U.S. Open

 It's a surprisingly interesting new-look U.S. Open this year. Sernea was defeated by the Aussie, Tomjanivich; Nadal was defeated by Francis Taifoe. (I'll get to discussingTiafoe later). Medvedev and Rublev from Russia lost. Djokovic refused to get vaccinated, so he' was not playing. Probably he's somewhere pouting as most unvaccinated persons tend to be, pouters, even while decalaring themselves indvidualists. Give me a break! On the women's side, No Halep, no Azarenka. The only top ten ranked female tennis player left is Iga Swiatek from Poland. It appears that there is a changing of the guard. Lots of new faces. 

 Tonight, in the women's semifinals, I'll be cheering for the Tunisian, Ons Jabeur, even though I love France's Carolina Garcia's game. I just think that any woman from a Muslim country who achieves greatness while living in a society that does not value women except in their maternal roles deserves our support. And I'll be cheering for Swiateek against the Belarussian Sabalenka. I know it's not her fault she's from Belarus, but that country assisted and suported crazy Putin's invasion of Ukranine. 

That said, I think the U.S. Open is being fair allowing players from Russia and Belarus to play. The  solution is let the players play, but do not acknowledge their countries in any way. On TV where a player's names and scores are shown with the flags of their country, the players from Belarus and Russian have blank spaces. 

And now that the dust has settled from last night, if you out there did not witness five and a half hours of record breaking and brilliant tennis by two young men, Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner, shame on you. I condemn you to watching reruns of the recent LIV golf tournament for the rest of your lives. The 19 year old Spaniard Carlos Alcaraz finally won. But what a courageous battle by Sinner. At one point in a rally came one of the most astonishing returns in tennis I've ever seen. Acaraz, during a sustained rally, having over run the ball delivered by Sinner's crushing forehand, returned it by swinging his racquet behind his back for the return in play and the rally continued. The crowd went nuts.   

TENNIS TOURNENT IN CHINATOWN    by Tom Meschery

                      For Peter Sears

His first serve slices pencil thin,
over the net and drops like a broken elbow
skittering to the side out of my reach,
and after his next serve curves like a new moon
to my forehand, then changes direction
like scythe to my back-hand, I know
I'm in trouble. Forty love, the first game
his, won on a squirrelly shot that, were it not
a ball, might well have been a squirrel.

My service, a hard one with top spin

comes just in time to save me from disgrace,

or so I think, in the split second I see it

catch the corner, a certain winner, it returns

to me as a butterfly attaching itself to the silk

thread of the net, as delicate as a brushstroke

before fluttering off where I can't touch it.

I'm thinking this is not tennis but an ancient

form of art, disguised as tennis for the purpose

of torture, invented in the court of the Sung

Dynasty, and it is the sly Emperor Hui-Tang

himself on the other side of the net.

He is staring at me, crouched, his whites

gleaming in the sun, racquet spinning in his hand,

waiting for me to decide how to paint

the rising peacock. Will I paint the left leg

or he right leg first? Meanwhile, I've two balls

in my hand, confused, wondering which one

to serve and which one to place in my pocket.