Something about the essay on Federer that no one sees, that maybe no one wants to see. But you see it. You do all the searches, and there are a few mentions, but no one else seems to see it, see the necessity of the sadness to the essay, to sports.
Read MoreLOUIS ARMSTRONG STADIUM, US OPEN, QUEENS.
In tennis, love equals zero.
A cut shot nullifies a heavy roller.
To combat power, one strategy is taking pace off your opponent’s ball. This is harder than it sounds.
There’s a strange dichotomy in sports. Winning=Elation=Relief. There’s also a form of emptiness in winning. And fear. You ask yourself—what next? How do I top that?
Read MoreYou jump out of the car in the middle of the college town where you went to poetry readings with sushi and wine, where you served wings and got fired for your inability to smile, where you became a feminist and an atheist and made your mother and your boyfriend cry. Your family follows you down sunlit alleys and you feel the heat fight it out with the shadows at ten AM and you know it’s going to obliterate your makeup and your hairspray and your will to live by noon, so you steer everyone towards the bar with the tiger painted in a beer mug and order two ciders and a shot and then you are on a patio talking with your mother about your sex life, explaining how you think about it all the time but almost never with your husband even though he is great in bed like a
Read MoreFormation: At three months old, I sit beside my dad, strapped into the carrier, and we watch a football game together. He starts and stops the video, rewinds, takes notes. The flicker of light, the splash of color captures my attention, but the impressions left against infant imagination become a habit. I am watching. I spend my life watching.
Read MoreWe all sat in a circle on the floor of the basketball court. It was the end of our first practice for the season, and our coach was wrapping up by giving us our Bible verses to read for next week. This was my last season in Elevate, a recreational Christian basketball league, as I was graduating high school in the Spring. Every girl looked towards the coach, but it felt like they were focused on me—on my legs.
Read MoreFor all intents and purposes, my football career ended on a cool October day in 1984 in New Rochelle, New York. I was 13 years old and playing linebacker for the Fairfield (Connecticut) Giants. We typically beat our local rivals but struggled when we’d cross state lines and play Westchester powerhouses. New Rochelle’s star player was a kid I knew from football camp named Curtis. He claimed to be related to a former Heisman Trophy winner but that assertion had as much veracity as my family ties to Bernie Parent, the Hall of Fame Philadelphia Flyers goalie.
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