So off we trotted for our second day of tennissss on Thursday knowing that another long day lay ahead of us because Rafa was scheduled as the fourth and final match of the day on Centre Court. Andy Murray was on first, followed by what looked like a very interesting match as Fer took on Jo-Wilfrid Tsonga, followed by the PoD and then finally ... Rafa.
First port of call was the very helpful lady at the Information Desk who last year told us exactly where Rafa was practising, and so it was as she did the same for us this year. We were told that Rafa was on Court 10 at 12 pm, but preceding him was the PoD who was to practice on the same court at 11 am. Now this court is right at the back of the Country Club and you're only able to view from a terrace and therefore you're looking down onto it. So we took up our positions there and were joined by the VB girls, so there was a lot of support around for Rafa.
But 11 am came and went and there was no sign of the PoD. Eventually, and nearly half and hour late, Doctor Frankenstein entered the court, followed by his charge. There then started some limbering up and he performed stretches that made me reminisce about a bendy toy that my baby brother had when he was little of Noddy, where we used to wrap his bendy legs around his neck and then try to make his bendy arms touch the bell on his bendy hat. But I digress ...
He also performed his dressage exercises for the un-interested crowd (accompanied by Dr Frankenstein which was a truly shocking sight) and then he began a light practice. He hadn't finished up by 12 pm, so when Rafa arrived for his practice slot and saw the court was still busy, he moved to the adjacent one ... and the crowd moved with him.
Word was that at this point, Djokovic was advised of his grandfather's passing. It is always terribly sad when you lose a loved family member, but it was a very public way to advise him of such news and I'll probably speak more of the subject in a later post. But the thing to remember is that Djokovic wasn't the victim in all of this. He had a choice. And his choice was to continue playing in the tournament. No-one forced him. It wasn't a big, brave thing ... it was his choice, so deal with it.
But back to Court 12 and Rafapractice. Now I'm afraid that this trip has made me incredibly jingoistic in that all the stereotypes you think of regarding our European cousins and the way we behave as British people were absolutely coming to the fore. We've had the queue jumping for the No. 100 bus, us muttering and moaning under our breath without actually doing anything about it, and then we have ... the Italians. Now Monte Carlo is just a hop, skip and a jump for them just up the coast and over the border, and the tournament has many of them in attendance. And with them, they bring their utter and bloody chaos.
Because Rafa had this late change of court, there was much jostling for positions, and never in your life have you seen such rudeness, elbowing, shoving people out of the way, their ENDLESS bloody chatter, and Rafan at one point was even used as a climbing frame from some little boy just so he could get a picture ... enabled by his own mother!! Utter madness. I kept myself apart from it because frankly, its not worth it. I mean ... I love Italy. I've travelled extensively all over the mainland, I love everything about it, and yes ... I wish they'd just shut the hell up from time to time, but somehow in the confines of their own country it seems, well ... "normal" ... but transfer it to a tennis club in so-called sophisticated Monaco and it transposes into nothing short of a rabble. But besides all that, Rafa's practice partner that day was Marc! And even though he still seemed to continue to be a Practice Grinch, having Marc! around is just such a good thing for Rafa because he seems to just push and cajole and take the mickey out of him till he can't do anything else than just break out into huge smiles and laughter. And an end-of-practice shirtless moment which I never got to see thanks to my Italian European cousins. Grazie bloody mille and no, that wasn't very "Grande!" ... grr.
It had started to rain just as Rafa was starting to finish up and after he left the court, we were treated to a massive downpour ... and that became the flavour of the day. Showers followed by blazing sunshine, followed by another shower, followed by The Windy ... do you get the picture? So for us it became an afternoon of down to the t-shirt, then cardie on, then brolley up, then brolly down, then fleece on, then fleece off, then sunhat on, then bring out the Factor 50, then brolley up, then fleece on, then coat on, then take it all off ... like a couple of boy scouts, go to Monte Carlo and "Be Prepared".
So what of the matches? Well, I'll just discuss the Spanish boys, starting with Fer.
What are we going to do with him? He was 40-0 up on Tsonga's serve in the first set ... and didn't break. He then led by 5-something in the tie-breaker ... and still lost it. So with the first set slipping out of his grasp, Fer did his usual thing of a total mental meltdown and before you knew it, the match was over. Fer was dressed in his god-awful Adidas get up of lime green and orange and after the match we saw his Dad. I do not even want to describe the truly HIDEOUS shell suit he was wearing. It had several Birkin bags creaking at their leather seams ...
We'd had a good few rain delay breaks during the afternoon, so it was getting late when Rafa finally came on to face Kukushkin. The weather really was playing its part now and we'd had a couple of thunder claps. But the biggest of which was saved for when Rafa was doing his warm-up when this ALMIGHTY thunder broke out to such an extent that scaredy old Rafa just crouched to his knees as if to try and escape it ... and the crowd broke out in a up-roar of laughter. He even had to see the funny side himself, and broke out into a laugh, but seriously ... that boy is such a dork! Hehe ...
The weather must have scared him into action though cos he was off the court in about an hour and a quarter with playing such actually lovely, quick and aggressive tennis, so that heartened us somewhat.
So it was time to make our way back to Nice, but it was getting so late by this time that Rafan had emailed her sister to check up on the time for the last bus for us. I'd decided that I must visit the Ladies before leaving and so joined the queue ... only for Rafan to come find me to tell me that the last bus for Nice left Menton at 8pm and it was this time already and we still had to do the massive uphill schlep to the bus stop. So I did a quick *cough* to check that the Tena-lady was working ;)and I left the queue as we did a high-tail as fast as we could up that hill to get the bus.
When we arrived in Nice, I was cold and hungry. Rafan was feeling decidedly queasy as although the journey back was quick as it was devoid of traffic, this had encouraged the bus driver to believe he was in his own little Grand Prix as he accelerated and braked his way through Monte Carlo and then continued in the same fashion on the windy coastal road back to Nice. But we decided that we'd just go to the local Italian restaurant near our apartment for a bite to eat ... thinking that a pizza and pasta joint would be amenable to us. Only we pushed open to the door to a room full of crisp, white tablecloths and a room full of people in very smart and elegant attire. So remember I discussed the two scarecrows from the the previous day? Well yes, we were ever the same and when we clapped eyes on the sophistication that greeted us, we did the honourable thing and just turned on our heels, went out of the door, and found some tourist joint that wouldn't mind catering for someone with VAMOS RAFA! written across her chest.
Hehe ... so what would quarter-finals day bring???
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