Tuesday, July 27, 2010


I have absolutely no experience in blogging and have never considered my lack of experience a problem as I never expected I would be writing (or at least attempting to write) one myself. If you, like me, has always pictured blogging as an excuse for people with lots of free time (and Internet access) to vent about their lives, please note that it is NOT what I’m doing at the moment, but merely completing a formality. First of all, I cannot bring myself to understand the origin of the word “blog” itself, such a weird word; I have to admit it is kind of entertaining to pronounce, but it pales in comparison to others such as “shuttlecock.” --> hahaha! have to love badminton.

Before starting on my actual topic, I will give you some information about myself (as you obviously will not care to click on the “about me” button --> why should you anyway???) Well, I was born in Argentina (lived there for 7 years), then moved to France for five years (French pastries are excellent -- no matter what the Publix “Bakery” has to say about it), I arrived in Florida about 3 years ago and presently reside in the monotonous bundle of houses that calls itself Weston.

Now, on to my topic: tennis! ---please contain your excitement-- I have practiced tennis since my seventh year when my parents asked me one day what sport interested me. For some obscure, mysterious, reason I replied “tennis” and tennis it has been ever since.

What I admire about this sport is the finesse and skill it requires, the gentleman-like attitude of its players, and its great versatility. I am particularly fond as

well of the game’s mental side, wherein players perform a most delicate battle, and one almost as important as that visibly taking place on the court (the competitive [and malicious] sides of my personality indeed thrive when opponents show any sign of mental impotence).

I practice at Weston’s Midtown Athletic Club (a most peculiar, functional, and beautiful place overflowing with South Americans such as myself) and I am a member of my school’s tennis team.

Currently, I attend Midtown’s summer camp and confess I have never felt so inferior until now, playing opposite some truly talented players. For example, today, I necessitated many efforts to defeat a recently turned twelve, short little girl (whom I sympathized with, however, because of her Argentinean nationality).

Now, on to professional tennis!!! --> tennis which people actually care about)

I support an Argentinean player named Juan Martin del Potro, who got to number 5 in the world and won last year’s US Open. Given my luck however, del Potro has not been able to play since January because of a wrist injury --> bummer.... Let’s see, I like Federer’s game (who wouldn’t) and despise Nadal’s (simply because he sometimes beats Federer). In the women’s side, I am fond of Justine Henin and Maria Sharapova and can tolerate Kim Clijsters and Jelena Jankovic.

Last March-slash-April, I was involved in the Sony Ericsson Open (5th largest tournament in the world). And no, I didn’t play there -sigh- but was a b

allperson!! Even though my pride was initially injured by the notion of picking up balls for someone else (can’t they just do it themselves, really ?!?!?) I soon learned to enjoy the experience. First of all, I am a tennis fan and rejoiced at being just a couple of feet away from famous players and to observe their talent from such a close stand. As a student in need of service hours, I could not possibly neglect the 65 hours awarded by the tournament.

As simple as it may look, ballpersoning is certainly not an easy task: one must always be aware of all the balls’ location within the court and know how many are in the other ballpersons’ possession. Also, one cannot for a moment lose his focus: his safety being at stake (high-speed balls everywhere!!), along with his vanity (no one wants to make a fool of himself in fronts of millions of TV spectators worldwide).

Also, it must be taken in consideration that, when on the court, all players (excepting Zheng Jie, who is nice enough to say “thank you”) act like jerks whose entertainment it is to abuse ballpersons (I myself have received some threatening looks from Venus Williams when I didn’t give her a ball quickly enough). Overall, however, it is a very enjoyable experience, as ballpersons receive tons of free tickets, food coupons, a special I.D. and 300 dollars in the uniforms. One thing to watch out for: heat strokes.

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