Forty Deuce

Learn It, Love It, Live It.

Petko dances with German Judah Friedlander.

Just Dance.

I honestly didn't think it was going to happen. Not after she won the first set, most definitely not after she lost the second set, and absolutely not after she went into a third set tiebreak.  I mean, I know better than to hope.  And with Petko's pattern of finding heartbreaking ways to lose big matches, I was prepared for the worst.

But it did happen!  And it was great!  And I thought at one point Nadia might kill me!  We were sitting courtside and during the third set I guess Nadia heard someone say something and it got her all pissy.  She looked over in our general direction (we were sitting two sections over from Petko's camp) and said "Who said that?  No respect."  Uh...I was just yelling "Ajde", "Komm jetzt", and "C'mon Andrea" all match.  Pretty sure that wasn't directed at me.  If she wants to be mad at somebody, talk to the dude in dreads sitting up at the top of the stadium who kept yelling "Nadiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" throughout the match. 

And then, to top it all off, after she loses, Nadia packs up all her shit, is about to sling her bag over her shoulder, stops, opens up the bag, PULLS OUT A RACQUET, and then grabs her bag and walks off court, racquet in hand.  I mean...huh?  Look, dude, I'm sorry you were in a pissy mood because you had to wear that piece of ugly onto the court.  But let's dial it down, huh?

Whatever.  Huge congratulations to Petkorazzi who finally scored a win in a tight match on a big stage, scoring the biggest upset in the first round of the women's side.   She deserves this.  She works so hard and she's a fantastically nice person to boot.  She hey-heyed me after the match after I yelled "We love you Petkorazzi!!!"  It totally made my day.

Do You Want To Be The Ice? Or Leather? Tough Call, Right?

Much of my Tuesday was spent hanging out with Christine, a creepy FD lurker who loves her some Bepa.  Thank God Christine was around (and not actually creepy at all), because as we were walking the grounds with our Honey Deuces, I got thuper exthited when I saw Petko.  So much so that it took Christine to point that she was hitting with Ana.  We got all squealy and planted our butts right in front.

Christine had never seen Ana in person before (or Petko for that matter, if I recall) and I waxed poetic about how both ladies had the ability to make you melty, regardless of gender or sexual orientation.  I also went off about how nice Ana is and how if you talk to her she'll totally make eye contact with you and pretty much acknowledge anyone who says anything to her.  To prove my point, we waited around until Ana was done practicing and as she left the court I said "Good luck tomorrow, Ana."  She looked up (she typically walks with her head down), smiled, looked me dead in the eye, and said "Thank you."  Point proven.

On my Ana high, I decided to give it a go with Petko as she left the court.  "Good luck tonight, Andrea.  We'll be there cheering for you."  She gave her badass grin, said thanks, and went on her way, signing autographs for whomever was wise enough to ask.  They're both so awesome.

I'm telling you, Leather is the best thing ever.  Oh!  And she was sitting down while Ana was practicing so I leaned forward and said "Marija!"  She turned, I waved, and she smiled that huge grin she has.  I know, I was being a dork.  I blame the heat and the vodka.

Oh, and here are pics of Leather giving Ana an ice massage.  On court. 

 

You like, yes?

Oh, No, PetKo.

I have never seen PetKo play live before so I was really excited to watch her play Govortsova.  Plus, I had put in an interview request to do a fun one-on-one with her, talking about books, beer, and Leberkase.  We were going to talk, and laugh, and become besties.

 

Unfortunately, I checked the box that said "Win Only" on the form.  So there's that.

Poor kid.  She's had a rough few months.  She was in tears by the end of the match.

She's Aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive!

 

You over your hangover yet?

Apparently there are other tournaments this week other than Stanford.  Who knew!  But Franny and PetKo are in Istanbul so I'll be keeping an eye out.

Got a tournament that requires players to dress up in unflattering traditional fashions? 

Petkorazzi's your girl.

(Pics from Yahoo, here and here.)

Bad, Gastein. Bad.

 

See, this is why you can't have nice things, Bad Gastein. 

Kudos for all the ladies for being game.

You are so not in the trust tree right now, Cone.  I can't even look at you.

Deeeeeam, girl.  Self tanner!

These are tennis players.  I think.

That's either Kader Nouni or Apolo Anton Ohno. 

Or Prince Gerhard Messerschmidt Rammstein von Haupt.

See the full gallery here.

I Hate To Be Debbie Downer, But...

Petko crashed out of Bad Gastein at the hands of The Cone, who has inexplicably decided to play well this week.  Why against Petko, Cone?  WHY???

