The Junkyard Court: Grass Transition

Everyone knows who owns the clay.

Nadal even looks red.

His dark Spanish skin wrapping his used and busting muscles, which connect to his sturdy bones, all controlled by a white hot nuclear reactor flame of want to, need to, have to, and will.

His 11th Barcelona title, coming after his dominance in Monte Carlo, gives a good indication of who will win the French Open.

The ball whizzes off his strings, it loops high, and falls quick and sharp.

Nicking lines, biting down, going deep, severe angles.

Every point is fought for desperately, no mistake is tolerated without disgust.

The routines, the tics, the picking.

Scrowling around, rarely smiling during play, saving the beaming flash of complete joy for hoisting big silver trophies.

Ten at Roland Garros, eleven is likely.

The grass transition is the question for Rafa, will he win again in his whites.

He plays like he thinks he is the best tennis player ever, and knows he is the best tennis player now.

He is ranked #1.

Perhaps he will play Federer after Paris.

Perhaps he will win.

Static

The dim lits, not needing much to see forward.  Conceding the developments to inevitability, searching for the way through.  This is not just a ride going round and round while spinning.  Dizzy.  Nothing is repeated in the same space.  Unoccured time is the only true frontier.  Even the oceans have been scanned.  Space is known.  The poles.  To explore the future is to anticipate.  Technology, culture, relationships, and nature.  Each impacting the other, minimal autonomy.

Technology must be freed.
Late adopters are late.
There is little to gain.
The fear of it should be overcome.

Culture is our known existence.
Music, styles, priorities.
Demographics and insecurities.
The art of it all.

Relationships light the minds.
Individuals electrify each other.
Sharing the emotions of life.
Security, affection, envy.

Nature is a constant reminder.
Its beauty, its noises, its age.
Everything without thought.
Perfectly inconsiderate.

The futurists talk of trends and business and politics and other trivial things.  Predicting for money.  Like a fortune teller or tarot card reader or some other mystic.  Candles burning everywhere, made up like clowns, suckering and shaking.  Open your own eyes.  Cause and effect.  Explore.

Static.

The Block Age

The block age.
Chained to the past no longer.
The speculators are raking.
Seven thousand percent return.
With some luck and calm.

Trust is irrelevant.
These transactions are instantaneous.
A constant state of things.
No updates required.
The reconciliations.
Back office nonsense.
Modern day pushing paper.
The roll back and the buy-in.
Middle people get eliminated.
Cut-taking on top of cut-taking.

This is main line.
Applicable.
All states are transparent at all times.
The utility of it all.

Nakamoto, Szabo, Buterin.

Programmability of exchanges.
And work proof.
Public permissions of the crypto kind.

The Sound Must Sound

.hastily arranged, rearranged somehow.
.arrivals delayed, equipment loading.
.cracked the drinks, drank the Kool-aid.

.domestic communications, and life.

.down for the breakdown shakedown.
.then a fast patrol, low-riding, coasting.
.felt almost fuzzy headed, heart beating.

.flea is certainly a fine, fine bassist.

.more Kool-aid, goes down good and easy.
.plugs and wires, the sound must sound.
.amplifier cracks and crunks, cord abuse.

.never play with a pic, just never do.

.adjust to the rhythms, tried to get through.
.bodies out of sorts, our minds distracted.
.dogs howled, birds kwacked, we slacked.

.floated back home, exhausted and empty.

Red Mud Gonzo: Ten

"Grand Slam Noise" by jpg

...time to eat.  Tennys is hungry.  Even as a kid his moms said.  Hungry.  Nervous, always moving, just ticking all the time...  But, The Grit is The Grit.  A declaration before the match is due.  More research, 4 hours left.  The tournament magazine has a spread on the Finals Sunday Brunch at the club.  Everybody wearing what they're supposed to wear, not the same, not conformed, just above.  Yes, above.  I am intoxicated, to attend this brunch one day is a goal.  Begin with the end in mind.  Elevate, above the rest.  Tennys is hungry, yes, his mom likely snuck him a plate from the brunch.  He most certainly did not attend himself.  Obsessive pre-match routines, rituals, and yoga poses.  Then he eats.  Already making grand slam noise, which was a surprise.  Whose Sandgren?.  Now we know.  But, The Grit is The Grit...



