A Rough Sunday

As sports fans, we all have our favorite sports, favorite events, favorite teams and favorite athletes. When one of our beloved events is happening or one of our revered athletes is in action, it’s usually a special day. For me, Sunday was one of those special days that a sports fan looks forward to as I (my favorite senior tennis player) was in the final of a local tennis tournament, Rafael Nadal was playing Roger Federer in the Wimbledon final, and the finale of the World Cup was taking place in Germany contested by Italy and France.

Such a day is all the sweeter when our rooting interests are served, and more bitter when they are not. It was a rough Sunday in that regard for yours truly; a day in which the karma of my allegiances seemed to be linked in such a way that none of us had a chance.

Not unexpectedly, I lost in my final. Although that result was predictable, it appeared to be the first domino to fall in a day of disappointments. Next up was the Wimbledon final with Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Anyone who has read this space before knows of my admiration for El Rey del Clay, Nadal. His presence in the final at the All England Club was unexpected, but his march through the draw was impressive especially his victories over Andre Agassi and Marcos Baghdatis.

Yesterday, Rafa faced the man who currently owns Wimbledon and is the standard bearer for grass-court tennis, Roger Federer. Before the tournament, Roger didn’t believe that Nadal was ready to progress to a Wimbledon final, but on Sunday, the three time Wimbledon Champion was forced to look into the eyes of his nemesis and deal with the psychological baggage of having lost four straight matches to the Mallorcan. If he could overcome that challenge, he would have his fourth straight Wimbledon title and a renewed stake in tennis’ best rivalry. If he failed, then his status as the world’s best tennis player would certainly be in jeopardy.

As we all know by now, the Swiss Master overcame some spirited competition from his 20 year-old foe to collect that fourth straight title at the Cathedral of Tennis. At this point in the day, I started to suspect that everything was interconnected and that it was all going wrong. Surely, my rooting interest in the World Cup final would lose too, right?

Right. I was rooting for France as much as I was rooting against Italy. Basically, it’s a preference in style. Since at least the early ‘80s, the French have exhibited an artistic flair in their soccer that is pleasing to watch. They have players with tremendous skill who are explosive and exciting. These qualities helped them to conquer the soccer world in 1998 as well as semifinal finishes in the World Cups of 1982 and 1986. While I enjoy watching French football, I don’t have a tremendous allegiance to their squad.

On the flip side, we have the Italians who play soccer in a way that is analogous to the trapping New Jersey Devils of the late ‘90s. Defense and a 1-0 score line are the order of the day. They also happen to be masters at diving, whining, cheating, faking injuries, brutal fouls, and did I say whining? While these qualities can be attributed to players from many different countries (Zinedine Zidane perhaps?), they are systemic in Italian football. Rooting for Italy is rooting for everything that is wrong in modern soccer. So of course, the bastards won. It was a victory for negative and cynical play, and for some reason, I knew it was going to happen before the match even started. Ever get that feeling? The feeling that there is something negative in the air and the team or player you’re rooting for isn’t going to win? Well, yesterday was one of those days for me and although the results didn’t go the way I wanted them to, it was still a great sporting Sunday.

Also, there was one consolation. At least the Red Sox lost.