The Sony Ericsson Open tennis matches were on the bar TV last night, but I couldn't be bothered from my intense trivia game to notice. ("A. No! ... B.") Kind of wished I had looked up from my pen and pad to watch a moment or two of the quarterfinals, because ish got really real.
Spaniard David Ferrer played American Mardy Fish (best name ever?), but David wasn't happy with his game. The Florida sun was blazing, his indigestion was acting up, and that damn baby in the stands wouldn't stop crying. So David did what we've all wished we could do sometimes, and lobbed a tennis ball at the bawling infant in the stands. Fore!
OK, so that's only a golf saying, but you know what I mean. The ball didn't come close to the baby, but it did stop crying. Win win?
It sounds really bad of him, but I can't say I haven't had the same thought when there's a crying baby on my plane, or in the infinite line at Trader Joe's, or at a nearby table at a restaurant. Of course the only thing I've ever done is roll my eyes, but had I had tennis ball, who knows. I kid!
I can forgive a crying baby, obviously. But what I can't get over is a whiny kid whose parents allowed the incessant begging and pleading in that grating tone that makes eardrums bleed. In my past life I flew from New York to Orlando (and you know what's in Orlando) on the regular for work, and I'll be darned if it wasn't a case study in parenting. There were times I could've pulled a David Ferrer had the opportunity presented itself.
Also, tennis spectators are shushed all the time. Same with golf. I can understand Ferrer's frustration. It'd be like someone coming into your office with a crying little one in their arms, asking you about the Q3 numbers, pretending like no one can hear the screaming nor feel the tears on their forearm. No one can work like that. Fore!
Can you relate to Ferrer at all?
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