#13 Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll--Caveman Style

Well, maybe not drugs ... no evidence yet. I'm pretty sure, however, given our modern proclivities, that our ancestors were probably chewing hemp and popping poppy seeds far longer even than they were blowing the flute pictured at right. Dated 35-40,000 years ago, this is the earliest musical instrument, carefully crafted out of vulture bone, yet discovered (as published in Nature magazine late last month). I'm guessing, though, as a an erstwhile percussionist, that more perishable rhythmic devices--hollowed-out logs, drum-head skins, gourds, etc.--were in existence long, long before, which would have provided meet accompaniment to our own natural-born musical tools: the voice, whistle, and slap.

But what excitement must have ensued when Murray the Caveman announced his new invention to his fellow Cro-Magnons watching their evening schedule of cave-paintings. "Listen, it does my whistling for me! ... And what a gig we got cooked up for tonight!--with Marty on gourd and Mary the Cavewoman on voice-box." And you know there would have been dancing. Probably this fossilized instrument had it's own lengthy provenance, however, because of its "high-tech" craftsmanship.

When assembled, the vulture-bone flute is about eight and a half inches long, and has five finger holes. There are fine lines cut into the bone around the holes, suggesting that the flute's maker was calibrating the holes' placement to produce the nicest tones. One end of the flute is cut into a V shape, and the musician probably blew into that side of the flute.

Truly amazing. It's a modern flute!--complete with mouthpiece and measured fingering. Yes, a fine evening would have been had by all in Hohle Fels cavern in southwestern Germany, where it was discovered. And after music and dance, everyone may have been had by all in the darker reaches of that festive grot. For discovered lying a scant 30 inches from the flute was one of those prehistoric "Venuses," whose plump and headless form grossly exaggerates female primary and secondary naughty-bits. The most famous one is the so-called "Venus of Willendorf" (randy, those early Germans), found a century ago, and most often politely characterized as a religious amulet honoring some fertility goddess or another. You've seen pictures of it, I'm sure.

All in all, the excavation (literally) at Hohle Fels presents us with a fascinating picture of very "adult" and highly sophisticated entertainment probably dating back a hundred thousand years or more. No wonder the earlier cave-peoples couldn't compete, when these smarter and fun-lovinger Homo Sapiens Sapiens came on the European scene. After a hard day's work of hunting and gathering, our extinct cousins, Homo Sapiens Neanderthalensis, just didn't have enough to come home to--like the "Cro-Magnon Follies"-- in their caves. A mystery solved: they died out due to clinical depression.
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#12 Jon Stewart and the Zeitgeist

Speaking of the late great Walter Cronkite over at the Daily Mosteller ... his popularity was pitted posthumously the other day (sort of) against the proportional popularity of present pretenders to his pedestal of premier presenter (somebody stop me) of the news on our TV machines. Jon Stewart won. The Time magazine poll gave him a 44% plurality over Couric, Gibson, Williams, et al. A poor showing, really--Cronkite in his heyday would have scored in the 90's, I'm sure.

The criterion was "most trusted newscaster," inspired no doubt by the death of the "most trusted MAN in America." You see the difference. Never could Stewart aspire to the "Uncle" honorific attached to Walter, nor could he hope to have the the kind of moral authority to sway a nation, as Cronkite assuredly did over Vietnam and Watergate. Nonetheless, Huffpost pictured them side by side under the headline.

Their methodology of influence was/is very different, though. Cronkite was a journalist; Stewart, a satirist. The former was so trusted because he was perceived to be scrupulously impartial. In deference to that, for the very few times he lowered his personal boom on a controversial issue (honestly, I can't think of any but the two above), he was careful to label it an "editorial"--and boy-o-boy was he believed. Stewart, on the other hand, has never been accused of impartiality. He always hedges his bets by calling the Daily Show a "fake news" program, grounded in comedy and entertainment. Fair enough, but it's so often so very earnest in its satire, and always on the right side of the popular Zeitgeist--the moral/social/political consensus of thinking people. And that's where the "most trusted" business really comes from.