And Kolya kept his streak if failing to win back to back matches since he came back in June.  He's out of Stuttgart, losing to Golubev, 64 64.  In case you missed it, Kolya is no longer being coached by his brother.  He's basically being coached by Irina.  So that's working out well. 

Oh, and Lleyton lost in Atlanta.  But...that's not really all that Debbie Downer, is it?

Stalker? Is She Talkin' About Me?

New blog up from Petko.  And it's better than the first.

Also, apropos of nothing, this happened:

Little Bo Cone done lost her sheep, yo.

"Yes, Serena, now I know how you feel."

So I went to this awesome German restaurant last night for dinner and as I looked up to place my order for the schnitzel und Radeberger, I had to do a double-take.  Our server looked EXACTLY like Petko.  Same look, same voice, same dry sense of humor.  I had to get DonkeyGrooming's validation so that I knew I wasn't just nutty.  But it was a good thing I saw her because it reminded me to post this:

Petko is defending her title in Bad Gastein this week.  She even won her first rounder over Iveta today, 4 and 0. 

But more importantly, SHE'S BLOGGING THIS WEEK.  Get on it and tweet her some love.

Kudos to the WTA brass for recognizing her awesomeness.

Congrats. Whatever.

Justine came back from a set and 3-0 down in the third set to win in s'Hertogenbosch.  Nice comeback, but her penchant for digging herself into third set holes is disconcerting if you're a Justine fan.  Which, I presume no one who reads this blog is so I'm moving on.

Oh, PetKo.  So close!  Your love of third set drama is commendable but the drama only works if you win.  It's like in Alias.  Sydney's idiocy as a spy that requires her to be rescued week by week is only forgiveable if she actually gets rescued.  I mean, if she really were to die, that's no fun, right?  Take heed, PetKo.  All that unsolicited constructive criticism aside, well done this week!

 

Speaking of well done, how about a standing ovation for Ekaterina Makarova?  She went through Eastbourne qualies, then beat Flavs, Nads, Sveta, Sam, and Vika for her first WTA title.  And here's the kicker: She didn't drop a set.  Yes, Vika practically had to be hauled off in an ambulance in the final (looks like a right leg injury), but credit to Maks for not freezing in any of these matches and keeping her nerve.  She could have easily headcased it once Vika started being all drama and shit.  A much deserved ovation, kiddo.  She could meet Venus in the second round of Wimby.

 

Much love to Team MomoLlodes!  Mikey came through in the final to capture his first singles title of the year.

Fear the Scrunchie.  FEAR IT.

And Sergiy Staks demolished a deranged homeless man in the Bosch final, 63 60.

Churnin' Butter

Oh I've missed you and your legendary Ho!Yay!

I'm a bit busy with some personal stuff this week (don't worry, it's nothing serious or anything) so I apologize for falling behind on the blogging.  To be honest, I normally don't feel bad about it (because I'm a dick) but seeing as how Wimbledon starts in less than a week, I feel particularly derelict in my responsibilities to you, the sometimes-loyal-but-would-totally-stab-me-in-the-back reader.

Thankfully there are other great tennis bloggers who aren't ignoring the tennis.  I don't really like churning links, but again, it's the week before Wimbledon and I feel like if I don't set the table for all the jokes I plan to drop in the next couple of weeks, well, the jokes will fail.  And nothing pisses me off more than someone making unfunny jokes especially when that someone is me.

So here's my churnalistic attempt to get you caught up with the goings on in Yellow Ball Land.  And by "Yellow Ball Land" I mean tennis, not Asian porn.  Get your head out of the gutter and into the game, pervies.

