return of the csar! part II

Remember in November when I watched the Paribas Masters Tennis Championship, at Bercy Paris, and I babbled about Marat Safin (November 8, 2004)? Well, guess whose got the nose for the next big thing? Yup, me! Marat Safin just kicked ass at the Aussie Open semis, wiping little ole' Federer's butt all over the court.

What's even funnier in all of this was how I found out the news. I had woken up a little fuzzy headed from too many late night drinks with dacnar's crew at some bad party where everybody ended up on the massage table. Yeah, real shiatsu at some dance party. Go figure. Anyways, my head is still too oaken to give you the real shimmy on that party, or the one the night before...

(though the night before, at the Palais de Tokyo opening, really felt like I was in some weird french version of the O.C., what with all the new social developments, people breaking up, strange flirtations, return of guest characters, the beautiful people, old love stories suddenly breaking their unshaven wild man heads over the glacier hole...will have to make quick sketch before short-term memory, already incapacitated by too much beer, takes control of my dried up octopus head...oh, and I almost forgot that I also went to a fashion show and scuzzied some champagne-a-go-go at the after party...hmmmm, fashion week in Paris)

So... I put on my internet radio, that's tuned to the Australian Open Live Webcast. Then, I rolled around in bed, wrote some things down, and started to get ready for work. By then, we were in the third set and the match was heating up, Federer having dropped the second set, and Safin breaking his serve in the third. I jump in the shower. When I got out, the fourth set was underway, with Safin having dropped the third. Predictions for complete meltdown by Safin, after usual racket smashing, line stomping antics. I run out of the house with a promise for the result by SMS. Can't be late for the new job.

Then, in the subway I got my first SMS. "Safin up 5-2 in fifth set!" This is at Parmentier Station.

Switching onto the 8 line at Opera for Balard I get the second beep "Federer breaks back twice! 5-5"

Then I walk into work, and we're all chatting in quite a civilized way. After the papers are shifted around and I sign the contract, I check my phone and, YES, the light is beeping. I flip open, and start to laugh. There it is: "Safin WINNA! 9-7 final set." After which I explain to all of my new co-workers how crazy I am about sports and start reeling off statistics. They run for cover in the coffee room. I have made myself into an instant pariah with sports, again! Either that or maybe the revealing v-neck tight sweater I'm wearing is showing my ever-electric nipples. Food for thought.

God! Why won't he kiss me already!