What's up ladies and germs?
If you follow me on twitter you may see in the description that I am currently co-authoring the worst sports film ever conceived by 2 humans with my older brother. If you're not following me on twitter, do so @thetennisbro. For the record, we are downplaying everything. We are some modest mofos in my family and are really writing the best, and only, good tennis movie ever made.
The whole thing is inspired by real life that actually happened. See he's a Hollywood big shot and I'm... me. So this film is going to be totes mcgotes epic. These are our rough ideas. To be finished when we are in Vegas next month. Here is the script. By the way Wilson gets the exclusive apparel nod assuming everyone on set gets multiple copies of the t shirts that say 'I'd Hit that'. #Innuendo.
Ready. Set. BRO.
Our nameless hero, who doesn't yet have a name, though I'm thinking Dick Skywalker, any good? So Mark Wahlberg character, who I see Mark Wahlberg playing, is a boy at the US Open. Make up specialists will make him appear 9 years old again. Marky Mark hero will be a boy from Queens; but with kind of a thick Boston accent, worked when Pitt tried playing a dude from East Tennessee with an accent that stands to ZERO regions.
Nine year old Mark Wahlberg hero will be at the open watching his hero play the championship with his dad. For his dad, I'm hoping we can get the guy who played Harris in Major League, though I'll settle for Dorn if we have to. His hero is a toss up in my head somewhere between Don Johnson, Harrison Ford and Kevin Costner. How epic is this sports moving getting? So Indiana Jones wins the tournament and tosses his bandana into the crowd. Slightly over the head of 9 year old Wahlberg. It is on this day, he aspires to be a grand slam champion.
SIDENOTE: The product placement by our apparel sponsor Wilson, hasn't happened yet, but it will.
Wahly good guy has been a grinder, he's smelt glory, but never accomplished it. He is playing the Australian Open, the heat, the blue court, the tradition. He takes a spill and messes up his knee. I'm thinking an LCL/PCL deal because its the only kind of knee injury I've sustained.
SIDENOTE: Now I know all of you think an ACL accident is the only one that ever happens. But that just proves you watch football. This is tennis mofos, have some imagination.
So Dick is sidelined with injury. While he is laid up on the couch comes the rise of the villain in the film. played by wilmer valderrama. Wilmer plays the evil Spaniard Rafa Lopez; another working name, but Felciano plus Nadal equals one smooth bro, bro.
Wilmer is coached by the fire breathing jerk hole played by the blonde guy in Die Hard. These 2 are a devastating combo to the tennis world. They represent victory and intensity in the Varsity squad from D3 the Mighty Ducks kind of way. If the blonde guy is dead, Javier Bardem would make a wicked bad guy, right?
Marky Boston is at a garage sale on his crutches when he finds a familiar piece from tennis antiquity. It is the bandana that Han Solo tennis champ threw into the crowd all those years ago. He is now inspired going through rehab.
TRAINING MONTAGE!!
During this point Wilson has picked up on the budding success story and is passing out 'I'd Hit That' shirts like its Christmas...
Dick announces his intention to return to action AT THE US OPEN BIOTCHES. This happens the day before the Wimbledon final the Wilmer obviously rampages. The fire is lit on the old rivalry. To further f some s up, Dick's coach, played by Donald Draper, adds Kevin Costner to his coaching staff. Billy Chapel is bringing the field of dreams to the hard courts. I am so fired up.
With the aid of the bandana, his hero and Donald Draper, Mark Wahlberg is at his best running through the tournament. I forgot to mention, the love interest, played by Carrie Underwood, is in a total love triangle adding gun powder to a forest fire of hatred... what?
Dicky passes his previous best, the quarters and wins an epic 5-setter over AC Slater or Zach Morris, whichever has the availability to play the role in the semis. Championship showdown in the final.
It's not typical tennis bro maneuvers to talk a lot of smack before a final, but I am the tennis bro, and I want this tennis world to be malicious. Fists fly, die hard bro is encouraging Wilmer and Billy Chapel coach is talking Marky Mark straight. Carrie Underwood's heart lies with the champion.
In the greatest tennis match ever played in less than 3 days, the two duke it out. The serve of Marky Mark's power right vs the total package of Wilmer V. Like in the Roddick/Fed Miami 2012 match, it comes down to a very emotional break in the last set followed by a furious hold of serve for Marky Mark to win the match. And yeah, America wins a tennis final. BANG. What say you rest of the world? Oh and he totally wins the affection of Carrie Underwood. Greatest love story of this millennium.
Let the bidding for that script start at $100k against $200k. Talk to my people.
Follow me on twitter @thetennisbro
Gin, Gin
Billy Stein~ The Tennis Bro
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Davis Cup Final 2012
How's it going bros?
I found it very hard to think of a clever addendum to the title, so let's just skip it. This weekend is the Davis Cup Final. The last professional team tennis clash of the year. Also the end to another season of a global competition the world barely knows about.
On the one hand you have the Czech Republic, their last victory in this event came at a time they were still Czechoslovakia; Lendl didn't smile back then either. On the other you have Spain, the Alabama Crimson Tide of professional tennis.
I typically don't indulge in getting super analytic, but this one is too easy; and I'm sure the tennis world wouldn't mind a few more folks actually knowing what the Davis Cup is.
