After three grueling days, American John Isner is victorious after an 11 hour, 5 minute tennis match at Wimbledon against Nicolas Mahut, making history as the longest tennis match ever played, nearly doubling the old record of 6 hours and 33 minutes at the 2004 French Open. Eleven hours? Eleven hours of tennis? I can’t even sleep for 11 hours without getting tired. I couldn’t even watch eleven hours of TV without slipping into a coma. How does one play competitive tennis for that long? This man needs to go to bed for days, and carb-load like it’s going out of style. What’s the television replay going to look like? “Uh, boss, I think we’re going to have to cut commercials for this.” What channel is going to block off an entire day to revisit the longest tennis match to ever go on? Decisions, decisions. Thanks for screwing up the TV Guide, Isner. Selfish bastard.
Sports. One of those areas that makes me look stupider, less coordinated, and not as advanced as the rest of humanity. I couldn’t dodge a donut if you tossed it at my face with plenty of warning. Since I have never played sports, I have less than zero interest in watching them as well. But lately, I will admit, I have found myself enjoying watching hockey, basketball, and soccer.
The World Cup has been taking over most peoples’ lives as of late, and I myself have even gotten into the action. I’m microwaving cheese dip, chanting U-S-A, and actually bad-mouthing referees from the recliner. Surprisingly I’m enjoying myself. Let me just say this: it takes a real freak of nature to be a soccer goalie.
It goes against every ounce of human instinct to throw your face and body in front of a soccer ball being launched at your face after being blasted off the soccer cleat of a man with legs made of pure steel. MY, god. My brain would simply not allow me to defend the goal. I would crumble into a pathetic pile so fast. My nervous system would fail. I’d be weeping and speaking different languages and begging for my life with my nose in the grass, wailing like a baby with colic. Or worse. It would be an absolute disgrace to mankind to see my physical reaction to an incoming soccer ball. I don’t know how keepers do it. They’re insane.
Keepers, you’re insane.
That’s all I have for sports, so…..yeah.
“I shared a bagel, with…the garbage.”