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Tag Archives: Carlos Alcaraz

Walking the grounds at Flushing during mixed-doubles time was an A+ way of avoiding most of the insanity that accompanies singles tourney play while still being able to see the stars. A grounds pass during the family-oriented days (I know) can be extremely affordable (free) if you know where to look for people who don’t particularly enjoy that there is a next generation, or at least people who openly do not enjoy their own releases while the genre’s popular[1].

Join the relevant servers, fan communities and message boards: this is now the way to not spend $1,000+ in a single day at a 7 train stop, provided you’ve got a full day off from work or, as was just relayed to some of us from people some of us had never heard of before and will likely never see again, do not have a job anymore. Nevertheless.

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One of my greatest weaknesses is an inability to remain calm; even when silent, my hands are shaking, or my feet are bouncing, or my eyes are darting. Because of the prolonged, unnecessary chaos happening in previously functional communities here and abroad, this is now my default state.

When the going gets tough, sometimes the going has to come to a complete stop. In a summer sponsored by atrocity, brought to you by the same people who convinced your bosses to lay you off or, better, yet, convinced you to get a STEM degree a decade ago before eliminating the sciences in favor of the bomb, it’s been a little difficult to focus on any one thing and even more so for the good.

Acknowledging all of that, though, means acknowledging the rest, the aforementioned good. The candle of joy, wherever and however possible, is now the daily pursuit of millions of us. Maybe we even shared in one of these instances.

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It’s pronounced FAY-der-er, by the way, and he wasn’t always like this. Early on, Roger Federer stylized himself as the tortured genius, that well-worn mentality many kids inhabit once they hit high school and discover Dylan, or Cudi, or Sondheim, or Swift, or whomever they think can better express their ideals than themselves.

His mother, Lynette, was a secretary in the South African office where his father worked for a time after university. Neither possessed particular athletic skill, nor were they disproportionately different in any way which may foreshadow a dynamo talent such as that of their son.

Of course, pharma money gets you a club membership, but that still doesn’t make you the greatest man ever to effortlessly walk a tennis court. On the occasion of Roger Federer’s impending retirement from professional tennis, which he announced Thursday morning via Instagram and elsewhere, and because he has mostly avoided competitive tennis for the past few years, we must look back.

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