After performing open-heart surgery, a heart surgeon doesn't have someone thrusting a microphone into his or her face asking, “How was that last stitch? What were you thinking? Huh? We only have eight seconds before we have to pay the bills and break for a commercial.”
Same with a ballet dancer after completing 32 fouetté in Swan Lake. “Did you think you were going to end up flying into the orchestra? Do you count or listen to the music, then stop? You did a great job. What do you think?”
“Gosh, I …”
“Sorry, Mikhail Baryshnikov is in the house.”
It’s intriguing to watch Naomi Osaka play tennis. Same with Coco Gauff. So young, so relentless, planning the next shot in their minds. Landing a ball a hair away from the line. Interviews by the media aren’t necessary. Their skills already speak volumes. It was all done on the court.
Watching their game is sufficient.
But do something about some of those commentators, please. Their constant rattle is like having people talking in the row behind you throughout a movie. They give constant unnecessary tennis statistics of ten or twenty years ago, and it isn't enjoyable. Basta!
However, John McEnroe is always fun to listen to, same with Martina Navratilova. Of course, they’re former tennis players and watching the game.
So let tennis players play tennis. It is supposed to be a sport. Not a march toward interrogation, question time, and are you ready for your close-up?
Game, set, match—lots to love.
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