Wimbledon Day 2: Divarena and Woger Sweaterer.

Whatever you might think of Serena Williams, if you didn’t grow an extra ounce of respect or – dare I say – fondness for her after watching this, I DISCOUNT YOUR HUMANITY.

The woman had glass shards in her foot. She was kept away from tennis for a year. She had a pulmonary embolism for fuck sake. It takes a special kind of courage and dedication to the sport (yes, I just mentioned Serena and dedication in the same sentence) to make a comeback.

You almost get the sense that as far as Serena’s Wimbledon defence campaign is concerned, Week 1 is more important than Week 2. Week 1 is when low-ranking outliers like Rezai have nothing to lose against a former top dog dangerously low on match toughness and confidence – by her own lofty, unconventional standards that is.

But if I can count on one WTA player to charge through stormy seas like an angry siren, it’s Serena. Do not underestimate the kind of controlled baseline aggression and solid serving she needed to get past a hard hitting, in-yo-facade Rezai yesterday.

And on an entirely frivolous note, that dress (matched by Wimbledon-themed nails) was so prep she could’ve gotten into Chuck Bass’s pants. Nicely done, Divarena.

As for Mister Doesn’t-Sweaterer, I’d like to preface the rest of the post by declaring that I was a little disappointed Wogie didn’t strut sashay on court in a white cape and some freshly bleached white undies. Clark Kent style.

The lack of a cape aside, I’m rather enjoying the vintage green and off-white sweater vest combo. It reminds me of clothing in the era of Emerson and Laver, or non-English cricket gear (since English cricketers insist on wearing that cornea-searing, industrial shade of white. GAAAH!).

Join the club. My club.

Wogie in the sky with diamonds …

Not much to say on the tennis – for the most part, it was slightly on the shankier side of the fence. Then again, for a first match on grass in breezy conditions, I ain’t gonna complain. When your favourite player is serving at 71% on grass, with 12 aces, 1 double fault, winning a “modest” 89% of his first serves and a “horrendous” 74% of his second serves, complaining about a few shtinkin’ shanks in a first round match seems to the tennis equivalent of a first world problem.

Onwards we roll, Mister Sweaterer. 1 down, 6 to go. That finger, we’re still waggin’ it.

xx doots

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