My son’s tennis teacher asks me where the boy gets his “smart-alecky” personality — from me or my wife?
“Well,” I say, “if by ’smart-alecky’ you mean ‘funny,’ he gets it from me. If you mean ‘argues for the sake of arguing,’ he gets that from his mom.”
I saw Lindsay Davenport yesterday at Borders in South Coast Plaza. She was sitting in the cafe area talking with another woman when I walked past.
I had to double back to make sure it was really her.
I expect famous people to be larger than life, and Lindsay Davenport is a big girl anyway, so I’m thinking that she should be gigantic, which she wasn’t.
But I walked past a second time and it was definitely her . . .
My kid plays Team Tennis here in Irvine . . . on Saturdays, they play other teams from around Orange County.
Tennis parents are obsessive, just like hockey parents. The difference is that hockey parents can scream at the kids, refs, coaches, other parents, passers-by, etc., during the games, whereas tennis etiquette requires parents to stay quiet during the matches and berate the kids afterwards.
My son’s team played the Balboa Bay Racquet Club team this past weekend. One of the smug tennis dads on our team showed up wearing a backpack with his own racket in it.
Now why would he do that?
He’s obviously not going to play tennis with it because it’s a kids’ event, so he just wanted everyone to know yeah, I’m a tennis player myself, my son is a tennis player because I’m a tennis player, blah blah blah . . .
My lifetime supply of patience with overly involved sports parents has already been exhausted, believe me, so when our team won a close match, 5-4, and he stood up and said “Tough win” with a satisfied smirk on his face like he’d won the match himself, I said, “Not for you it wasn’t. You just sat on your ass in the shade.”
That should keep him from talking to me any more the rest of the season.
I was watching the French Open on TV this weekend, and I noticed that all the ads were for investment companies. I’ve noticed when watching golf tournaments that all the ads are for erectile dysfunction drugs.
Draw your own conclusions.
“I can’t believe people are playing tennis at high noon,” my son says as we drive by the local courts.
“They’re building up their stamina,” I suggest.
“They’re getting skin cancer,” he replies.
“They’ll need stamina to battle the skin cancer.”
