Openly Addicted

And of course, if you are a tennis fan of any sort, it's hard not to love R. Fed, as my sister calls him. He's just so good. And then when you start to hate him for it, you realize he's also just so nice. And smart with the three languages. He and Rafa come off as real sportsmen. (Unlike say, cranky James Blake at the Olympics, who was a poor loser, whining about who touched what with what.) The Wimbledon final this year was so nerve wracking I had to leave the room, repeatedly. I hung in there, almost crying at the end for both men. I was as breathless as John McEnroe, who was my favorite when I was little, and who I can not call Johnny Mac. 

I'll also be keeping an eye on fiery Marat Safin, Querry, and Djokovic. Roddick who? 

As for the women, well, I like the sisters Williams. But for no good reason, right now, I lean towards Venus. I also like Safina. And I miss Sharapova's brooding elegance.