The One about My Love Affair with Tennis

Funny me. Whatever I read, some new words would bore into my thick skull, as if instinctively, more than others. Incidentally, some of them describe my writing almost to a nicety. "Diffuse", "Prosaic" are just a couple. Until recently, pathos and metaphor were poetic to me.

Now, I'm wondering why this obsession labelling my writing. Perhaps because I am also a reflective learner. Though, my self-indulgence is doubtlessly sparking. And it's like a boat without a sail.

Yes, what I was going to say. I've just learnt Maria Sharapova will be landing on our shore to much fanfare come end December. Don't laugh - yet. I used to love tennis you know, when Boris Becker was flying around the grass courts of Wimbledon at 17 of age. I even mimicked his trademark sequence of big serve, rush to the net and dive, to the other boys' amazement. And to pain and scars too, on a scratchy clay court baking under the sun at its zenith, that is.

Then Pete Sampras announced the beginning of a new dawn with his power serve, storming through matches, killing off his opponents and the game; intense, long rallies no more. At that point, tennis took a banal turn in my eye. Banality - another word for my writing.

All thanks to Sampras, I tuned to women's tennis where there were more long rallies. The short skirts were another factor, of course. First, there was the Swiss lass, Martha Hingis, who incidentally, just announced his retirement on 1st November in Switzerland. Oh, how I loved her flashy smile with a little pout, or was that my imagination? Whatever.

Then, one fine day, I saw Maria Sharapova on TV. Perfect torso, tanned, gym-toned limbs with movie-star look: that was Maria for me and I was bowled over. As the idiom goes, the rest is history, though the fanaticism never reached the height of the "Boom Boom" Becker's era. Albeit, tennis had obviously taken a new meaning, as I began watching a different "ball(s)" game. After all, sex sells.

So you ask, does this mean a date with Maria on 30 Dec 2007 at the Indoor Stadium? Maybe, maybe not. We'll see. No more a civil servant, no more fat year-end bonus you know.