![]() Everyone is always either crying or kissing someone. What bothers me is all that kissing and embracing between competitors, and the tears. pretended to be shocked at the poor little Greek boy’s remarks about his buddy’s anatomy” Especially Novak Djokovic’s box-it could be “Lucky Luciano and his gang come to SW19.” But watching on the idiot box, some of the players’ entourages are straight out of Hollywood’s Murder Inc. I haven’t set foot there in years because the grounds are now all corporate, and I no longer know anyone there. ![]() Once upon a time, when Wimbledon was, well, Wimbledon, players bowed to the royal box, McEnroe’s “You cannot be serious!” was as bad as it got, and Bitsy Grant’s question “Did the chalk get in your eye, buddy?” at a linesman who had called his ball out personified the wit of the men and women who competed at SW19. He rudely hung up on me.īut before I go on about Pam Shriver and her oldie coach, a few comments are in order about how Oprah has taken over tennis and even Wimbledon. “There is no age limit as far as being too old,” I told him. The age of consent varies in places, and the only time I had to defend myself was when an irate father whose daughter I had dated and was 28 years old rang me early in the morning and complained about me being 72. Candy was 50 at the time, while Pam was 17, which in my book made Candy a lucky guy, if it was legal. Now that the weakest Wimbledon since 1973-the year of the boycott-is over, a few thoughts about Pam Shriver’s recent revelations that her coach Don Candy, deceased, was also her lover.
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