I do not see this as much of a competition. The Czechs are intending to use a fast court as a means to deter the Spanish who will be playing without Rafael Nadal; whose knees are beginning to remind me the empty, dried up dirt lots next to our house in South Texas. Not a pretty scene. The speed of the court does not matter, ladies and gents. Just because the Spanish train on red clay does not mean they are feeble on the tough stuff. When you consider the potential 2 on 5 match up that could be created in this one, the Vegas odds on the Czechs will be slimmer then Lindsay Lohan after her latest coke bender.
Here is the likely match up and the bro-diction for how I see this weekend shaking out.
Ready. Set. BRO.
1st Rubber:
Tomas Berdych (CR) vs. Nicolas almagro (ESP)
Number 6 Berdy Man vs. the 11th ranked Nico Almagro. Berdych hits a massive serve with an above status quo forehand. He is dangerous as an Arkansas fan who just found out Honey Boo Boo is between seasons; no lifestyle coaching tonight. However, despite all of this, I only feel like Berdych sustains a high ranking due to major success in tournaments against slim competition. He beat Federer... like 3 years ago.
Nico Almagro is subtly one of the most efficient servers in the sport. He is always top 5 in both 1st serve % and aces. His one-handed backhand looks cool if it isn't effective. He also looks more like the guy who played David DeCoco in Inglorious Basterds.
Total toss up. These 2 are pretty evenly matched. Advantage to Almagro. Berdych doesn't ever really seem to live up to the bill when he is hyped up.
Espana 1-0
2nd Rubber
David Ferrer (ESP) vs. Radek Stepanek
The number 5 player in the world, Ferrer, vs. the most likely seeded opponent to lose 1st round of every single major draw you ever pick him to succeed in. It isn't 2006 anymore, Stepanek may be able to steel the first set, but once the mini-beast gets in his zone, the grind he'll go on will resemble Maximus in Gladiator; always does.
Espana 2-0
3rd Rubber
Stepanek/Berdych (CR) vs. Lopez/Granollers (Esp)
The Czechs are now possibly down 2 rubbers to 0 at this point. Two guys that lost the day before now have to get it back together against the team that won another totally unknown tournament, the Year End Championship, last week. Stepanek is still a great doubles player; if and only if he is playing with his partner Leander Paes. He and Berdy man do not, repeat, do not have the chemistry to knock off a confident Spanish tandem that can see the finish line.
Espana 3-0
Clean shut out for the spanish. Now assuming I am wrong, here is what the 4th rubber would feature.
4th Rubber
David Ferrer vs. Tomas Berdych
A rested Ferrer on a hard court against Berdy man playing his 3rd match in 3 days. Let's just pretend Alex Corretja wasn't confident enough in the 5th best player in the world for a second, then Feliciano Lopez will be in Prague too. He is 4-3 lifetime against the big man.
Spain wins again.
5th Rubber
Radek Stepanek vs. Nico Almagro
This is a dead rubber by this point that will likely go unplayed; making up words now. Even if the 2 squared off, 185 year old Radek Stepanek isn't going to have the weapons or the stamina to hold off Almagro for 3 sets. This could be reminiscent of the Spanish Teams 5-0 win over the Czechs in 2009.
To save you the time, or emotional commitment, might I recommend you watch college football this weekend? This match up is taking the autobahn to Ass Kick City.
Of course if this doesn't turn out to be right, I'm going to look like a real schmuck.
Follow me on twitter @thetennisbro
Another productive travel weekend, going to Miami for my dad's 55th birthday. Hopefully something cool will happen.
I found it very hard to think of a clever addendum to the title, so let's just skip it. This weekend is the Davis Cup Final. The last professional team tennis clash of the year. Also the end to another season of a global competition the world barely knows about.
On the one hand you have the Czech Republic, their last victory in this event came at a time they were still Czechoslovakia; Lendl didn't smile back then either. On the other you have Spain, the Alabama Crimson Tide of professional tennis.
I typically don't indulge in getting super analytic, but this one is too easy; and I'm sure the tennis world wouldn't mind a few more folks actually knowing what the Davis Cup is.
I do not see this as much of a competition. The Czechs are intending to use a fast court as a means to deter the Spanish who will be playing without Rafael Nadal; whose knees are beginning to remind me the empty, dried up dirt lots next to our house in South Texas. Not a pretty scene. The speed of the court does not matter, ladies and gents. Just because the Spanish train on red clay does not mean they are feeble on the tough stuff. When you consider the potential 2 on 5 match up that could be created in this one, the Vegas odds on the Czechs will be slimmer then Lindsay Lohan after her latest coke bender.
Here is the likely match up and the bro-diction for how I see this weekend shaking out.
Ready. Set. BRO.
1st Rubber:
Tomas Berdych (CR) vs. Nicolas almagro (ESP)
Number 6 Berdy Man vs. the 11th ranked Nico Almagro. Berdych hits a massive serve with an above status quo forehand. He is dangerous as an Arkansas fan who just found out Honey Boo Boo is between seasons; no lifestyle coaching tonight. However, despite all of this, I only feel like Berdych sustains a high ranking due to major success in tournaments against slim competition. He beat Federer... like 3 years ago.
