Whatever you wish to label it—it is entirely personal. You own it…you learn to live with it. It makes you get up at 2 a.m. to watch tennis from Australia, sometimes on a minuscule, blinking screen. It makes you sweat and scream and pace the floor.
It isn’t always pleasant, because losing is never fun. Moods can become suicidal…but the highs are worth it. Winning is exalting, breathtaking, surreal. It is pure release, accompanied by pleasure and joy. Astonishingly, all you did to sustain this high is watch a master at work.
I am a sports fan who loves tennis and more to the point, Roger Federer. Please, don’t expect me to be rational—to apply sane standards to my appraisals. Don’t expect me to be a good sport and accord Rafa or any other opponent his due.
I cannot do that. I can only howl like a child for what I want. I will pout, and with others like me—hold a collective breath—do what I can to have an impact. I will be unreasonable and demanding and unshakable in my defense…
For you see, losing Roger Federer is not an option for me. I have loved and lost too many times to find another like the mesmerizing Swiss maestro…
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