"Sweet Slice BH" by TTop

Should be a great match...the Grit has that sweet slice BH.

"Joey" by peoplesDuke

Her name is Joey? I never knew this. That's awesome!!

"Joey Dean" by jpg

...Joey Dean.  She was a blaster on the court.  Leauges, etc.  Flat serve.  Whammer forehand.  Most likely, I play tennis because of her.  Great net player.

"On To Monte Carlo"  by jpg

...the end was euforically sad in a way.  The Grit defends.  Knelt before the match in obvious prayer.  When it was over, the eyes cried.  His father had passed suddenly, soon after Stevie won the USClay Court title last year.  Tennys was there to console.  No quick shake, but an embrace, a head pat from the defeated, along with just the right words.  A 3 setter that could have gone either way.  The Grit took that Red Mud Cannonball run.  Hung in the air, suspended in slow motion, then crashed through the surface of the River Oaks pool.  It is tradition...  On to Monte Carlo, it's just part of the tennis pro deal as Wayne says...  

The whole media operation, led by Pete Holtermann, are the electric glowers, the up-to-daters, the latest breakers, the on-the-record quoters, and the smooth floaters...his team seemed capable, controlled, and empowered...  Also, before the Red Mud Gonzo line closes, a thought and a prayer for Barbara Bush, in the final stages of an incredible life...  A great gal.

Red Mud Gonzo: Nine

"Cool Cats" by jpg

Russell Seymour and Dick Landenberger are Hall Of Famers, inducted, immortalized, permanently.  They know the game, and they marvel at its evolution.  The equipment, the giants, the scene.  Much has changed.  However, the traits of the greats are the same.  Tenacity, endurance, merciless, controlled simmer, deuce juicers, door closers, heart breakers, hate to losers.  These Texas Tennis HOFers, Russell inducted in 99, Dick in 01, earned eternal admiration and honor.  They still play.  Evidently, the over 80 division is active.  This is our future if we are fortunate and take Russell's advice to "Keep playing!"  Their jackets were sweet.  They were rightly elevated and strutted around the River Oaks grounds without even trying to strut.  It's just the way the naturally walked.  Still strutting.  Cool cats.  Dick mentioned playing the red clay of a River Oaks years back.  We were in the stands watching Tiafoe and The Grit.  A gathering of these TTHOFers was taking place all around us.  It was incredible, the vibe became too much, just too much.  Wayne called out their attendance from the PA.  Surely there was a luncheon, perhaps some wine, for the men and women of the Texas Tennis Hall Of Fame.  And their guests.  Jazz trio tapping, bopping, and popping in the corner.  Imagine the stories, a few are likely still rivals.  Grudges, perhaps, but much more forgiveness.  Some gone, memories still electric and known.  Fit, personable, smooth, and engaging.  Still climbing stairs, still coming into the net, still going for lines, still overcoming, still enduring, still hitting VVinners.  Double V.  So Vantaggio..  We are now friends...



"Art Hookup" by griff

I wanna cruzr' bike like that. So Walmart rig strip it down then what?  I don't have the art hookup like you do.  What if I bring my survivor '77 BMX original CYC stormer!



"99 Bucks" by jpg

...99 bucks.  Stripped it down, took off reflectors and fenders and chain guard, of course.  Added the foam.  Cali-style. Upgraded pedals and grips.  Dice air covers.  All In, another 70 bucks...  West Texas broke Blues.  Almost.  Good for suburban riding...  HellYell is for the dirt!  ...prolly cost about what a bag of top level golf clubs cost...



"Time To Eat" by jpg

...The Grit is The Grit.  He finds ways to win in Houston.  For his past 8 matches here.  Or 9.  A brawler, a sprawler, and an occasional mauler.  In his 12th set of the tournament, Fritz finally went down.  His future is very bright, especially when his net game improves.  .......A proven red mud champion, Stevie The Grit will need every edge he can find to defend his title against Sandgren in the final.  Tennys is hungry, his mother knows.  Time to eat...