Nico Almagro is subtly one of the most efficient servers in the sport. He is always top 5 in both 1st serve % and aces. His one-handed backhand looks cool if it isn't effective. He also looks more like the guy who played David DeCoco in Inglorious Basterds.
Total toss up. These 2 are pretty evenly matched. Advantage to Almagro. Berdych doesn't ever really seem to live up to the bill when he is hyped up.
Espana 1-0
2nd Rubber
David Ferrer (ESP) vs. Radek Stepanek
The number 5 player in the world, Ferrer, vs. the most likely seeded opponent to lose 1st round of every single major draw you ever pick him to succeed in. It isn't 2006 anymore, Stepanek may be able to steel the first set, but once the mini-beast gets in his zone, the grind he'll go on will resemble Maximus in Gladiator; always does.
Espana 2-0
3rd Rubber
Stepanek/Berdych (CR) vs. Lopez/Granollers (Esp)
The Czechs are now possibly down 2 rubbers to 0 at this point. Two guys that lost the day before now have to get it back together against the team that won another totally unknown tournament, the Year End Championship, last week. Stepanek is still a great doubles player; if and only if he is playing with his partner Leander Paes. He and Berdy man do not, repeat, do not have the chemistry to knock off a confident Spanish tandem that can see the finish line.
Espana 3-0
Clean shut out for the spanish. Now assuming I am wrong, here is what the 4th rubber would feature.
4th Rubber
David Ferrer vs. Tomas Berdych
A rested Ferrer on a hard court against Berdy man playing his 3rd match in 3 days. Let's just pretend Alex Corretja wasn't confident enough in the 5th best player in the world for a second, then Feliciano Lopez will be in Prague too. He is 4-3 lifetime against the big man.
Spain wins again.
5th Rubber
Radek Stepanek vs. Nico Almagro
This is a dead rubber by this point that will likely go unplayed; making up words now. Even if the 2 squared off, 185 year old Radek Stepanek isn't going to have the weapons or the stamina to hold off Almagro for 3 sets. This could be reminiscent of the Spanish Teams 5-0 win over the Czechs in 2009.
To save you the time, or emotional commitment, might I recommend you watch college football this weekend? This match up is taking the autobahn to Ass Kick City.
Of course if this doesn't turn out to be right, I'm going to look like a real schmuck.
Follow me on twitter @thetennisbro
Another productive travel weekend, going to Miami for my dad's 55th birthday. Hopefully something cool will happen.
Monday, November 12, 2012
The Wimbledon Wedding
How's it going bros?
Pardon my absence, I was off attending the wedding of a childhood friend. And to those of you who enjoy the opinions of an aspiring wrestler with limited tennis ability, this should be something like a good day. I just drank a Malibu Red on the rocks *#NEYOmagic* and feel like blogging.
This wedding, to me, was more then just the coming together of one of my 2 friends I have kept up with prior to my college years; fruits of living in 7 states in one's first 18 years of existence. It was something like a homecoming. The formal nature intertwined with the old faces of friends with weird Wisconsin accents and new folks whose impressive nature leaves a lasting impression. This wedding was like Wimbledon; assuming Wimbledon took place in Milwaukee in November.
It is no secret to anyone, I am a large fan of John Isner. He's an SEC boy who was born in North Carolina and moved to Georgia at age 18; sound like anyone else writing this? We share a mutual adoration for Shawn Michaels; though I am still inclined to believe both the Stone Cold Stunner and the People's Elbow made for better star power then the Sweet Chin Music. I even believe I resemble John Isner, minus 14 inches and 100 pounds; like anyone would notice that anyway.
Moreover, John Isner won over the respect of America, and much of the world, after defeating Nicolas Mahut in the Marathon Match at Wimbledon in 2010. The same match that spanned 3 days, 11 hours, 980 points, 183 games and some sort of out-of-control number of aces. His resolve, teamed with our mutually visually aesthetic appearance and basically same lifestyle, is the inspiration for my recount of my friends' wedding.
A Precursor: I had a lot of fun and a lot to drink on the day of the wedding. As it turns out, Milwaukee is a pretty easy place to find a drink. I had always figured that much, but this was evidence by the story I am about to tell you. I always considered myself a pretty big party guy in college and even today. But in college I never went on a virtually interruption 20-hour bender like I did Saturday. I now give you the 5 set marathon that was my drinking binge on the day of my best childhood friend's wedding. I fully expect you'll remember it like the marathon match was yesterday.
Ready. Set. BRO.
1ST SET
Saturday Morning 6 am:
I am in a house full of dudes. I slept on the floor with a pillow and a fitted bed sheet as a cover in anticipation for an early start to my childhood friend's wedding. I say this house was full of dudes, I mean this house was probably in the running for 2012 International House of Sausage Party of the Year. The groom, his 12 groomsmen and his 5 ushers, most of whom were throwers on the Marquette University track team were crammed into 1 very small house; lots of dude sweat.
What I believe to be insomnia, teamed with the temperature of the house being 500 degrees above the normal amount of adult men sleeping in such a confined quarter equaled one very early wake up call as evidence by the below equation:
Uneducated diagnosis of serious disease + Abundance of no shave November Contestants within 1000 Square feet of each other = 5 am wake up.