For instance: yesterday's show. The first segment lampooned the "Birthers"--that wingnut cabal (supported even by some southern congressmen!) which believes against all evidence that Obama is somehow a Kenyan. As Jon ran the clips, hardly any sarcastic commentary was needed: res ipsa loquitur. These folk are so far behind the "curve" that they make fools of themselves. In one, Liz Cheney is seen exploiting the so-called "controversy" to impugn Obama's overseas posture as "appeasement"--an unwillingness to properly defend the country against foreign threats. Because, after all, he's a foreigner.

The second segment was typical, and as usual salutary, as Stewart took off on his own medium, television journalism--this time for its coverage of Michael Jackson's death, and its aftermath. Of course it was over-covered. But here the satire gets sweet and subversive: he showed a montage of clips wherein mainstream reporters report on themselves reporting too much on Michael Jackson! This included soul-searching Q&A's about how they might be short-shrifting more important news, while at the same time interviewing the groundskeeper at the Jackson gravesite. Very funny.

Today he went after Fox News for misrepresenting Health Care Reform in "Candyland" maps that would confuse anybody. The bias was obvious: scrap reform. Waaay askew from the current Zeitgeist curvature. The American people, to their credit, overwhelmingly favor universal health care in one form or another. Polls reflect it, and so does Jon Stewart. Otherwise, Q.E.D., he wouldn't be the most trusted.
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#11 Warning: Smoking Can Be Hazardous to Soldiers' Health

Tell me, what else can Lieutenant Richard Widmark offer the dying young Marine, Robert Wagner (his screen debut), in "The Halls of Montezuma" ... but a butt? Think of any one of those cold-war, patriotic, ethnic-microcosm, combat films of the 50's, and you'll recall the iconic scene of the officer or good buddy placing an already-lit cigarette between the stuttering lips of a guttering soldier with his guts falling out. No need to list them; anyway "Halls" (1951) typifies the genre, and was my favorite war-film at the old Avalon Theater (see DM #68ff). The movie brings us not only depth in casting (playing fellow marines alongside Widmark and Wagner are pre-Desire/Waterfront Karl Malden--dead just last week--Richard Boone, Jack Palance--early typecast as "the boxer"--Jack Webb, Martin Milner, and scraggly Neville Brand, fitting his part perfectly, because as a real-life soldier in WWII he came in third among combat medal-winners--Audie Murphy #1, incidentally) ... but also brings psychological depth to the depiction of hyper-stressed men at war. Widmark, for instance, constantly pops pain-pills prescribed by the "Doc" of the cast to alleviate his "migraines."

But to the point: What's the Lieutenant gonna give poor Robert Wagner in his death throes ... one of those headache tablets? Sure, a sip of canteen-water first, but then always the lighted cigarette from one mouth to the other--a kind of manly farewell-kiss between warriors. No other prop will do the trick. Are we about to rob our troops in the field of this great cinematic experience? Not on your life, says Van Gogh's "Skull with Smoking Cigaret." (Full disclosure here: the Blogman's a pipe-smoker) And so also says the Pentagon today, despite commissioning a study by the Institute of Medicine of the National Academy of Sciences which came back recommending a smoke-free military.

Defense Secretary Robert Gates rejects the recommendation, he says, primarily because soldiers in a combat zone [or a movie like "Halls of Montezuma"] are under enough stress already. Well, I should think. "Hey, those people are tryin' to KILL our ass!" On the other hand, Americans really shouldn't be smoking on a foreign battlefield, because they shouldn't be on a foreign battlefield in the first place, dammit! But that's a different color hobble-horse. Anyway, Secretary Gates says he "doesn't want to add to that stress by taking away one of the few outlets they have to relieve it." Worse things can happen on the field of war than second-hand smoke, I understand. But beware of "three-on-a-match."
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#10 Late-Night TV--"Tonight" and Beyond

Bringing us up to date from the obscurity and burlesquery of "Broadway Open House" at the turn of mid-century, Pat Weaver tried again with Steve Allen in 1954 and this time hit the mother load. Titled "Tonight," the format has remained the same ever since: talk/variety of decidedly after-prime-time-hours adultitude. Allen was the precursor of sharp-witted masters like Carson and Letterman, and later (before launching his great prime-time show) he shared hosting chores with THE avant-garde comic of early TV, Ernie Kovacs--before Jack Paar took over in 1957.