The Ballad Of Moe Action

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Few years back he was a company man.
Came early, stayed late, always gave a hand.
Til one day, when he had that infraction.
No mercy, no love, take a hike Moe Action.

Became a lawyer to defend his good name.
Claimed that company should be ashamed.
No due process, just assumptions and talk.
Cashed his check cause the company lost.

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Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action, Moe Action.
(Less Talk) (Less Talk) (Less Talk)

Then old Moe started reading the Word.
Felt like something in his soul was stirred.
Few years later, gave all the world hope.
When he humbly agreed to be the Pope.

Ditched the robe almost immediately.
Instructed everyone to get off their knees.
Can't move around til you're off the ground.
Moe Action, The Pope, with Vatican sounds.

Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action, Moe Action.
(Less Talk) (Less Talk) (Less Talk)

Tired of Italy, hung up his Pope hat.
Damn pickpockets, those thieving rats.
Mastered Kung Fu, now he fights crime.
Moe Action protects the world at night.

The sleaze, the squeeze, he's seen it all.
Moe ain't surprised by the devil's call.
It rings it beeps it notifys our eyes.
Full of hate, got no grace, just full of lies.

Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action (Less Talk)
Moe Action, Moe Action.
(Less Talk) (Less Talk) (Less Talk)

Red Mud Gonzo: Eight

"Bluebonnet Seeds" by TTop

Something has my stomach all messed up...Woodys!  I still would like to get some bluebonnet seeds if possible.



"Corporate Maxed" by Matt

I've listened to Corporate Maxed like 5 times today.



"Tracy Lettuce Down" by jpg

...Bluebonnet seeds, yes.  Ennis is the recognized Bluebonnet capital of the world.  It's true.  Must have been the 'already chopped up " brisket.  Should always have them chop up brisket from the slice.  To be seen, and admired.  Ribs were chewy.  Tracy lettuce  down. Avoid Woody's.  Pete Holtermann, and his Holtermedia operation is top notch...so happy I won the 7th game...  Tired, uninspired, but tennis satisfied.



"Hmmmm, Zeballos" by TTop

I forced Jack to focus mentally on his next opponent...Hmmmm, Zeballos...this is coaching.  Fritz dominated.  He is too powerful for Sock.  The scream.



"A Slammer" by jpg

...a turning point.  'Slam the door, Taylor!!'  Vantaggio fans will not be muted.  Listen.  ...3 three setters.  To get to the Semis.  His confidence seems to be on the rise.  He wants to play.  This is all predictable, his influences are positive, his potential is potential no longer.  He slammed the door on Sock.  A slammer is what Fritz is, a slammer...

Red Mud Gonzo: Seven

"Curving And Green" by jpg

...electric avenue was literally below us.  Another day was being charged up.  The wires were connected right across the massive river oak.  Its limbs sprawl out vinelike, moving and curving and green.  Airports are everywhere, this place smells of monetary transactions, this place looks orderly, this place sounds like pavement and rubber.  Catching up with the media team.  Impressive operation, open and welcoming.  Quiet at first, til the talking started.  Questions are easy to ask...  Sprawl.



"Moe Action" by OneFineGringo

If I were a pope, Indian chief, wrestler, or lawyer, I would go by: Moe Action.



"The Press Don't Got It Easy" by jpg

...Eddy Grant will forever remind me of Houston.....think some players may come in.  While I'm waiting.  The press don't got it easy...girl with the red bag is so glowface...Tenny moves in nicely.  Forward.  Forward.  Distracted, however...  And that is an ender for a top 10er.  Normally..

Kudla quick, smooth.  Karlovic has the best serve in the history of the game and is a net artist.  Stoic.  Taller than Isner. 

Keck 6-1.  Up 6-0 after 6, I took the last fucking game.  Took it.  Vantaggiolike...

"El Rey" by CB

Just twisting that knife.  I love El Rey.

Red Mud Gonzo: Six

"Houston Calling" by CB

Houston Calling…Houston calling.  The week came, the opportunity lost.  The beauty of the red clay.  The opulence of River Oaks CC . The fashion show with Fernando.  The level of play of the game we love.  The intrigue of the event and it’s surroundings slips hour by hour until next year. I worked, but Houston Calls.... Next year.