As all the other bros were causing a line that would remind you of a gas shortage around the coffee maker, I instead made moves towards the fridge full of beer with no line in front of it #TennisBro. Over the next 3 hours, the bro, and 17 other dudes would engage in what anyone else would do to celebrate a good buddies wedding; listen to Kashmir by Led Zep and tell old stories. I decided to drink 3 beers and stop after I reach the point where my arms fell light weight but my cheeks weren't glued in the s&*^ eating grin position.
SIDE NOTE: This state normally occurs after I get 2/3 of the way through A beer. Don't know how I lasted so long.
My ability to keep it in check and be able to be the groomsman that kept the others in fine form with my school boy charm and impressive dimples gave me the break of serve. 6-4, 1 set to 0.
2ND SET
1:30 pm Saturday
The wedding and the obscene amount of pictures necessary to take are finally over. I had my opportunities to break, but the unnecessary nature of posing in such ways that people utterly NEVER do for the pictures gets me irritated.
Full Disclosure: These can actually be a lot of fun if the groomsmen are as cool as my cohorts were at this wedding. I blame the freezing cold wind and the shade for my short patience with the pictures where 'serious faces' were necessary.
We now board a trolley car that stops at a liquor store. In typical fashion, the girls send the boys in to pay for everything including champagne that was never opened. In the spirit of being in Wisconsin, I went for the Miller Lite; which I had utterly 2 minutes to drink before the stopped the trolley for lunch. In this time I am offered a jack and coke by another groomsman; I declined thinking I should pace myself. The trolley stops and I have not drank away the pain the terrible rented shoes elicited on my feet #FAILCITY.
I am dealt a break and lose the set 3-6.
3RD SET
2:00 pm Saturday
The bridesmaids and groomsmen meet up at a very cool bar called Red Rocks. This place mistakes its existence in the Midwest for being in Texas; something I am totally on board with. The menu has brisket sliders and bbq quesadillas; which were like eating Aphrodite's tears.
I proceed to the bar to get a very Wisconsin-like beer. The bartender succeeded in giving a very dark one of some kind. I toast the death of an old friend to the purgatory of marriage with 4 other groomsmen. It is while drinking this eclectic brew and dominating some apps that pictures are taken while we sit on the bar. I'll be honest, probably would have been more rage if we had pool sticks and broken glasses and other roadhouse-type contraband, but we didn't.
I go for round 2, this time a new bartender decides she wants to card me; despite returning with a long neck in hand. She uses this as an opportunity to remind me that we're in Wisconsin and its weird that a guy from Mississippi is in her bar; gee I forgot, moron. I drink this beer down and talk shop with many people, just doing tennis bro stuff. And yet, despite having more to drink in 9 hours than I normally do in whole weekends, I am not intoxicated, I am tired.
The universe pulls a skinny break at 7 on my in the breaker, 6-7. I am getting dangerously close to losing this match.
POWER NAP.
4TH SET
5 pm Saturday
Reception time biotches. I use the 1-hour cocktail party to chat with some people I really didn't know at all year ago when I lived in Wisconsin. Truth be told, in most every case, I didn't really know most of these folks back then and was coming up a little short on things to talk about.
For the set's sake, there was an open bar.
In a span of 20 minutes I had 3 flutes of champagne. When the same waitress that was serving my the whole time asked for an ID on number 4, I turned my head to grab my wallet and she served 15 flutes of champagne to my tuxedo. When I say that I mean she spilled her whole tray of champagne on my lap. The manager, using a thick 'scayinsin accent, had this exchange with me.
-"You rented that tux right? It's not yours."
-"Yes sir, I did."
-"Ooooh okay. You want a bar rag or something?"
-"Yes sir please."
This bro came back with a bar rag and a beer; such a rad bro maneuver.
I can not tell you how many drinks total I had once inside the reception, I do know that at one point I had a champagne, cabernet, beer and empty beer in front of me; all of which were consumed. Now the boy is starting to feel the effects. My suit the next day the remnants of spilt red wine, beer and cupcake frosting on it; good thing it was a rental bros.
I manage a few NE-YO moves on the dance floor and grab road cupcakes; this set is mine mofos. I win the breaker at 3. To a decisive 5th we go.
5TH SET
Some point after telling time is no longer a capability of mine.
I am hanging out with a girl I went to high school with at this point. She is a blonde who is about as totally 'sconsin as you can get. By that I mean doesn't follow college football. We went to a bar called Trinity somewhere in Milwaukee. I ordered us a round of beers, we don't even dent them before she decides to order tequila shots.
SIDENOTE: How many tenses was that last string of thoughts in?
This is where the tone was set. We slammed our shots of whatever crap the waitress sent us and continued drinking Miller Lite or whatever other low quality brews we ordered; unimportant.
It's on now. Another groomsman ordered a round of irish car bombs. Feeling below the neck is sliding. It feels like this match has been going on for 2 days at this point. Now my lady friend from high school orders round 2 of tequila. I accept the shot knowing full well I am not going to be able to taste it or remember it; both of these prove to be false.
I am now at Stage 5 drunkness, my eyes are open about 1 mm as the lady orders ROUND 3. I tossed it back like a champion. I am gaining momentum; is this thing really spilling over to a 3rd day?
Now the memory is slipping by the wayside. I am unfamiliar with method of return to my hotel. in fairness, in a time span of some sort I have consumed a beer, a car bomb and 3 shots of tequila. I do recall saying good bye to my old friend; happy about it to given the fact it may be another decade until I head in that direction again.
