I love tennis, and I’m an old. I have memories of watching Borg and McEnroe. You cannot be serious?! I am serious! I was born in 1973. I still refer to Chris Evert as “Chris Evert-Lloyd.” I remember hearing Monica Seles squeal for the first time, thinking, “I hope this grunting thing doesn’t become a trend.” And besides watching tennis, I play the game about five days a week. Don’t be jealous. Instead of having a bursting 401k, I own ten different Babolat racquets. They are lovely but they won’t get me much real estate at Del Boca Vista. My favorite weapon when I play? The drop shot. Why? Because the other old ladies can’t get to it. Eat it, Peggy! I play dirty.
And speaking of dirty, it’s clay court season, which culminates next week at Roland Garros, the home of the French Open. The court surface at Roland Garros is clay. Lovely red clay. It’s a slow surface with plenty of bounce. It’s filthy. The players slide around on it. It gets on everything. Your shoes, your socks. It coats your body and sweaty hair when you win and drop to your back on it.
At the 2013 French Open final, some crazy stuff went down. Protestors in the crowd set off flares and one dude ran onto the court before he was hauled away. What were they mad about? The 2005 Château Mont-Redon they bought for a party tasted like the 2012 Yellowtail Merlot. Non! Nous ne sommes pas des amuse!
So let’s go to Paris. We’ll climb the Eiffel Tower. We’ll eat baguettes and stinky fromage. We’ll look at gorgeous men getting sweaty and covered in red stuff while trying to win glory and 11.5 million euros. I think that’s 98 billion in US dollars. Allons-y! (Can you tell yet I took two years of French in high school? I’m milking it.)
The “Spanish Armada”
Spain is known for producing delicious ham (ear muffs, Peppa!) and clay court specialists. Vamos! That’s Spanish for “Let’s go back to your place!”
Rafael Nadal
Rafa’s French is probably as good as his English. In other words, terrible, no? But who cares, because he’s the number one player in the world and he’s the King of Clay, winning over 40 titles on the dirt, including eight at the French Open. That’s a lot of trophies, which I’m told Rafa uses as servingware for his tapas parties. But Rafa’s been a little bit inconsistent this year, and some people (aka Novak Djokovic fans) are wondering if Rafa’s dominance is starting to thin at the same rate as his head of hair. Rafa is all around adorable. He loves his family, and his Uncle Toni is the only coach he has ever known. But his topspin is deadly, and if he starts pumping his fists and wagging his finger, I got news: you’re gonna lose. Shut up, Novak. Yes, we know you beat Rafa last week in Rome. Nobody likes a bragger.
Feliciano Lopez
Feli is a serve and volley player and ranked 27th on the ATP tour. Feliciano is the Hot Jesus of the ATP tour. Blessed be those who hunger and thirst for men from Toledo, Spain, for they will be filled. His biggest fan? Andy Murray’s mum. She dubbed him “Deliciano” and once made the following Twitter comment about watching a Feli match:
“Don’t worry. I will bring for you the tranquiliser gun, a jug of pimms, waterproof pants + a bucket for under ur chair.”
Yes, Andy. Deal with it. Your mum is a sexual being.
At last year’s US Open, I saw Feli play in person. I sat on the first row of Court 17 and yelled “Mas! Mas!” til I got hoarse. “Mas” is Spanish for “dat ass.” You know how y’all feel second hand embarrassment for people at Outlander events? Imagine how Joan from Fairfield, CT, felt that day in September sitting next to my old ass. I couldn’t tell if she was shaking her head or just watching the ball go back and forth. Maybe she hated my waterproof pants.
David Ferrer
They call David Ferrer “Ferru” and according to David, “(I)t’s a mix of my name and the word for ‘iron’ in Spanish. It means I’m resistant.” Daveeeeed is a grinder. He tries to get to everything, and when he does, he lets out a low moan as he makes contact. But let’s get back to his tennis game. Hey oh! Ferru has been hovering in the top five for a while, and he made it to his first Grand Slam final last year but unfortunately his opponent was Rafa. That’s some Alanis Morrisette-level irony right there. Ferrer has a habit of eating his towel in the changeovers which means he’s orally fixated.