All of this self-indulgent TV nostalgia was triggered by the death of Carnac's old side-kick, Ed McMahon (off-camera stage left, above, setting Johnny up), but the larger point is that the "Tonight" show and its spawn provided the ONLY true, topical, hip, and grown-up entertainment on television ... not only then, but really all the way up to the post-"All in the Family" era. Setting aside some of the live drama on such programs as Studio One and Playhouse 90, most of the so-called "Golden Age of Television" was just enjoyable kid-stuff. For my generation and beyond, Late-Night was a kind of acculturation for pre-teens and semi-adolescents into the more sophisticated ways and thoughts of the adult world. The hosts based their monologues mainly in social commentary and political satire, and the guests included--along with the usual media celebrities, of course--newsworthy authors, scientists, politicians, even Presidents, as often as they could get them. In this sense these programs really did subtly educate as they entertained.

Steve Allen's stint was a bit sillier than later host's, but that's all right--he introduced us to the comic genius of regulars Don Knotts and Tom Poston, guests Lenny Bruce (one time, and then I never saw him on the tube again--wonder why ...), and ELVIS (first time, not Ed Sullivan, as is popularly thought). Cutting-edge stuff. Allen's successor, Jack Paar, stirred up controversy whenever he could, it seemed--much to the delight of a super-loyal fan base--such that in a famous episode he walked off the set in a dispute with NBC censors, leaving his poor sidekick, Hugh Downs, holding the bag for the rest of the show. A real shocker for its time, and I remember it well. Paar was back by popular demand within the month. 1962 began the reign of "King of Late Night" with Ed the court jester and Doc the royal minstrel, and the rest is history now.

David Letterman should rightfully have taken over after Carson's record-setting 30 years. Dave was part of the NBC team after all, hosting the precedent-setting after-Johnny show, and filling-in for his idol on many occasions. But not. Now he competes in the 11:30 slot for CBS. There are some who appreciate Leno, and now Conan, but in my opinion they haven't quite lived up to "Tonight" standards ... without going into a detailed critique. Let this suffice: What fun it was to see old Dave get into "trouble" over some satirical barbs vis a' vis Sarah Palin recently. So it's been Letterman for the Blogman since Carson relinquished the throne. Hey, you can only watch so much television.
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#9 Late-Night TV Through the Ages (& Wimbledon)

My ages, that is. Speaking of Ed McMahon in last post, I got in on the late-night TV phenomenon right from the beginning. We got our first set sometime in 1950 when I was seven years old. For a couple of years before that I had been able to watch "Howdy Doody" at a rich Jewish friend's house (sorry, but they got 'em first in my neighborhood), as "religiously" as I could, week-days after school. I was already hooked by the time my father got jealous enough, I'm sure, to avail the whole family of this new invention. Meanwhile and beyond, it was "Radio Days" (pace Woody Allen***) at the Mosteller household--the likes of "Lone Ranger" and "Inner Sanctum" for me, and maybe Fred Allen and Bob Hope for the parents (at least that's what thought I could hear when they thought I was asleep), because ... there just wasn't enough programming to watch (the "test patterns" were just fine, however, for awhile in between) on the fledgling medium for several years to come. We supplemented with old reliable radio. Strange as it sounds today, my father and I could watch "Gunsmoke" when it started-up on TV in 1955, and still listen to the ongoing radio show starring later "Fat Man" William Conrad as the voice of Matt Dillon! Many of the radio scripts, in fact, were re-worked for television.

As for late-night TV--maybe Van Gogh's "Starry Night" above will set the mood--for some reason I was allowed to watch some of it before the truly revolutionary newness wore off. Not really TOO late, though, because late-night programs started an hour earlier in CST Chicago--10:15, after the local news. So in 1950-51 I was privileged to witness the first great experiment in what was to become the "Tonight" show format. It was called "Broadway Open House," and invented by a then-boy-wizard at NBC named Sylvester "Pat" Weaver (father of Sigourney, believe it or not), who later tried again and wildly succeeded with Steve Allen's "The Tonight Show" and all its later incarnations, after creating the daytime counterpart and Mosteller family staple, "Today," originally with Dave Garroway. (For a news program, still kind of "burlesquey"--he was often upstaged by his sidekick, J. Fred Muggs ... a chimpanzee.)