Making it to my room and getting out my tuxedo was a major hold of serve. 69-68. The key to this win was waking up the next morning AFTER 8 am and free of any physical repercussions. True story, I haven't had a hangover since I was 20 the day of my older brother's college graduation. Alcohol has nothing on the bro. The actually break of serve didn't come until I walked up to my window shirtless, considerations of pure awesomeness, I proceed to beat my fists against my chest.. This catches the attention of several pedestrians on the very busy street my hotel was on, causing folks to point and one dude doubling over laughing at my awesomeness.
Break of serve!!
I take the 5th set 70-68. Judging by my text history, I would assume I wrapped up sometime around 3 am. Meaning the estimated time frame of consumption was over 20 hours. A feet I never came close to even in college. Everyone else I know is wilting away with age, I keep getting more and more awesome. There's your proof.
Congratulations to my old friend TJ and his new wife Cara. I hope y'all have a great time on the honeymoon in Hawaii and a life of happiness. Y'all better make good on my dibs call as the godfather of your kids.
More congrats go out to Novak BROkovic winning the Year End Championship. Though it still doesn't have the notoriety it should, its no picnic winning a tournament the top 8 players in the world compete in on plenty of rest. Enjoy all the points you have to defend your number 1 ranking with.
In celebration of Chad Kultgen's new novel the Average American Marriage coming out next year, my next post will be about my ledger I keep all of my work-related notes in.
Cheers
Billy Stein ~ The Tennis Bro
Pardon my absence, I was off attending the wedding of a childhood friend. And to those of you who enjoy the opinions of an aspiring wrestler with limited tennis ability, this should be something like a good day. I just drank a Malibu Red on the rocks *#NEYOmagic* and feel like blogging.
This wedding, to me, was more then just the coming together of one of my 2 friends I have kept up with prior to my college years; fruits of living in 7 states in one's first 18 years of existence. It was something like a homecoming. The formal nature intertwined with the old faces of friends with weird Wisconsin accents and new folks whose impressive nature leaves a lasting impression. This wedding was like Wimbledon; assuming Wimbledon took place in Milwaukee in November.
It is no secret to anyone, I am a large fan of John Isner. He's an SEC boy who was born in North Carolina and moved to Georgia at age 18; sound like anyone else writing this? We share a mutual adoration for Shawn Michaels; though I am still inclined to believe both the Stone Cold Stunner and the People's Elbow made for better star power then the Sweet Chin Music. I even believe I resemble John Isner, minus 14 inches and 100 pounds; like anyone would notice that anyway.
Moreover, John Isner won over the respect of America, and much of the world, after defeating Nicolas Mahut in the Marathon Match at Wimbledon in 2010. The same match that spanned 3 days, 11 hours, 980 points, 183 games and some sort of out-of-control number of aces. His resolve, teamed with our mutually visually aesthetic appearance and basically same lifestyle, is the inspiration for my recount of my friends' wedding.
A Precursor: I had a lot of fun and a lot to drink on the day of the wedding. As it turns out, Milwaukee is a pretty easy place to find a drink. I had always figured that much, but this was evidence by the story I am about to tell you. I always considered myself a pretty big party guy in college and even today. But in college I never went on a virtually interruption 20-hour bender like I did Saturday. I now give you the 5 set marathon that was my drinking binge on the day of my best childhood friend's wedding. I fully expect you'll remember it like the marathon match was yesterday.
Ready. Set. BRO.
1ST SET
Saturday Morning 6 am:
I am in a house full of dudes. I slept on the floor with a pillow and a fitted bed sheet as a cover in anticipation for an early start to my childhood friend's wedding. I say this house was full of dudes, I mean this house was probably in the running for 2012 International House of Sausage Party of the Year. The groom, his 12 groomsmen and his 5 ushers, most of whom were throwers on the Marquette University track team were crammed into 1 very small house; lots of dude sweat.
What I believe to be insomnia, teamed with the temperature of the house being 500 degrees above the normal amount of adult men sleeping in such a confined quarter equaled one very early wake up call as evidence by the below equation:
Uneducated diagnosis of serious disease + Abundance of no shave November Contestants within 1000 Square feet of each other = 5 am wake up.
As all the other bros were causing a line that would remind you of a gas shortage around the coffee maker, I instead made moves towards the fridge full of beer with no line in front of it #TennisBro. Over the next 3 hours, the bro, and 17 other dudes would engage in what anyone else would do to celebrate a good buddies wedding; listen to Kashmir by Led Zep and tell old stories. I decided to drink 3 beers and stop after I reach the point where my arms fell light weight but my cheeks weren't glued in the s&*^ eating grin position.
SIDE NOTE: This state normally occurs after I get 2/3 of the way through A beer. Don't know how I lasted so long.
My ability to keep it in check and be able to be the groomsman that kept the others in fine form with my school boy charm and impressive dimples gave me the break of serve. 6-4, 1 set to 0.
2ND SET
1:30 pm Saturday
The wedding and the obscene amount of pictures necessary to take are finally over. I had my opportunities to break, but the unnecessary nature of posing in such ways that people utterly NEVER do for the pictures gets me irritated.
