Rafa, Rafa, Rafa, Rafa, Rafa, Rafa, Rafa, Rafa!
8 times Rafa...
The only man to win the same major 8 times...
But it was a foregone conclusion after Friday’s match against Novak Djokovic, right? I was watching -- and screaming -- at work. As soon as he hit that shot between the legs, everyone had to know it was over. Rafa was destined.
As you know, if you’ve been reading my blog all these years, Rafa is my boy. And, yes, because he’s so fragile. All those rituals, those are the rituals of a player who has to beat himself every time. You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? He is a MESS. He is a mental mess. And...yet...he’s not. The self doubt he’ll never conquer. It’s how he controls it that’s fascinating. Apparently by adjusting his socks and shirt and bouncing his balls on his racquet an exact number of times, and rubbing his nose now and again. As a student of superstition myself, often crippled by it, I can’t help but adore him.
Here’s Rafa winning the French Open on Sunday and then celebrating at Euro Disney today. God he is cute. I keep telling my cousin Cat, who is obsessed with him, to name her baby Rafael, no matter what the sex, but her husband cut his throat at the idea. Really, Dex. What is your problem?