My Memories of US Open 2009
Do you see how dejected Roger Federer looks in this photo? Well, if you add anger and frustration with an urge to murder a CBS executive, then I think you would know exactly how I feel.
My US Open 2009 experience started on that Monday evening. My in-laws were over, and my wife was taking them out to get ice cream, which would leave me alone for a while to watch the match (which by then had already been in progress for a while).
I was enthralled with the highs and lows of the match, certain that Roger would eventually finish the job since he was mostly ahead. I was disappointed when he could not take a 2-0 lead.
The match was reaching a crescendo in the fourth set, and I was glued to the TV set to see what would happen next. Nothing could tear me away from the moment...nothing except...ACCESS HOLLYWOOD.
The match was violently ripped away from my vision to be replaced by Access Hollywood. Now I could not let out a scream yet because I thought it was just a commercial break, even if it was coming in the middle of a TIEBREAKER.
I waited and waited. Finally I realized that one of the most important tennis tournaments of the year was schlacked out by a third-rate gossip show.
My hands went into the air, and immediately I began to wail...first a F*CK!!!! and then a long ARRRRGHHHH followed by a large "C O M E O N!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
After my angered outbursts, I turned to my computer, which has one bad-*ss, cheap sound card. Because I have this crappy sound card, the videos play faster than they should. Because they play faster than they should, they stall because they cannot stream properly.
Frustrated with just 10 minutes of crappy transmission in which I could not comprehend the normal progression of time, I screamed again—one big long F-bomb, wringing my hands with a long "come on," finally with a good "I will hunt you down and kill you!"
My swearing all but bled out of my system, I slumped into my chair. I felt relief that no one had to hear that. I was exhausted.
With Roger being blown out in the fifth set, the rest of the family trotted in, and I ate my ice cream with a mixed depression. My wife asked my mother-in-law whether my daughter woke up while they were out.
My face went as red as Roger's collar. "Mom" had been upstairs all along, and for the next 15 minutes, I explained how frustrated I was at the TV and those bloody broadcasters at CBS. She never let on that she heard anything, but you never know.
It was bad enough Roger lost, but worse that some schmuck thought it was more important to cut out a major sporting event in favor of Access Hollywood.
When it rains, it pours!
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