The short-lived, talk/variety show was hosted on alternate week-nights by Jerry Lester and Morey Amsterdam. The latter's cello-accompanied, rapid-fire one-liners I didn't quite get (I was seven, after all), but Jerry Lester did such a good job mimicking the other popular Jerry of the day--physical comedy, slapstick--that he was funny enough. Pure vaudeville and burlesque--all the TV comics (Berle, Silvers, etc.) in the early days of television came from that background. Great fun for kids then, but unwatchable now by anybody but the Brits. I remember in particular that the show always opened with "The Bean-Bag Song"--the audience/viewers were loyal bean-baggers (much like comical GOP tea-baggers of late), encouraged to have their beanbags at home, so that everybody could join in the bean-bag comedy bits involving bean-bags going this way and that. If the show got more sophisticated ... by then it was probably past my 10:30 bedtime. But not before I got see DAGMAR, at least once.

Yes, the show did break ground on one level (a hyper-adult one at that), however, by introducing a comic side-kick for the host. Not quite an Ed Mahon though--she was a tall, bosomy blond, whose two principle charms were "barely" constrained by her low-cut evening dresses. "Dagmar"--of the contrived sexy-Scandian name (she was actually from the hills of West Virginia)--played the burlesque-inspired, dumb-blond role, but with sly flashes of wit. Even at seven I could tell. She was a sensation, and became more popular than the show. She made the cover of Life, and cameo appearances everywhere for many years after. Including my dreams.

***Can't resist: shortly after typing this post, I began to watch the Wimbledon Gentlemen's Finals. At a pause in the action, the camera duly focused-in on a special guest: Woody Allen! Not surprising ... he did a couple of movies there, one of which set in and around the tennis world called "Match Point" (on which I'll reserve comment for now). See last post for a Johnny Carson afterthought.
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#8 One More Dead Icon--Ed McMahon (& Wimbledon)

His iconic status has slipped in the last few years, mainly because he lived so darned long--he was 89 (and about the only prominent person who ever shared a March 6th birthday with me)--unlike Farrah and Michael, who died more notoriously later in the same week. But in his heyday and beyond Ed McMahon played the nonpareil Sidekick, Second Banana, Straight Man--many names here--Announcer, Spokesman, and above all Court Jester to the King of "Late Night" Johnny Carson.***

To the right is an "icon" of Henry VIII's comic sidekick, Will Sommers, almost as famous in his day as his boss (the re'all tennis guy from MM #4). With H(enry) R(ex) on his outwardly sober vestments, he revealingly clutches an antic tool of his trade--I'll call it his "razzberry" horn, which he doubtless tooted in full embouchere to punctuate his jibes at Henry when the king was getting too full of himself--the traditional role of the jester or "fool.". McMahon would toot his horn at Johnny on occasion, to comically deflate him a bit. Usually it would be a semi-snide reference to their perennial marriage/divorce problems or to past drinking escapades.

Most importantly he was an always jovial, counterweighted comfort-zone for the edgier Carson, and for us. His "iconic" Heeeeere's Johnny! invited us for an hour or so into the relaxed company of friendly people proffering a measure of sleepy-time purgation of our work-a-day cares. (Unless you were Shelley Duvall in "The Shining") For thirty years! An amazing run that no one before or after could match.

Unlike today (and long before DVR's), "Tonight" was the only quality game in town at that time of night. ABC's duo of Joey (Bishop) and Regis (yes, that Regis) stole some rating-points from Johnny and Ed for a short while in the late 60's (and they're the only failed competitors worth mentioning), but if you wanted to produce a successful TV talk/variety show, better do it during day-time hours. They were invincible at 11:30 pm. It was a bedtime ritual for most TV-watching Americans, and Ed Mahon's ever-familiar, comfy-cozy, welcome-to-the-show voice-over... helped make it so. Hi-Yo!