• Uncle Jamie throws his Wimbly thoughts out into the information superhighway.  You should read it because I always agree with him.  Except for the times when I don't.
• Stephanie Myles, thankfully, breaks down how the Wimbledon seeds are calculated for the ATP side.  Why did she feel compelled to Mathnet?  Because Fed has been seeded #1 and the Twitterverse had a cow.  And by Twitterverse I mean me because I was apparently the only one in the world who didn't know that the formula only applies to the ATP, not the WTA.  My thoughts in a nutshell: I don't really care that Fed's #1.  It had no effect on the draw.  It's more symbolic than anything else, you know, like THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND.  But what does annoy me is that this formula isn't used for the ladies.  Think about it and you will come to the same conclusion that I did: Wimbledon hates Venus.
• C Note read at Down The Line that Franny is referring to herself in the third-person.  C Note thinks it's just...weird. 
• GoToTennis sat on a conference call with Brad and Mary and didn't bother asking whether there would be a "Big Babe Tennis 2: Electric Buggaloo" installment this year.  Also they both pick Rafa to win.  Where was Aunty Pimmy?!?
• I love Andy Murray.  Just thought I'd mention it.
• Vika and Sveta won back to back matches.  That seems like news.
• You don't want to know how this makes me feel, Roger.
• Best. Coach. EVAH.
• Sam just wants to make the fourth round at Wimbledon.  Now if people could please stop paying attention to her, I'd appreciate it.  Thanks.  Meanwhile, she's doing ok on grass so far, making the quarters of Eastbourne against Elena Baltacha.
• Boom Boom Sabine is out of Wimbledon.
• Great piece on Shazza in The Guardian.
• JJ's boxing.  If JJ doesn't like fistpumps in her face, I can't think she's a fan of fists in her face.  Also, "WATCH THE NOSE!"
• Welcome back, Kimmy.  I see you've left your mercy in Belgium.
• Thanks to Jane Peng for getting Boyfriend to link to my Rafa piece.  That's how the Kong rolls.
• WTA Boo Boo Boo Watch: MaKiri retired with an ab injury; Aravane retired with a right wrist injury; Nails also retired.
• ATP Boo Boo Boo Watch: Nico retired with a right hip injury; Feli retired two points from losing with some sort of injury, I'm thinking it was either a brain injury or World Cup fever; Special Kei also retired.
• Via Twitter, Nalby announced he's not playing Wimbledon.  So enjoy your crumpets as per yoosh.
• I would like to be introduced to these "people" who thought it was the coolest thing they'd ever seen.  Seriously, Serena.  I want a list.  Tweet it.  
• Oh, and Rafa's in Mallorca hanging with Xisca.  And probably crying.  A lot.

And that's the news I care about.  Oh, Ana lost to PetKo.  Shit happens.  Moving on.

Drop It Like It's Hot.

Did Chakky beat Petkorazzi?  Yes.  Are there pics of it?  No.

So it goes.

You Like Tennis? ME TOO!

Awesome stuff once against from Steve Tignor, who writes a piece on what it's like to watch matches courtside in the Bullring.  Not only does he do a fantastic job transporting you there, but he adds some interesting insight into the two matches he watched: Sveta vs. Petko and Muzz vs. Chela:

What was the difference watching this match from here instead of on TV? From my pressroom monitor, errors appeared to have been produced by mental lapses or stupid risks. “How could Petkovic hit that into the net? She must be choking. Kuzzie, will you ever learn?” But when you get on the court, you can see that while there are pointless misses, the majority of them come because each player feels that she must live with a certain amount risk in her game—Petkovic aims for the baseline; Kuznetsova swings from the heels—because if they play it safe, they’re going to get killed on the next ball. Women’s tennis 2010: Don’t call it a bash fest; call it an arms race. For better and worse, hitting the hell out of the ball is playing percentage tennis. Only seeing it up close, closing the distance between yourself and the players, will let you appreciate this. Stylistic variety? That's an aesthetic element of the sport which is emphasized by the colder, distanced view of the TV camera. Here you feel the sparks of the athletic combat that goes on beneath.

...

From an emotional standpoint, you might see Murray as a whiner, a guy who’s always got some niggling complaint about something. Up close you can hear him mumble to himself, take deep breaths, get annoyed at an invisible person in the audience. Taken together, these little tics and gestures begin to seem like Murray’s method of competing, of bracing himself, bit by bit, moment by moment, for the psychological strains of a match. It’s the pep talk of a fundamentally pessimistic person, and it doesn’t look like an easy act to pull off. When Murray tells the crowd to shut up a few inches from me, it isn’t anger that I see in his face. It’s embarrassment over his missed shot, over his small failure. Every tennis match is a performance where flubbed lines are a given. But that doesn't make flubbing a shot in public any easier.

Read the whole piece.  It's fantastic.  What I love about Steve's writing, aside from his eloquence, is the clear passion for the game.  A lot of tennis writers, I won't name names, sound like writing about tennis is a chore, an annoyance, a thorn in their side.  You finish reading their pieces and regardless of the quality of their analysis (to the extent there is *any* analysis at all) you don't feel like they even enjoy the sport they cover.  I never get that sense with Tignor's writing, which is why I always look forward to reading whatever he posts. 

P-P-P-Petkorazzi

COME ON! How awesome is she?!?!?

Previously On Alias: Sydney Bristow Is The Worst Spy Ever.

46 75 64.

Oof.  This was a tough one.  In fact, I don't think I can really relive it by writing it up. 

Thus, I give you this pictorial essay: