You don't know me. Actually, that's not totally true. I'm that weird Asian chick who cheers embarrassingly loud at your matches in California. Remember the LA final when you lost to Flavi but turned to a group of girls in the stands and waved? Yeah, that was me and my friends. We weren't drunk, I promise! Remember your match against Serena at Stanford? Yeah, I wasn't there for that one. But I cheered you on really loudly from my house. I just wanted you to know that. Oh, but remember Indian Wells? I was the one you kept looking at when you destroyed Bepa out on Court 2. And remember when I stopped you to get a picture and you were super nice even though you had the same expression my corgi gets when strangers try to pet him? Yeah, that was awesome. Did I ever tell you that you're the only tennis player I've ever stood for a picture with? Not Ana, not Masha, not Nole, no one. Just you. Oh, I didn't? Well it's true.
I'm sorry, did this just get weird?
Anyway, all that is to say, I'm a big fan. And it's because I feel we have this unique bond -- my corgi Chase's fur is the same color as your hair! Fuck...it got weirder, huh? Sorry -- I feel compelled to unburden my conscience with a confession. Now, please don't be mad. I'd ask you to promise not to be mad but I know how lame and useless that is. I've seen Pulp Fiction. Do you like Pulp Fiction? You do?!? Oh, awesome! Isn't just the best mov-- sorry. Getting distracted. Ahem. Confession time.
It's my fault you lost.
No, no, no, don't try and console me with your kind Aussie-accented "No, don't be silly." It really was my fault. I am absolutely convinced of this. Why, you ask? Oh, gosh, Sam. Where do I even begin?
- I kicked this whole tournament off with a bottle of Australian Shiraz in your honor. No really, you can listen to the proof! I drank an entire bottle of Shiraz in the span of two hours just for you. And yet, when it really mattered, I couldn't go out of my way to drink a bottle in solidarity during the final? I mean, I know it was a 6am match but come on! It was the least I could do and yet, in my arrogance I thought "Nah. That'd be a dumb idea." You know what's a dumb idea? NOT DOING EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER TO HELP OUT ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE PLAYERS WIN HER FIRST SLAM. Fuck, I'm really sorry.
- I didn't wear my Lacoste hat. Granted, I didn't wear the Lacoste hat all tournament. But still! I couldn't be bothered to roll out of bed and grab the hat and throw it on??? I mean, what sorry excuse for a fan am I?
- I watched the final in my living room. I haven't watched any of your matches from the living room. I've watched them from my bed. Oh, don't get weird. That's not supposed to be like a dirty thing or anything. I'm just that lazy and it's been cold. But I was a crazy superstitious athlete in my day so I know how dumb it was to change things up before an important match. I'm just so sad that you had to deal with the repercussions of my idiocy.
- I started looking through my iTunes library to pick what song I was going to play during the FDPodcast in the event you won. So dumb. Um, hello? Chickens? Hatching? THIS WAS SO STUPID OF ME, SAM! But really, could you blame me? I sure as hell wasn't going to use Men at Work.
- I didn't play tug or war with my dog when you were down a set. Now, don't make fun of me, Sam. that's not nice. I'm trying to have a heart-to-heart with you right now. Laughing in my face doesn't help. See, when you dropped that second set to Serena I woke up my dog and we played a vicious game of tug-o-war in my room. I guess I figured it might get the fight back in you and give you some renewed energy. What was that? No, I'm not in therapy. No, I'm not crazy. JUST A CRAZY FAN FOR YOU! Wait, Sam, come back! That was supposed to be funny. I'm sorry.
So yeah, I'm really sorry, dude. Or mate. Can I call you mate? Do I sound like a poseur? I don't want to sound like a pos--yeah, ok, I'll stick to "dude".
This was the biggest match of your life and I totally failed you. I hope you can forgive me and we can still be friends. I'm really gutted over the whole thing. I've been listening to "Flume" on loop, haven't left the house all day, and my dog won't talk to me. I assume you feel worse about this than I do but I can't honestly believe that it's possible.
What's that? You don't feel worse than I do? Well fuck, that's kinda weird. I guess you have more maturity in your forecep than I do in my entire body. Huh? What's a forecep? Um...it's kind of a long story.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful dinner with your family and know that you gained a whole slew of fans these past two weeks. Good luck at Wimbledon (though really, we all know you kinda suck on grass) and I hope to see you in California in a couple of weeks.
That is, if this letter isn't Exhibit A to your application for a temporary restraining order.
PS -- Chase sends his apologies as well. He just wasn't feeling it this morning.