As promised, here be my eye-witness report of my trip to Indy on Thursday. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the most eventful of experiences – particularly compared to my trip to Wimbledon last month (my first time) – but then again, that’s sort of like comparing mountains to mole-holes, don’t you think?
The pathetically undersized crowd
Anyway. Naturally, as soon as I arrived in Indy, it started to rain, so play was suspended for a bit. This allowed me the fantastic opportunity to stroll around and browse overpriced merchandise and buy a $4.50 hot dog. (Seriously. $4.50 for a hot dog!? I could probably buy a pig and a field of wheat and make my own damn bun and dog for that much.)
After the rain stopped, and the courts were squeegeed ( © me), I was able to catch the second set of the John Isner (USA) / Denis Istomin (UZB) match. Spoiler alert: Isner won, 64 64. And let me just say … I didn’t realize how ungodly tall Isner is, at 6’9. Move over, Dr. Ivo!
Despite the scoreline, I thought Istomin put up a good fight, but he just couldn’t match the service power of Isner. Since no one was cheering for poor old Denis – actually the 8th seed in Indy – I attempted to make my support for him known. Alas, twas in vain.
I returned to “Centre Court” (um … can’t remember what it’s actually called) just in time to see Sam Querrey claim victory over Rajeev Ram (USA), 63 63. The court was then invaded by “Sam’s Samurai,” aka a motley group of his friends from back home in California, who proceeded to play bongo drums, be shirtless, and use the t-shirt gun to shoot some Samurai t-shirts into the crowd.
(Photo courtesy Tennis Indy)
Yes, a t-shirt gun … obviously, per the 2nd Amendment, we are required to have guns for everything in America. As such, I bought my ticket via the ticket-booth gun.
Next up was Dmitry Tursunov, the no. 1 seed, who gave a proper thumping to Marcos Daniel (BRA), 63 63. Dmitry was serving well – his fastest serve, by my count, was 135 mph. I then became mesmerized by the treat that was Dmitry’s black briefs – highly visible from his sweat-soaked white shorts. (Sadly, no photos. Use your imagination.)
FINALLY – the moment I had been waiting for – was the match between Robby Ginepri (USA) and Eduardo Schwank (ARG). Obviously, I was rooting for Eduardo, not only because of his Argentinean-ness, but also for the fact that his last name provides endless hours of inevitably hilarious Schwank-related puns.
(Photo courtesy Yahoo! Sports)
A sampling: “Gee, I’d like to Schwank that.” “Schwank me up, Scotty!” “Sorry, Robby – you’ve been SCHWANKED!” “Shall we Schwank now, or Schwank later?” etc., etc.
Unfortunately, my Schwankaphobia (© me) was short-lived, for although he won the first set 67(1), he was then reverse-Schwanked by Ginepri, 63 60.
Oh, Schwank. How we hardly knew thee.