"Wayne's World" by jpg

...alot has happened. And it ain't even 2.  Wayne Bryan is an authentic person.  As nice and cool as he seems.  He thanked me for writing my articles.  His boys are headed to Monte Carlo soon...part of the tennis pro deal, he said.  Such a pro.  Prepared, calm.  Magnatism.  He is a father figure to more than he knows.  It is truley Wayne's World in Houston... We are friends.



"Night Owl" by peoplesDuke

What is his writing style? When does he do it? Is he a night owl, quietly pecking away after midnight or does he arise at dawn with the cock and gently open the laptop with coffee on the table and softly type HST Gonzo prose that resonates with those who have ears that hear?



"The Button" by peoplesDuke

It's all Vantaggio all the time once the Summer line drops. Either you're with us or against us!  The time for choosing is now.



"Kung Fu" by jpg

Don't you know I know Kung Fu?  Space black pupils are looking through old, old oak trees.  From above.  The top of Montrose.  Tennis courts across the street.  15 gamer at 8am.  Backhand has been resurrected by Coach Billy.  CB.  Breaker one nine, this is a radio check, come on.

Red Mud Gonzo: Five

"Tournament Media Director" by jpg

...this Pete Holtermann guy must be busy.  Three unreturned emails providing the requested followup info, describing the freelance project I'm delivering for the Vantaggio Magazine, and expressing my intention to be mannerly and respectful.  Weeks ago I followed the application procedure for press credentials as requested.  They acknowledged, then a probing followup from Pete.  I answered, waited a day, provided additional context, waited a day, and finally sent another reminder.  Nothing.  A bit disappointing, especially considering Pete has the title of Tournament Media Director.  Surely he has some sort of staff seeking, and needing, empowerment.  Must be an oversight, clearly he doesn't have time to respond.  We'll seek him out upon arrival, needs to be prompt, hoping to get access to the noontime annual fashion show at River Oaks.  Always mindful of fashion when freelancing as #TheJunkyardCourt and was hoping to gain access, especially since I'll have a Vantaggio Senior Exec with me--TTop.  Its not only the story, it's the capitalism too.  Contacts are gold...



"Grit, Ernie" by TTop

Brown clay, Grit, Ernie, chance for greatness...someone has to win.



"Father John" by peoplesDuke

I'm really getting into Father John Misty!  Dude is a freaking genius. Do you dig it?



"In Sync" by CB

Your biorythyms are in sync.  Ride the wave.



"New Firestones, Moonroof" by jpg

...this Fritz is frazzled, frizzled, and free-wheeling.  Sloppy and wild, but beat Smyczek anyway.  Barely, very barely.  Must sleep.  4am wake.  6am, south to Houston.  Driving, coin flip loser.  New firestones, moonroof, player profile reviews.  Observe, observe, observe...  Note, note, note.  Mentally, literally, obsessively...  Weirdly...



"The Place To Be" by TTop

The second doubles match on court 3 is the place to be...Kudla is so Vantaggio...

The Junkyard Court: This Ain't No Exhibition

    The Northern Irish are scarred people evidently, pick a side or not.  It doesn't matter.  That was years ago.  It's proven all the Irish and British men can come together and defeat the rest of the European men in golf.  The since disbanded Seve Cup was played bi-annually from 2000-2013.  It featured the islanders against the rest of continental Europe.  Only eight events were held, the island boys went 6-2.  Seve Ballesteros knew the island fire, knew why punk rock was born there.  These people have lived on their heels for millinias.  Fending off Viking raids, many times unsuccessfully, old entitled Romans and their vast kingdom, Germany's blitzkrieg bombs, various religious claimers, and countless other recorded and unrecorded scenarios.  No wonder the initial American patriots, and others to other places, went floating for a calmer life, almost undercover as colonists.  Most stayed where they floated.  Not sure they all got what they wanted, but America is America.  Still searching west for calm, all the way to California.

    Rory McIlroy is now more Floridian than Irish, geographically anyway.  His golf record is titaniam, already worthy of legendary status. Only 28, he's likely to add more valuable hardware.  Perhaps later today.  Already, money is no object.  At his age, the simple  power of compounding almost assures he will be a billionaire one day.  Maybe he already is.