***This is a post-Wimbledon update: when I saw Woody Allen in the stands yesterday (MM #9), I was reminded that another celebrity, Johnny Carson, has been missing from his perennial spot for some time. Of course ... but for twenty years or so and even for a while after his retirement he would schedule his summer break around the All England Club thing. Always good for a roving camera shot, like Jack Nicholson at the Lakers' games. He was an avid tennis player in his middle and later years. And spectator. I can understand.
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#7 More Dead Icons--Farrah Fawcett

Though not close to the posthumous status of Michael Jackson, for whom the mourning around the world is approaching insanity, Farrah Fawcett, at the very least, had the most "iconic" HAIRDO of the late 70's and 80's. Almost every co-ed in my classes mimicked it for years, along with every other pre-teen on the planet.

Here is Botticelli's famed version of the "wind-blown" look in "Birth Of Venus," where the elaborate coiffure serves to cover at least one naughty bit. The right hand though, while coyly covering the right breast, deliberately directs the eye to the exposed left one. And notice that the west-wind Zephyrs are blowing the goddess and her elaborate "do" to the shore so that the goddess of Spring will cloak Venus more modestly ... too late. But that's the erotic point, isn't it? Not enough, not quite in time.

Farrah was a sex-goddess too, and her Botticellian poster of more than 30 years ago (you've seen it--it's all over the internet right now) surpassed even Betty Grable as the best-selling pin-up of all time. All the naughty bits are covered ... but not enough, not quite. The pubescent eye is deliberately directed to the very center of the poster where the skin-tight whatever-it-is reveals the right-nipple-outline underneath (Ahh ... the bra-less era.) Same erotic effect as the more demure but more naked Venus above. Accessible only maybe. But in contrast to the goddess's sidelong glance and subdued grin, Farrah looks at us directly with an unashamed toothy smile of unprecedented dimensions--still Ultrabrite wholesome but with the randy undercurrents.

In the very early 70's when I first noticed her in those toothpaste commercials, I remember pointing out to my sons that this "unknown" was destined to become a star. Later, sure enough, my sons would never miss an episode of her "Charlie's Angels" heyday. (Okay, me neither.) She had made it as a genuine "sex-symbol"--to use the term in the old-fashioned Marilyn Monroe sort of way. Unlike Marilyn though, she didn't progress much beyond that, and her later years were much of a muddle. But by all accounts she was a sweet and caring person, and remained lovable and semi-"famous" to the end. Her rare cancer was of continued media concern for the last two years. But still beautiful and slowly dead at a youthful 62? ... a cosmic injustice.

She lives up to the "icon" epithet in an ironic way ... literally. Her IMAGE has become more famous than she has. That pin-up poster IS somehow transcendent. Almost sacred, in an Eastern Orthodox kind of way. I don't think Ms. Fawcett would be ashamed to achieve that little bit of immortality.
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#6 Dead "Icons"--Michael Jackson et alia

Three in a week! Two on the same day! One of them, Michael Jackson, even had an impact on Wimbledon Tennis, a subject that this blog can't seem to shake. Yes, the London press had as much about the Jacko as Brit tennis-star Andy Murray. Serena Williams considered herself a personal friend of the "King of Pop," and his subjects filled the stands at Wimbledon, reflecting all of the royalty-obsessed United "King"-dom, where he was within days of opening in 50 different venues for his huge fan-base. Bigger there, than here.

Already the media have hauled out the tired and flatulent epithet, ICON, to characterize not only MJ, but the other two celebrity casualties of the week: Farrah Fawcett (the name itself is outre'), and even the poor, overshadowed Ed McMahon, whose posthumous fame was cut short in a matter of days. The term is grossly overused, and while its Greek root, eikon, simply meant "image" or "representation" (strictly so for our computer screens), the borrowing has lost in general usage the connotation of "sacred" or "sanctified"--an object worthy of adoration and even worship (strictly so in the Eastern Orthodox church). Too often today its just a tongue-tied and lazy-hip way of saying, "Gosh, he was the greatest."

