Everyone in the Estímulo household this week am being debating the news that lithe, musculing Majorcan Raphael Nadal is to be back leading the Spanish team in the final of the David Cup tennis tournament final against somewhere call the Czech Republic next month in December.

The Musculing Mr. Nadal: Check Out His Sexpack!

On the one hand we are thinking that this might be a good thing because with Nadal in the team there is a good chance that Spain will win the Cup, especially because the Czech Republic will be without the world number one, Roget’s Federus, who is Swiss, and also the brilliant Serb Novac Jokervac, who will be doing his day job as invisible circus hoover.  His return to form is also mean that tennis as a hole is the winner.  This past year have seen Nadal mostly struggling with injuries all the way through; injuries to his wrist, his toes, his ankle, and his hair; the last of these is a chronic ailment.  He always has to play with a bandage on his hair.

On the other hand, we are thinking that it may be a bad thing because Nadal is indigenously a Catalan, and although he have done his best to be a traitor to his race, by supporting Real Madrid, playing for the Spain national team, and so on, there is always will be a gnagging doubt at the back of our minds that he is not a true Spaniard and that secretly he is thinking to himself in Catalan. Is bad enough that he is becoming a big gay icon. God forbid that we will have to feel him gratitude!

As I am speak, everything is being done to ensure that Spain win the Davis Cup. The match is being played in Barcelona, so that the atmosphere will be not just hostile but positively unsanitary.  Also it will be played on mud on an indoor court, in the Palau St. Jaume. This is what is known as a home advantage; if you go into the home of any Catalan, you will find the floor covered in mud. I am not having been to the Czech Republic, but I have good reason to believe that they will esperience a bit of a culture shop when their plane is land on the Ramblas.   I bet pretty much that they do not have mud indoors where they come from.  We will be one rubber up on them already, whatever that mean.

I shall not be watching the match myself, but I am sure it will absolutely unmissable. As you are know, golf is more really my game, but that is not to say that I cannot appreciate the suppleties of tennis: the backhanders, the angled blob snots, the sideboard, the volley, and the overhead snatch. They are all of them strangers to me.  What certainly will be of interest to the impartisan will be to see if tennis can pull its reputation out of the fire after all the kerfuffle that has gone on since the revelations that have appear in the new book by Andre Agassi (and also apparently on Ronan Keating’s new album). Agassi has claim in his book that he was use to take crystal meth before matches, which make all his hair fall out so that he had to wear wigs in order to attract the birds, which then made nests in it and put off his opponent.  This tactic was common back then among the tennis elite, especially also Peter Sampras, who had his own hair thing going on down his shirt, where there was hiding his coach, a Japanese sniper who think the war is not finish, spare racquets, and Steffi Graf, which is where Agassi met her.   Agassi also recount in his book that while people was distracted during the changeovers with watching more better looking players changing their shirts, he was getting handjobs off the line judges, which affected his vision but not theirs. And also Jimmy Connors is a cunt.

Agassi’s book is only really confirm for most of us that there is something unseemly about grown men running around in their shorts chasing after a ball, and also ladies opening their legs and showing their class. Tennis players are also, by the nature of their game and their lifestyle living in a cocoon, where all their spare time is taken up out on the practice courts or flying between tournaments or playing tennis on the Wii, or snorting drugs. None of this is natural. Whereas golf is a grownup game played wearing proper clothes with showing no flesh and not chasing a ball but walking sensibly behind it then hitting it into the distance and walking behind it again until finally hitting it into a hole. The sensible walking is when all the major business deals, arms transactions, offshore bank accounts, assassination contracts and so on are all negotiated, none of which you can do when the people you are playing with are at the other side of the net trying to whip 14 kinds of shit out of you and run you all over the court escept where they are, the left-handed bastrads. And what is more, you will never get golf players taking drugs while they are playing. No. They are always much higher up the chain.

With most of my readers being English and/or Irish (and some Scots-Welsh), I know that this tennis subject is of no interest to you at all. The last British man to win anything was a woman, Virginia Wade, and even then it was Wimberdon, which is played on a cricket pitch and is therefore fixed. Never mind, I will write next week about the football. Irish people will surely be interested in that next week, won’t they?!

Is a joke!