit of the junk on that dank dirty street corner. But what happens when that supply is cut off? If Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew has taught me anything, it’s that a grown woman who doesn’t strip for a living can be named Sugar, and that there is in fact a whole WORLD waiting for us on the other side.
Let’s take a glimpse, shall we?
Rise and shine! Oh that’s right, you didn’t take a nap at 9pm so you could wake up at 3am to wind up having to wait out the two hour rain delay to watch that Thailand quarterfinal that’s going to determine who’ll be the (gasp!) new No 4 player in the world. You wake up at a normal hour now! That’s actual breakfast, a full hour on the treadmill AND showing up to work ON TIME. With plenty of time to catch up on gossip. Did you know Ginny from Accounts Receivable is pregnant? Now you do!
Look how much work you’re getting done! Your computer goes so much faster without all those Eastern European live streams going. And look at all the paper you’re saving not printing out those pesky draw sheets. When you turn in your quarterly report (WITH PIE CHARTS), your boss is so turned on he nearly sexually harasses you. You plenty more time for gossip. Ginny’s having twins?? Get out!
Lunch! No scarfing down a crappy Starbucks Panini at your desk while trying to catch up on your Twitter timeline after it exploded with the release of yet even more photos from Rafael Nadal’s Armani underwear campaign where he finally, inevitably, goes full pickle. Instead you can go to a café with your co-workers like a normal person! Hey look, there’s Ginny! Girl you look so good for being pregnant with twins! Oh, you brought the sonogram pic? THIRTY sonogram pics? Sure, I don’t have anywhere to be…
Yeah you’re drinking at work, so what? They do it on Mad Men!
You don’t have that blockbuster night match to rush home for, so you’ve got more than enough time to run those errands! And since you’ve saved so much money on pay tennis sites, tickets, flights and fabulous hotel rooms you can really load up on Haagen-Dazs, tequila and fireworks!
What honey? Oh there’s no tennis tonight so I have all the time in the world to have dinner and talk about your feelings. What, you’ve invited our parents over for dinner too? FANTASTIC. They foam at the mouth for any opportunity to tell me all the things I’m doing wrong in my life. I should write this down. Where’s my Hello Kitty notebook?
You want me to do what with you?
Tennis! On TV! And it’s live! Oh thank God. Oh, women’s tennis? I don’t usually follow it but hey, how different can it be? Oh great, the signal’s jacked, she just keeps double faulting on a loop. Wait, that’s actually happening like that? How many times can she do that? Oh. Oh. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh. Oh. Oh God--
O to the M to the G, this tequila makes the fireworks burn so pretty! And dog tails grown back, don’t they? Ha, I said grown! What a funny word, grown. Grown. Grown. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this in the bedroom.
Wake up in a cold sweat after having a nightmare of the abandoned Centre Court at Wimbledon being used for a combination Charlie Sheen Goddess orgy/Kardashian wedding.
1:05am – forever:
Is this the future we want? A strike would lead to exercise, productivity at work and interaction with family, and that can only lead to alcoholism, dog mutilation and second degree arson. Get with the program players, ATP and ITF. Work this %$#& out.
It’s a scary world out there. Don’t make us live in it.
Follow James at twitter.com/JamesLaRosa