Peeve over ... I DO believe the guy deserves the "pop-icon" epithet more than anybody ever has lately, notwithstanding--nay, even because of--his wayward last years and early death. A flawed hero, after all, inspires the most fervent kind of worship. Take Elvis or ... Jesus. In his day, and even after, MJ certainly enjoyed that kind of wild adoration. He deserved it, and Gosh, the "Thriller" album and videos were the greatest, and haven't lost their luster even today. It was for me the best executed combination of the pop-rock idioms of music/dance/visuals and so on, up to that time. Man-on-the-street test of iconic status: "Who was the greatest figure on the pop-music scene of the 80s and 90s?" Would the response, "Michael Jackson" get less than 99% even before his death? Not.

But his time (sangfroid alert) ran out, long before he did. Not to rehash the troubled last years--despite his highly touted comeback-attempt-to-come in England, he really had way too much unseemly "baggage" to carry with him. Perhaps, like Elvis did, it was best to "leave the building." Still ... it's very, very sad.
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#5 Summer Solstice 2009 (and Tennis Update)

Bad News! Rafael Nadal has withdrawn from Wimbledon. After all too much hype right here on these pages about a Nadal-Federer rematch, and the latter going for the all time number of Grand Slam victories. He'll no doubt make it now, if he can hold up under the "pressure" of NOT having to face Nadal, if you know what I mean. But say, a rematch between Roger and Robin the Scary Swede wouldn't be half-bad.

Meanwhile, here's a shot of Stonehenge, in celebration of the Summer Solstice tomorrow. It's less than an hour west of Wimbledon on the Salisbury Plain. You are looking at it from the perspective of adult eye-level with the hills in the background horizon, whose line is exactly even with the top plane of the "Heel Stone" in the middle of the photo. Notice that the sun has risen on this morning exactly over and in the middle of the Heel Stone, aligned with the summer sun outside the circle of triliths. It's June 21rst, and so the sun has risen thus every Summer Solstice for almost 5000 years. Such was the precision of these ancient astronomer-architects, who would then party down for the remainder of the longest day of the year.

Ever since, "midsummer" festivals have always been big in England, no matter the cultural or religious orientation of the peoples settled there, even unto the neo-pagans who will have special permission to celebrate at Stonehenge tomorrow. When I visited (twice) right around this time of year in the early-seventies, you could actually climb on the old rocks and give them a votive hug-and-a-kiss or a friendly kick or two. No longer. Now the monument must be viewed from a perimeter fence about 50 feet outside, I understand. Pity.

But tomorrow is also Father's Day. For a present I guess I'll wish for a miniature Stonehenge like the one the rock-band got stuck with in "This Is Spinal Tap."
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#4 More Tennis Footnotes

Sorry ... just a couple more:

• The most attractive (but unproven) etymology for "love" as a substitute for zero/naught/nothing is that on the score-board the oblong zero-symbol would resemble an egg, and of course we use Eng. slang "goose-egg" to represent just that idea. "Egg" in French is oef, or "the egg" syntactically, le oef, and with ellision l'oef--hence misconstrued/folk-etymologized as "love" in English. Problem is ... at Roland Garros you'll hear "quinze-ZERO," "trente-ZERO," etc. because the inventors of the sport of (Old Fr.) "Tenez" don't use "love," ironically. (Wouldn't "quinze-AMOUR" be just precious?) It's entirely English usage. My answer (because I haven't seen it anywhere else) is that tennis probably wasn't invented at the Parisian "court" until after the 1066 Norman (French) invasion of England (and even if it were before, the half-barbarian, recently-converted "Northmen" wouldn't have been invited to play anyway). However, once it too crossed the Channel, the game would have been adopted by the English nobility, but who stubbornly spoke Norman French well into Chaucer's time. You get the picture. The "courtly" l'oef, as a little spoof on "zero" the goose-egg, originated in England among the French-speaking aristocracy, but was "anglicized" to love as finally all classes of English society began to speak exclusively English.

