Saturday Soliloquy

To be fair.

Do I need to write if my predictions come to fruition?

To be fair, that is near repulsive arrogance.

Though I would settle for mere demagoguery.

My last post was a quick suggestion: watch Tiafoe v Chung. Not only was that quite a match, this served readers insight on the results of that Delray Beach 250. Brilliant stuff from the young American, who impressed even more in the SF v Shapovalov and onward into the winner’s circle.

And Nadal. To be fair, my recent post on style is simply a fresh redundancy of that clearer understanding of this era. Does Novak have much pressure to return to form on the ATP? Only the hope and health of that style of tennis rests on his racket.

To be fair, there are other factors in the demise of the base-liner, no?

Aren’t there?

Del Potro v Zverev last night only sharpened my form heading into the sunshine double. I never gave the German a chance though I probably gave him more of one than did the big Argentine.

My tennis tentacles stretch and reach toward the encroaching spring fling of warmer competition. May the gentle thaw of injury develop this repose of tennis talent and speed the long-lasting recovery.

Beware the Express.
Beware the bald engineer’s Croatian roar,
His dreams, his visage
The team’s prints in the desert floor,
The crowd’s hush, their expression,


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