Fernando Verdasco
Nando is a leftie, born and raised in Madrid. He’s cosmopolitan. He’s besties with Deliciano (someone write this MMF fanfic, I’m begging you!). He’s an underwear model, just like Marky Mark. Can you feel it, baby? Yeah, I can, too. After struggling a bit, Nando had a great 2013, making it all the way to the French Open quarterfinals. Part of his success may have come from switching from Wilson racquets to Babolat hardware, the same racquet brand as yours truly. Coincidence???
Tommy Robredo
Robredo’s run at the 2013 French Open was fantastic. How fantastic? Jump out of your recliner and break the wagon-wheel chandelier overhead as you pump your fists (just as my Dad did when the USA hockey team beat team USSR at the 1980 Lake Placid Olympics. Mom is still hella pissed). Before falling in the quarters to Ferru, Tommy played three five-set matches in the tourney. He’s going the distance…he’s going for speed! Down by two sets? Tommy can handle it. Got match points against you? Tommy is on it. When he finally topped fellow Spaniard Nicholas Almagro to move on to the quarters, an exhausted Tommy feel to his knees and openly wept on the court. Hey girl, Tommy is sensitive. Let’s go give him a hug.
The French Garçons
A Frenchman has not won the French Open since Yannick Noah won way back in 1983, the year Flashdance burst into theaters and ruined sweatshirt necks everywhere. What’s wrong with the French men? Are they just cheese-eating surrender monkeys? And before you jump on me for invoking this stereotype, it’s not mine. This is joke is from The Simpsons, a show that I do not watch. But I know enough dorks who do and they quote it ad nauseum. Are The Simpsons fans more annoying than Doctor Who fans? Discuss.
Richard Gasquet
When I watch Richard play, I say his name the right way: REEEEEshard. His weapon? A ripping one-handed backhand. It’s gorgeous. It’s graceful. It will ruin you. Some analysts think Richard is a choker (not THAT kind, you Fifty Shades fans). He lost in last year’s French to Stan Wawrinka in the fourth round after being up two sets. Tsk, tsk. He wears Lacoste which means he’s the très zexy yet preppy frat boy across the net from you. Gasquet is Kappa Kappa UNF.
Jo-Wilfried Tsonga
Jo Willie has one the greatest names in tennis. JO WILLIE! It’s very Beverly Hillbillies with a Gallic flair. Last year, Jo made it to the French semis by beating my darling Roger Federer. I have yet to forgive him for this. But Jo’s illuminating smile might make me change my mind. Jo’s been nagged by a back injury, so he might need someone to rub on him with warm oils while Enigma plays in the background. Any volunteers?
Gael Monfils
I was going to say Gael is like Rubber Man, and then I looked that character up and turns out, Rubber Man is a fetish-y patent leather body suit worn in the first season of American Horror Story. So no, I don’t think Gael is Rubber Man, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Let’s just say he is like Mr. Fantastic. He can stretch. He can bend. He can fly! Can Mr. Fantastic fly? Dude, I had to look up Rubber Man. I don’t know crap about superheroes, DC or Marvel. Gael is probably the most athletic and nimble player on the tour. And he is always so happy, having fun. His love of the game is infectious.
Stan Wawrinka
Okay, I know Stan is not French. He’s Swiss. But I needed a way to shoehorn him into this list, and let’s be real. Switzerland is basically just a French county. A county where the corporate tax rate is nil and neutrality is a virtue. What’s the best part of being Swiss? The flag is a big plus. Stan, or Stanimal, won his first major this year, taking the Australian Open from Rafa Nadal back in January. Long in the shadow of Roger, Stan is now the highest ranked Swiss player and coming into his own. He also has the greatest tattoo on the ATP tour: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.” Put that in Helvetica font and slap it on a poster.
So, you femmes of C’est Normal, the men’s draw is today and play begins Sunday, May 25th. Who will last on the clay? Is Rafa still King? Will OxyClean get all those red clay stains out? How much will a croissant and champagne cost you at the concession stand? Où est-ce que la bibliothèque? Burning questions that will all be answered in the next two weeks.
Written By Ruby de la Booby
