optic yellow
Legend
I just woke up from a very trippy nap, one portion of which featured me playing tennis against Nadal. I don't remember the context so the story starts with him serving the first game. He went easy on me, but after I uncorked a gritty skin-of-my-teeth short CC return winner on the first ad in I wandered slowly back across the court and turned around to notice that he was now on my side of the net. After realizing why he was there I politely told him that my shot had gone in. Instead of saying anything he just looked at me quizzically, so I repeated myself after a few seconds and got the same response.
Finally, after what felt like at least fifteen seconds, he replied "I'm too tired for this" (in slow but otherwise perfect unaccented English) and started wandering over to me. He then put his arm around my shoulder in that familial Southern European way, saying "I'm sure you understand my friend" (this had slight Spanish accent) before going to lay down on an expensive futon that was conveniently located near the court. I tried convincing him to continue by coming clean and admitting that I used to be a diehard Federer fanboy who actively rooted for him to lose before I had seen the error of my ways and learned to properly appreciate his magic forehand touch, but this was to no avail; he was peacefully asleep within 5 minutes. My take was that he was concerned about stressing his knees from chasing down my junkballs and also that the Spanish take their siestas very seriously. While disappointed, I was ultimately honored to have played him at all, and happily wandered off to some other adventure in the ridiculous dream world I found myself in.
(I have shared this for the delight of the Nadal stans here as well as because I thought it would be nice changeup from the standard thread about the Big 3.)
Finally, after what felt like at least fifteen seconds, he replied "I'm too tired for this" (in slow but otherwise perfect unaccented English) and started wandering over to me. He then put his arm around my shoulder in that familial Southern European way, saying "I'm sure you understand my friend" (this had slight Spanish accent) before going to lay down on an expensive futon that was conveniently located near the court. I tried convincing him to continue by coming clean and admitting that I used to be a diehard Federer fanboy who actively rooted for him to lose before I had seen the error of my ways and learned to properly appreciate his magic forehand touch, but this was to no avail; he was peacefully asleep within 5 minutes. My take was that he was concerned about stressing his knees from chasing down my junkballs and also that the Spanish take their siestas very seriously. While disappointed, I was ultimately honored to have played him at all, and happily wandered off to some other adventure in the ridiculous dream world I found myself in.
(I have shared this for the delight of the Nadal stans here as well as because I thought it would be nice changeup from the standard thread about the Big 3.)
