The legs on that man. I imagine Bill Tilden whistled this frequently, even on his way to dying when a stroke laid him flat and alone and with his tennis career nearing game-set-match. I think he said it about boys, which is creepy and troublesome, but part of his line of work. Tennis and boys. The things you think about while watching US Open Tennis. I’m into pudding slices tonight, and hating John McEnroe’s voice. The cheek of his guff grates and scrubs in my ears for three minutes before I press mute—perfect. Bill Tilden was perfect tennis. Not perfect like McEnroe, whose drop shots could be mistaken for beatitudes, or perfect like Bjorn Borg who, I imagine, Tilden would say—the legs on that man. Big Bill would give this new crop of tennis men with legs like that new names. Federer would be Tickle. Nadal, Goose. Murray, Bixed.  Djokovic, Feathered.  Tsonga, Stemmed. John McEnroe’s face has blurred my TV screen again, and I pray Mary Carrillo will spill his blood with a sturdy boat hook. Tickle will half smile, and Goose will adjust his selfish underwear. Bill Tilden is way past dead, but in the bleachers at the US Open he wears a Titleist cap and stares up at Johnny Mac—the legs on that man.

 

Cole U. Hamer’s work has been staged, published, and aired on the radio in the US and Israel. Cole loves serve and volley tennis and analyzing Fed Cup and Davis Cup matches.