While marveling over
Well, there's a guy left named
Easy on Kate Jackson.
Agree, though it would be nice for credibility's sake if two of those top four could get around to winning Slams one day. As usual, we're getting a lot of mail complaining about the caliber of play in the women's game -- both the uninspired matches and the monotonous baseline banging. My take-away so far: We should be celebrating the Williams sisters, playing as well as ever after all these years, more than we should be denigrating the field.
Tough call. This underscores the problem with flimsy standards. The Hall of Fame should really be the Mount Olympus of the sport. Enshrinement should be the equivalent of being knighted; not getting access to the VIP lounge at the Borgata. Bless Safin and his two Slams, his ample titles, his killer backhand, his Davis Cup success, his rugged good looks, his perpetual existential angst. But Hall of Fame? The institution that, in baseball, keeps out 300 game winners? Really? When you set the bar low, though, you can't suddenly elevate. The unofficial precedent is at least one major and some other supporting data. (See:
Gilbert and Fowler are actually sharing the townhouse next door to me. I'm sure any on-air tension is just residual anger over who ate the last Pop Tart. In as much as they razz each other, it makes for good TV. What I don't get is Gilbert's dress code. The guy was made to wear black sports gear. It's too jarring to see him in a suit with a pocket square. Like putting whipped cream on a hot dog.
Absolutely. And we'll throw a bouquet to
In a word: yes. There's a place for mixed-doubles. It's fun. It fills sessions. It underscores the dual nature of tennis. It puts some extra coin in the pockets of some players. But if you're fatigued, or want to ration energy, or are fearful of exacerbating an injury, it's easy to pull the rip cord and bail.