Full Disclosure: These can actually be a lot of fun if the groomsmen are as cool as my cohorts were at this wedding. I blame the freezing cold wind and the shade for my short patience with the pictures where 'serious faces' were necessary.
We now board a trolley car that stops at a liquor store. In typical fashion, the girls send the boys in to pay for everything including champagne that was never opened. In the spirit of being in Wisconsin, I went for the Miller Lite; which I had utterly 2 minutes to drink before the stopped the trolley for lunch. In this time I am offered a jack and coke by another groomsman; I declined thinking I should pace myself. The trolley stops and I have not drank away the pain the terrible rented shoes elicited on my feet #FAILCITY.
I am dealt a break and lose the set 3-6.
3RD SET
2:00 pm Saturday
The bridesmaids and groomsmen meet up at a very cool bar called Red Rocks. This place mistakes its existence in the Midwest for being in Texas; something I am totally on board with. The menu has brisket sliders and bbq quesadillas; which were like eating Aphrodite's tears.
I proceed to the bar to get a very Wisconsin-like beer. The bartender succeeded in giving a very dark one of some kind. I toast the death of an old friend to the purgatory of marriage with 4 other groomsmen. It is while drinking this eclectic brew and dominating some apps that pictures are taken while we sit on the bar. I'll be honest, probably would have been more rage if we had pool sticks and broken glasses and other roadhouse-type contraband, but we didn't.
I go for round 2, this time a new bartender decides she wants to card me; despite returning with a long neck in hand. She uses this as an opportunity to remind me that we're in Wisconsin and its weird that a guy from Mississippi is in her bar; gee I forgot, moron. I drink this beer down and talk shop with many people, just doing tennis bro stuff. And yet, despite having more to drink in 9 hours than I normally do in whole weekends, I am not intoxicated, I am tired.
The universe pulls a skinny break at 7 on my in the breaker, 6-7. I am getting dangerously close to losing this match.
POWER NAP.
4TH SET
5 pm Saturday
Reception time biotches. I use the 1-hour cocktail party to chat with some people I really didn't know at all year ago when I lived in Wisconsin. Truth be told, in most every case, I didn't really know most of these folks back then and was coming up a little short on things to talk about.
For the set's sake, there was an open bar.
In a span of 20 minutes I had 3 flutes of champagne. When the same waitress that was serving my the whole time asked for an ID on number 4, I turned my head to grab my wallet and she served 15 flutes of champagne to my tuxedo. When I say that I mean she spilled her whole tray of champagne on my lap. The manager, using a thick 'scayinsin accent, had this exchange with me.
-"You rented that tux right? It's not yours."
-"Yes sir, I did."
-"Ooooh okay. You want a bar rag or something?"
-"Yes sir please."
This bro came back with a bar rag and a beer; such a rad bro maneuver.
I can not tell you how many drinks total I had once inside the reception, I do know that at one point I had a champagne, cabernet, beer and empty beer in front of me; all of which were consumed. Now the boy is starting to feel the effects. My suit the next day the remnants of spilt red wine, beer and cupcake frosting on it; good thing it was a rental bros.
I manage a few NE-YO moves on the dance floor and grab road cupcakes; this set is mine mofos. I win the breaker at 3. To a decisive 5th we go.
5TH SET
Some point after telling time is no longer a capability of mine.
I am hanging out with a girl I went to high school with at this point. She is a blonde who is about as totally 'sconsin as you can get. By that I mean doesn't follow college football. We went to a bar called Trinity somewhere in Milwaukee. I ordered us a round of beers, we don't even dent them before she decides to order tequila shots.
SIDENOTE: How many tenses was that last string of thoughts in?
This is where the tone was set. We slammed our shots of whatever crap the waitress sent us and continued drinking Miller Lite or whatever other low quality brews we ordered; unimportant.
It's on now. Another groomsman ordered a round of irish car bombs. Feeling below the neck is sliding. It feels like this match has been going on for 2 days at this point. Now my lady friend from high school orders round 2 of tequila. I accept the shot knowing full well I am not going to be able to taste it or remember it; both of these prove to be false.
I am now at Stage 5 drunkness, my eyes are open about 1 mm as the lady orders ROUND 3. I tossed it back like a champion. I am gaining momentum; is this thing really spilling over to a 3rd day?
Now the memory is slipping by the wayside. I am unfamiliar with method of return to my hotel. in fairness, in a time span of some sort I have consumed a beer, a car bomb and 3 shots of tequila. I do recall saying good bye to my old friend; happy about it to given the fact it may be another decade until I head in that direction again.
Making it to my room and getting out my tuxedo was a major hold of serve. 69-68. The key to this win was waking up the next morning AFTER 8 am and free of any physical repercussions. True story, I haven't had a hangover since I was 20 the day of my older brother's college graduation. Alcohol has nothing on the bro. The actually break of serve didn't come until I walked up to my window shirtless, considerations of pure awesomeness, I proceed to beat my fists against my chest.. This catches the attention of several pedestrians on the very busy street my hotel was on, causing folks to point and one dude doubling over laughing at my awesomeness.
Break of serve!!
I take the 5th set 70-68. Judging by my text history, I would assume I wrapped up sometime around 3 am. Meaning the estimated time frame of consumption was over 20 hours. A feet I never came close to even in college. Everyone else I know is wilting away with age, I keep getting more and more awesome. There's your proof.
