French Toast

The French Open is just days away, and I hope to catch as many late-day matches as possible. It’s a tournament I have come to appreciate and love. The clay surface is a world unto itself, and only the most coy of players survive. Power doesn’t get it alone. Finesse is called for. We’ll see who’s left standing at the end of the second week.

Of course, some of the best matches occur way before the finals. In fact, the finals can be a bit of a letdown after you watch some of the preliminary matches.

Now that about covers my knowledge of French tennis. The only two French players that come to mind are Marion Bartoli and Jo-Wilfried Tsongas. I remember her for beating Henin in Wimbledon a couple of years, and him for the new face he puts on being French. In other words, I remember them for their exceptions rather than for their accomplishments, sort of the way you remember members of your family. The most interesting ones are not the ones that do everything perfectly, but rather the ones that don’t fit the expected mold. They make the best gossip material.