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Roger Federer defeats Novak Djokovic in their Wimbledon semifinal.

6-3, 3-6, 6-4, 6-3.

Holy Higgs boson!!! Hmmm, the particle is discovered at CERN in Switzerland, then Roger…

Our world is all right tonight.

The Federer twins, Myla and Charlene: You don’t even have to ask.

While you wait out the rain delay, watch Rafa Nadal de-toweling Fabio Fognini at Roland Garros. Gracias.

We get it, you’re coasting. You can beat anyone below the top two just by showing up. But for Djokovic and Nadal you have to actually be there, occupying your body, you know?

The French want to believe he’s 50% Swiss, 50% French. Well there is no “French” gene or “Swiss” gene or “Filipino” gene you can isolate as proof of whatever-ness. In case you’re in a mixy-matchy mood.

Roger Federer won the Madrid Open and got a Men In Black suit from Will Smith. Interesting body language, no? Is Roger bending towards Will or moving his lower body away from him?

Photo: Maria Sharapova of Russia in the final at the Australian Open, where she lost to Victoria Azarenka of Belarus. The little we know of geography we learned from watching tennis.

For Glenn, tennis was a purely mental game, its problems solvable through a personal variation on psychoanalysis. He broke down my own palsied serve into three movements, suggesting that I mouth the words “I. DON’T. CARE!” in rhythm with them. He added that I should shout CARE! as I smacked the ball toward the earth. By getting me to renounce my emotional attachment, I guess he thought that I could free up mental energies to enjoy myself. There was something intoxicating about the idea that the mind could exert too much control over the body and that there could be freedom from the mind’s tyranny in the ability to let the body take the helm.

But I never thought it was actually possible.

Read Double Fault by A-J Aronstein in the Paris Review.

We went to the outlet mall in the Qi Pu district. The place is so huge just looking at the buildings made us tired. There is a vast assortment of brands from agnes b. to Y3, but the “factory prices” are hardly bargains unless the particular store is having a sale. After an hour of trudging we found something we wanted, not only for the thing itself but what it portends.

Now we really have to go to Roland Garros.