• To muddle about further in tennis terminology, here's a little "real" life event. What is "real" tennis? My students and I got the answer while on one of my overseas courses. That particular day included a touristy stop at Hampton Court Palace, Henry VIII's favorite, and famous for, among other things like the World's Oldest Grapevine, that king's indoor tennis court--one of the first. I asked the uniformed attendant what kind of tennis was played there, pausing before getting more specific about nets (or not), racquets yet (or still by "palme"), etc. But he quickly answered with what he presumed would explain it all: "It was real tennis." Nice conversation-stopper, I thought. He could now get along on his rounds. Only later did I discover that he was speaking the anglicized version of Fr. re'all or "royal" tennis--attesting again to ancient roots across the channel. Hahaha on me. It's called Court Tennis in this country, where there are 4 or5 courts scattered about on the model of Henry's. (One of which is in Aiken SC, coincidentally, which my lawyer-son has actually played on.) I won't go into it, but the rules vary from modern tennis, considering you have to take into account balls bouncing off walls and turrets and what not. But that's real tennis for you.

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#3 Tennis Footnotes

Some addenda to last post:

• Tune in to the Roger and Raffa show at Wimbledon also by all means because they are so much FUN to watch ... Federer especially, who plays the prettiest game since Ken Rosewall (who got upset for the championship at Wimbledon by a young slash-and-burn upstart named Jimmy Connors in one of the first I saw televised). Roger fairly wafts across the court--fuzz up your eyes a little bit, and you can't see his feet when he's in motion. I'd swear that the very first time I saw a sweat-spot on the back of his shirt was against Nadal last year. Of course the latter has his own visual appeal as well ... very different and much like Connors of old Not only is he a cutie-pie (facial close-ups of Roger don't flatter), but he is the sweating, digging, swirling, raging beast of a player every moment of the match. On the other hand, Roger makes it look so easy, especially in past years, that it can get a little boring. Nadal will keep him literally on his toes, I hope.
  

• I'll have to confess that my competitive tennis will be mostly confined to the vicarious from now on. Except perhaps pitty-pat with the grandkids. A contorted, out-of-shape first-serve seems to have done me in while playing in a Tennis-League (.com, if your interested) match a couple of years ago. And maybe condemned me to a bit of chronic neck-and-back neuritis/neuralgia for the foreseeable future. Pity, please.

• But playing or watching, Tennis is such gentleman-and-lady sport! (The gender draws are still referred to in that way, though I notice they no longer post "Mr." and "Miss" next to their names. I think "Ms." threw them off their game.) No real physical contact, and the harshest (official) words spoken are "Fault" and "Quiet, please." You've got "love" and "service," "deuce" and "advantage," "set" and "match"--very pleasant and quaint. And when you win a point, you score not one, but FIFTEEN. Ah, those romantic Frenchmen, who invented the game, after all, way back in the Age of Chivalry. The "Faux!" and "Silence, s'il vous plait" that you heard at Roland Garros are thus quite ancient, though the stadium itself is named (more chivalry and romance) after a fallen WWI fighter pilot, not a tennis "ace."
  

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#2 French Open Tennis

Before this news gets very old, Roger Federer has proved himself to be the greatest tennis player of all time ... almost. In winning the French Open a couple of weeks ago, he passed a major milestone: he won the French Open. Rafael Nadal had denied Roger this, the only Grand Slam event he hadn't won, in the last four finals. Now the Majorcan Madman wasn't there, having been knocked out in the quarter-finals (!) by the truly-crazed Swede, Robin Soderling. A great match, and it looked like he might restore the Viking dynasty of old: Borg (in-the-stands), Edburg, Willander, etc., especially after he took apart his next opponent in the semis. But, no. Straight sets for the Roger of old.

The French made Federer a "career" Grand Slammer, in the company of only five others (incl. Laver and Agassi) who have won Wimbledon, U.S and Austalian Open too. And he's won those and others a bunch of times already, accounting for his record five years at #1 in the world. He's tied now with Pete Sampras for MOST Slams at 14. If he wins at Wimbledon next week or the U.S Open (defending champion) later in the summer--one of which, I have no doubt--he will have won the most of all time. I'm hoping for a re-match with Nadal at the All England Croquet and Racquet Club--Fededer's hard-fought 5-set defeat last year was one of the greatest matches I have ever seen. (see DM #22 from last year)

So ... fair warning ... tune in if you can to "Wim-blee-dawn"-- as the wonderful Bjorn Borg always pronounced it.
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