Last Friday night, I sat on a plane to the West Coast and watched what turned out to be Andy Roddick’s penultimate career victory. Had the weather cleared a bit faster Wednesday, I could have seen the end of his final match on the return flight, but the remains of Isaac lingered in New York just long enough to make sure the match restarted and ended in the time it took us to get home from the airport. So my last true memory of Andy Roddick as a tennis player (because he is surely as destined for a commentating career as McEnroe) will be of him firing on all cylinders, reducing (with the partisan crowd’s help) his 19 year old opponent to near paralysis with his shot selection and wicked serve. It’s a nice companion to my other key memory of Roddick, the legendary Wimbledon final he lost to Federer.
In honor of the current fortnight of tennis being played, I thought I would do a review of my trip to Wimbledon last summer. I was lucky enough to be able to finally take my dream European vacation last July. One thing I knew when I started to plan my trip was that when I got to London, I was going to Wimbledon.
Ladies... 