Coaching Nadal

I was in Arthur Ashe Stadium, watching a semifinal match between Sharapova and Azarenka. My head swiveling left and right as the tennis match gets intense. Never realized how loud these ladies could be in a real game. A few seats below on my right was Olivia Wilde snuggling with his man Jason Sudeikis. Further below on my left was Jimmy Fallon and on the jumbotron they showed dimple-faced Dakota Fanning seated on the other side of the court eating away on some Twizzlers. During the break, I looked behind and noticed the great Rafael Nadal standing at the end of the aisle, just a few rows from where I was seated. Oddly enough, he was not attracting a crowd. I was feeling awkward but not exactly sure why. Maybe because I was not used to seeing too many celebrities, or because the bright lights were, well, too bright. Or maybe because the old lady beside me keeps on touchin’ my knee and I feel horny when she does it. Whatever it is, I can feel drops of sweat slowly descend down my face even when it was around 60 degrees that night.

It was the third set in favor of Sharapova, Azarenka serving. Crowd silent as hell. A woman from the very front row rose up, made her way thru seemingly irked fans and was walking up the steps towards me. She was pretty, probably a few inches taller than my 5’6 frame, blonde hair, blue eyes and donning an unmistakably Burberry ensemble.  On her way up, she stopped exactly in front of Row 8 Seat # 1, staring at the guy who was seated there. The guy obviously puzzled. Happens to be me. Suddenly this lady just laid down on my lap and put her arms around my neck. Our cheeks were so close to each other it was impossible to slide a piece of paper in between. Who the heck is this woman? And why is she going all PDA on me?? She starts talking and I immediately knew she was European because of her sexy accent. I really couldn’t figure out what she was saying entirely but I was not complaining. What’s weird was that not a single soul was paying attention to us. Everyone was just zoned into the game except one—Rafa.

Still clueless of what’s happening at the moment, this lady keeps giving Nadal the quick glimpses while all cuddly with me. Tired of the unknown (but not of the affection), I asked the lady who she was and why is she doin’ this. I found out that she was Nadal’s ex-girlfriend and she was trying to send Rafa a message. What the heck?? Is this lady insane? I am not gonna get in between you ex-lovers and eventually get beat up by a 6-foot tennis phenom in front of this celebrity-filled crowd. As I slowly try to shove her away, she plunged back into me and immediately gave me a really wet and seductive kiss. And like the sucker I am (the moment actually called for it), I kissed her back. Our lips were locked and for a while I felt there was a connection, almost The Notebook-like. It took me a minute (okay, maybe a few minutes) to realize that I’m potentially preparing myself for some ass-whoopin’. I looked at Nadal and surprisingly he was not budging. I can see his mixed expression of regret and anger but the guy was standing there like a statue. So my bonehead maneuver for the day was to approach him, which I did.

Nadal was relatively calm and I found myself just explaining to the dude what his ex was feeling and why she was using me as bait (Haha! Me as bait?? Never would've thought). As I blabber along, the reasoning started to become more of a lecturing and I knew I almost sounded like Dr. Phil at one point. Nadal was uneasy but restrained with on-and-off stares at his ex, who is now on my seat and staring back at Rafa. My mouth just couldn’t stop talking and I now was at Reverend Jackson-level where I could hear myself saying AMEN after each and every point I make. “Look Rafa! She was devastated when you broke up. You chose your career over her! This is her payback. And if you show her an inch that you are affected by her actions, then by golly she just got ace!” Then Nadal stopped moving, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “You are right!!!” then walked away. That’s right Rafa, walk away! Show this woman your nerves of steel. Feeling a little accomplished myself, I turned to Nadal’s ex to get some validation but she was already on her way to the exit. The crowd was already on their feet. Victoria Azarenka won the match. Then suddenly the lights went out, the entire place went pitch black. It was 4 in the morning and the only thing swiveling was the loud dusty fan in my room. I was awakened. All along it was a dream, an almost surreal dream. I felt a little drowsy and briefly in disarray, but that explains how I got expensive U.S. Open seats, the old lady on my left and how Nadal ended up having a blonde ex when he has been steadily dating Maria Francisca for almost a decade now. Bummer though that the making-out session was fictitious. I swear I was really well-groomed that night, curls and all LOL...

For a moment, I was coaching Nadal. Maybe not in the tennis field where he would’ve easily annihilated me, but a win is a win! And in my dream, the 13-time Grand Slam Champion was defeated. Haha! Rafa son, you just got schooled! :)