Congratulations to my old friend TJ and his new wife Cara. I hope y'all have a great time on the honeymoon in Hawaii and a life of happiness. Y'all better make good on my dibs call as the godfather of your kids.
More congrats go out to Novak BROkovic winning the Year End Championship. Though it still doesn't have the notoriety it should, its no picnic winning a tournament the top 8 players in the world compete in on plenty of rest. Enjoy all the points you have to defend your number 1 ranking with.
In celebration of Chad Kultgen's new novel the Average American Marriage coming out next year, my next post will be about my ledger I keep all of my work-related notes in.
Cheers
Billy Stein ~ The Tennis Bro
Friday, November 2, 2012
Pre-Tennis Match Routine
How's it going bros?
I am so EXCITED RIGHT NOW!!!! Sam Querrey may be on the brink of something special in a totally irrelevant tournament in Paris after beating BROkovic then going big brother over Raonic; again.
More Exhilarating then that, I heard the song 'In the Air Tonight' while on the Reservoir Spillway today. I had my 'bans on, it was a total Miami Vice Moment. The only thing that could have been more picturesque would have been if ol' Alice, my jeep, had her top down.
That song gets me amped up. So much so that it is the first installment of my pre-match routine that gets me in my zone before playing a tennis match. I am a very regimental dude; and basically a total nut job. Those who played with me when I was first getting started probably remember a yelling, racquet-destroying force of douche bag nature. I realized, that is no way to bro, then decided to do way weirder stuff prior to playing. I say weird in a very liberal sense; I find what I am doing to be quite normal. But I am guessing you don't do this, and maybe you should, you may not win, but at least you'll look like a total lady-killing badass. I now lay out for you what I do to get ready for a tennis match.
Ready. Set. BRO.
I start my routine by watching the 'In the Air Tonight' sequence from the Miami Vice pilot. The weird drum thing that starts it out starts beating. Crockett goes into a phone booth; total 1984 tennis bro maneuver. He asks his wife whether or not their marriage was ever real; she says yes, duh. The song picks up, the Ferrari Daytona is rolling; drop the epic drums. The man hunt for the terrorist formerly known as Calderone is so on.
Now it's important you know I have 2 names for my apartment, The 'Rad Pad' and 'Club B'. When I am about to play tennis, its definitely Club B. I do more dancing in this tiny little cave then Club 54 did when Disco Mania plagued the nation.
I keep a list of 3 songs I listen to. The first 2 songs I listen to once, then the third song goes on repeat 13 times, and with good reason.
The first song I listen to is called "Hello" by Karmin. Which is such a badass song to wake up the body to. I follow it up with the full-length video of Smooth Criminal. MJ was without a doubt the most electrifying entertainer of all time; I'm working on being number 2. I do an insane amount of tearing up the floor in Club B to this song.
Disclaimer: The forward 45 degree power lean, definitely impossible. Met my downstairs neighbor for the first time after a little experimentation with physics gone wrong. They must use some kind of chords or something... Just messing with you, Michael Jackson could do all things with his magical powers; I bet he still haunts the Presley family.
After my body is warm and muscles are feeling loosey goosey. I go to song number 3. This song is called "Your body" by Pretty Ricky. I listen to the song 13 times in a row. My reasoning; its a great paradox in pop music. Similar to Chris Brown, the lyrics are downright offensive if you listen to them. Though you probably didn't because you were too fixated on how rad the beat to the song is or how catchy the hook is.
Disclaimer: I actually do not know the difference between a hook or a beat, but assume there is one.
When I am on-court, I have found I play best when I have this song stuck in my head. My favorite lyric is at the 1:06 mark when he says "Get a taste of the salami." Utterly the worst thing you could ever say to a girl, right? Maybe not, if I said that, it's five star to the face city BABAY, but I feel like a girl probably laughed and smiled when he said it. I often randomly start dancing on the court to this song and laugh at that one lyric when playing. If you stop and think "What the heck is wrong with this guy?" or "Look, the jawa is dancing" I have already beaten you. And we have probably thought of a great addendum for the sure-fire travesty that will be Disney's next 3 star wars movies.
Now venturing back to some of the things I do that you probably think are stupid. I speak to my racquets in spanish before I play. Ever try speaking another language? It's hard as hell, certainly makes you better to party with though.
I also tell myself all the time that I am going to do some lunges and push ups before a match to loosen up the arms and legs; never have. It is the decision each time not to do it, that is becoming something of a tradition.
After that I really just get to the court, run circles around every ball hit at me and counter punch like it's my job.
SIDENOTE: By counter punch I man build a wall around the court that is supported by mach 1 speed and determination that would make Tim Tebow pee his pants suit. absorb pace and slow it down to utilize my speed and stamina. Then dance to Pretty Ricky and remind the opponent That I am tall enough to ride the roller coaster and DO WORK, SON.
Though I would far prefer my job being the WWE cruiserweight champion of the world. The BLACK MMMMMAAAAAAAMMMMMMMBBBBBBBAAAAAA.
Next time I'll unveil the script for my a very special episode of law and order, Jackson-Style featuring the bro.
