I still have not forgiven Dominik Hrbaty for wearing this shirt

I didn’t see Lleyton Hewitt’s three-set disposal of Mathieu Montcourt in the French Open yesterday (and who the fuck is Mathieu Montcourt? do they just let random dudes with the Frenchest-sounding names play this tournament? did Pepe le Pew make it to the second round?) and so was forced to read about it on various websites, read about his gutsy effort and his injured ankle and the never-say-die Hewitt approach blah blah bliggety blah.

Like most civilized people, I despise Lleyton Hewitt. A stupid Australian frat-boy lunkhead who is one of the primary 21st century torchbearers of the backwards-baseball-cap-on-the-tennis-court-I’m-an-idiot look, a man who once had the audacity to suggest ON THE COURT that a black linesman was unfairly skewing his calls in favor of James Blake (who is of mixed race) because of their unspoken racial conspiracy, a man who is reputed to watch Rocky IV for inspiration before his biggest matches (none of the first three, evidently, pass muster with Herr Hewitt) and on and on and on, oh there are so many reasons to dislike him there should be a secret society devoted just to disliking him.

But on looking at my draw this morning, and seeing that he had advanced to the third round to face the Slovakian Slaya, aka Dominik Hrbaty, I realized I had a big problem on my hands. Because as a sworn oath, sworn to my British friend Andrew Bampfield who believes that Hewitt’s stupidity is so massive as to be actually dangerous to the precarious world order, I NEVER root for Lleyton Hewitt to win a tennis match anywhere, at any time.

And yet, as I mentioned in my title, I still have not forgiven Dominik Hrbaty for wearing this shirt.

I think that Hrbaty (pronounced “Her Body,” which maybe should have clued us all off to something a long time ago) first debuted his pink and black atrocity at last year’s U.S. Open. It caused quite a stir. The coquettish holes at the shoulder blades. The pink, for chrissake, pink and black spandex I think, god it hurts just to type that. It was so eurotrash, so clueless sporty housewife meets “now is the time on Sprockets when we dance,” so ugly and weaselly and… I just can’t believe he got away with it. I mean, yes the Tennis Center up in Flushing is a white-collar affair, 18 dollars for a burrito, etc. etc., but still, it is in QUEENS. People over there don’t stand for much bullshit. You don’t just be walking around Queens in a shirt like that, even if you are playing tennis or doing some other similarly wuss-type crap. Arthur Ashe Stadium or not, personally I would not wear that shit outdoors in Queens unless I was seriously strapped and knew kung fu.

So, my point is… look I’m not actively rooting for Hewitt. But I’d rather he won than Hrbaty. The whole thing about that shirt is still bothering me. Plus, whoever wins gets Nadal in the fourth round anyway, and if one of these two is in for that kind of a bitch-slapping, I’d rather Hewitt be the recipient. It is what it is. Forgive me Mr. Bampfield, wherever you are.