     He seems tremendously honest, with his priorities, goals, conduct, and answers to questions.  Once asked about the Ryder Cup, he termed it an exhibition, which the golf bluebloods scoffed at.  How dare he call this exhibition an exhibition!  Samual Ryder, an English businessman and early golf nut that made a fortune selling seeds, would have likely not been offended by the term.  Also, Rory once had the nerve to say he preferred playing golf in 80 degree weather and little wind.  Hmmm, me too.  After chunking a club into the lake st the 2015 Cadillac event, his supposedly controversial comments were (brace yourself):  It felt good at the time but now I regret it.  Frustration got the better of me.  Again, the uptight scoffed.  At what?  Immediately, my mind  is reminded of the satisfaction felt at destroying a Babolat racquet just a couple months ago.  A put away volley clanked off the frame and into the net.  On break point! An hour later the action was regreted, frustration did get the best of me.  If I'm honest.  Secretly, I know I could do it again one day, and will want to, and will feel it logical and warranted.  I hope I don't, but if I'm honest.

     Yell in his backswing, McIlroy might just stare you down and tell you to frack off.  Probably have to be around him some to follow his accent, but he's relatable.  Even his well publisised engagement-abandonment to Danish tennis professional Caroline Wozniaki seemed like authentic cold feet.  After a short phone call, his final twitted sentiments wished Woz all the happiness she deserved.  Since then, Wozniaki won her first grand slam title, historically reclaimed the #1 ranking, and became engaged to David Lee, who played solidly for the last Dallas Mavericks team to really put up a legitimate fight.  Happy events, all.  This Rory is a prince, his wish for her came true.

     For what its worth, Rory's professional golf results have slipped since, his main achievements attained during the same time frame he was with Woz.  Something about the Danish.  From Gorm The Old to his son Bluetooth, and the rest.  They usually get what they want.  For better, or for worse.  Maybe she placed an old Viking curse on ole Rory, but probably not.  She doesn't seem that type, a friend of Serena, a gracious and graceful lady, a humble tennis princess.  But, even a humble tennis princess must be a killer competitor.  So Vantaggio.  Jason Keck, co-founder of Vantaggio Tennis Apparel Company, calls her Woz.  It is a term of endearment.  Her endorsement brand is strong, her capitalism value already proven, her magazine images lengedary in their own right.

     In truth, Rory's had some injuries, something about an ankle or muscle pulls of various sorts.  Probably got brainwashed by weightlifters and started bulking up.  He doesn't seem to talk about it, which is respectable in its own way.  No excuses, no reasons, only results.  Rory too found love since.  This time the feet were fine, rings exchanged, and all endured a likely long, long Catholic wedding.  Reminds all of the famous old Irish folktune:  "Oh, the Os!  Oh the Micks!  Came to America to find our chicks!"   Mrs. McIlroy is a New Yorker.  And Rory is back in the final Sunday pairing of the Masters, golf's greatest prize and the final trophy he needs to earn golf's Career Grand Slam.  Sarazen, Hogan, Player, Nicklaus, and Woods are the 5 names on that short list.  Honestly, I hope he does win it later today, I'll miss it due to a Nantucket jam session, but it will play out and be reported out.  Men From Nantucket may even cover 'Oh, The Micks' in his honor.  If he wins.  We should know by 6CST.  He's chasing an American, Patrick Reed, and other Americans lurk, but I don't feel unpatriotic.  Any more than hoping Roger Federer smashes Jack Sock or pulling for Caroline Wozniacki to win the 2018 Australian Open.  This ain't no exhibition!  Honestly.

Strut If You Must

Switch on over to the other side.
Talk that talk for awhile, spew.

Assume absolutely everything.
Give nothing, it's all believable.

Seen a movie like that once.
Plots and angles, two hours.

The lone stars stay alone.
It's just not worth the trouble.

All this fighting and frowning.
A wasteful and sorry condition.

Thrive, be alive, glide and slide.
Strut if you must, shake the rust.

Through the fear, through the still.
Cause the whirl, light the night.