As per my predictions for what is to happen this next week, I would bet as follows:
-Federer wins the YEC; you have a better chance of beating Whitey Ford in Yankee Stadium then Fed in the O2 Arena.
-Obama wins the election
-Milwaukee November weather beats the bro; I am obligated to rage groomsmenship for a lifelong friend, even if its a November wedding in Wisconsin.
Follow me on Twitter @thetennisbro
oh yeah, and I'm going to VEGAS the right before Christmas, hope to rage face with some of you.
I am so EXCITED RIGHT NOW!!!! Sam Querrey may be on the brink of something special in a totally irrelevant tournament in Paris after beating BROkovic then going big brother over Raonic; again.
More Exhilarating then that, I heard the song 'In the Air Tonight' while on the Reservoir Spillway today. I had my 'bans on, it was a total Miami Vice Moment. The only thing that could have been more picturesque would have been if ol' Alice, my jeep, had her top down.
That song gets me amped up. So much so that it is the first installment of my pre-match routine that gets me in my zone before playing a tennis match. I am a very regimental dude; and basically a total nut job. Those who played with me when I was first getting started probably remember a yelling, racquet-destroying force of douche bag nature. I realized, that is no way to bro, then decided to do way weirder stuff prior to playing. I say weird in a very liberal sense; I find what I am doing to be quite normal. But I am guessing you don't do this, and maybe you should, you may not win, but at least you'll look like a total lady-killing badass. I now lay out for you what I do to get ready for a tennis match.
Ready. Set. BRO.
I start my routine by watching the 'In the Air Tonight' sequence from the Miami Vice pilot. The weird drum thing that starts it out starts beating. Crockett goes into a phone booth; total 1984 tennis bro maneuver. He asks his wife whether or not their marriage was ever real; she says yes, duh. The song picks up, the Ferrari Daytona is rolling; drop the epic drums. The man hunt for the terrorist formerly known as Calderone is so on.
Now it's important you know I have 2 names for my apartment, The 'Rad Pad' and 'Club B'. When I am about to play tennis, its definitely Club B. I do more dancing in this tiny little cave then Club 54 did when Disco Mania plagued the nation.
I keep a list of 3 songs I listen to. The first 2 songs I listen to once, then the third song goes on repeat 13 times, and with good reason.
The first song I listen to is called "Hello" by Karmin. Which is such a badass song to wake up the body to. I follow it up with the full-length video of Smooth Criminal. MJ was without a doubt the most electrifying entertainer of all time; I'm working on being number 2. I do an insane amount of tearing up the floor in Club B to this song.
Disclaimer: The forward 45 degree power lean, definitely impossible. Met my downstairs neighbor for the first time after a little experimentation with physics gone wrong. They must use some kind of chords or something... Just messing with you, Michael Jackson could do all things with his magical powers; I bet he still haunts the Presley family.
After my body is warm and muscles are feeling loosey goosey. I go to song number 3. This song is called "Your body" by Pretty Ricky. I listen to the song 13 times in a row. My reasoning; its a great paradox in pop music. Similar to Chris Brown, the lyrics are downright offensive if you listen to them. Though you probably didn't because you were too fixated on how rad the beat to the song is or how catchy the hook is.
Disclaimer: I actually do not know the difference between a hook or a beat, but assume there is one.
When I am on-court, I have found I play best when I have this song stuck in my head. My favorite lyric is at the 1:06 mark when he says "Get a taste of the salami." Utterly the worst thing you could ever say to a girl, right? Maybe not, if I said that, it's five star to the face city BABAY, but I feel like a girl probably laughed and smiled when he said it. I often randomly start dancing on the court to this song and laugh at that one lyric when playing. If you stop and think "What the heck is wrong with this guy?" or "Look, the jawa is dancing" I have already beaten you. And we have probably thought of a great addendum for the sure-fire travesty that will be Disney's next 3 star wars movies.
Now venturing back to some of the things I do that you probably think are stupid. I speak to my racquets in spanish before I play. Ever try speaking another language? It's hard as hell, certainly makes you better to party with though.
I also tell myself all the time that I am going to do some lunges and push ups before a match to loosen up the arms and legs; never have. It is the decision each time not to do it, that is becoming something of a tradition.
After that I really just get to the court, run circles around every ball hit at me and counter punch like it's my job.
SIDENOTE: By counter punch I man build a wall around the court that is supported by mach 1 speed and determination that would make Tim Tebow pee his pants suit. absorb pace and slow it down to utilize my speed and stamina. Then dance to Pretty Ricky and remind the opponent That I am tall enough to ride the roller coaster and DO WORK, SON.
Though I would far prefer my job being the WWE cruiserweight champion of the world. The BLACK MMMMMAAAAAAAMMMMMMMBBBBBBBAAAAAA.
Next time I'll unveil the script for my a very special episode of law and order, Jackson-Style featuring the bro.
As per my predictions for what is to happen this next week, I would bet as follows:
-Federer wins the YEC; you have a better chance of beating Whitey Ford in Yankee Stadium then Fed in the O2 Arena.
-Obama wins the election
-Milwaukee November weather beats the bro; I am obligated to rage groomsmenship for a lifelong friend, even if its a November wedding in Wisconsin.
Follow me on Twitter @thetennisbro
oh yeah, and I'm going to VEGAS the right before Christmas, hope to rage face with some of you.
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