The road snakes around green foothills. Giant rocks, rugged cliffs and sparkling waterfalls surround the quiet village. Across its mountainside cascades a sprawling retreat.

That day my Carrera took its curves like a Latin dancer. And the winds caressed my face. And the scents teased me.

Not so long prior, XAC - The Mission was on my mind. RYO Superheroes were on my mind. I had allowed myself a few mouth-watering reflections of McEnroe, Lendl, Becker, Courier, Agassi, Sampras, Guga, Coria – men who used their rackets, their hearts and plush balls to toy with my dreams.

Near the top of the mountain, from the Kasbah suites, stairs lead to a large flat roof. I climbed to the roof to sleep under the stars, if only for an hour or two. And that night I dreamed.

I dreamed of a hunk – legs of a tracker, eyes of a tiger, hands of a fencer, moves of a dancer, heart of a charmer, brains of a banker – a thoroughbred willing to forgo the tried glories of track, basketball, soccer or football to pursue the hallowed, rugged and muddy arenas of a sport once abandoned to the gentle, the snooty and the spoiled. A sport? No. A lifestyle. Tennis. Now RYO Tennis - MacBest Tennis!

I dreamed. And when I awoke. A man stood before me. A boy, actually, with a great heart. The Raging Bull. The King. Rafael Nadal. Rafa! Rafa! Rafa!

Yes, I dreamed him into being, and I am pleased. Wouldn’t you be pleased? Ay-yai!

Now I climb to the roof again. I climb to dream.

I know, it is quite hot.

I know, The Greatest Road Trip In Sports has begun.

So let them come young or old, but they’d better be strong.

Pit wily wild cards against brute beasts. I don’t mind. But they’d better be strong.

Sure.

I still want Roger to amaze us.

And I want Rafa to make us scream.

I still want Andy to wow us.

And I want Monfils to make us dream.

Yes, I do want the bling-blings of rough-hood to glitter. Passion. Power. Presence. Poise. Let these - the sparkling wealth of manhood - be flung to the chanting crowds.

But when all is said and done, when that last ball is struck and the umpire's pen is down, I want a hero. I want James Blake with his big smile and gentle heart to climb above the sweated heap, don the coveted crown, and shout, "It's mine. It's Yours."

Sure, I dream. And stars do wink.

What about you?

by The Nev (c)
07-17-06
Contact The Nev

James Blake