And I'm sick and tired of you hanging on me, January. You make me sad with your eyes and you're telling me lies. And stuff. If you're not familiar with Day 70's pop music then this post has presumably gotten off to a shaky start.
One of my favourite things about tennis at this time of year is watching from my air conditioned lounge room as crowds in Centre Court sweat bucketloads of beer and champagne out of their pores. As much as I'd love to go down to Melbournio one year, it is just so much more palatable watching in front of the flatscreen box.
I also like the order at the tennis and the fact that people don't generally get about with slimy fried chicken containers on their head as per any Australian cricket game.
And the Ball Children are pretty impressive. And scary. They get smashed in the face by a Federer ace and just stand there.
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| You'll probably need a longer cord. |
I'm pretty sure those ballbots are Trons, because when they get their rare glamourous closeup you can see an input/output junction on the backs of their necks.
And in the tradition of anything Apple or Samsung, you have to go out into the world of shops searching for the 2 km ballbot USB cord yourself. And then you have to make sure they are in range. It's hit and miss really; a bit like Federer's game these days.
In 2010 a ballboy unfortunately peed his pants during a game. It happens. But usually not with an audience of millions of judgemental home viewers.
They had to replace the ballbot and put sawdust down, or whatever you put down when somebody throws up. Then they had use the blower to dry the court but the blower had no gas in it so it took forever. I know this because a player TALKED ABOUT IT IN THE PRESS CONFERENCE. Yep, therapy for life for that little ballbot.
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