There is still much we don't know about L'Affaire Tiger Woods, and new information continues to come out. But the real question is: who will people compare Roger Federer to now?!
Those Tiger comparisons take on a different echo these days, don't they? (Digression: probably the more left unsaid about Tiger the better, but can we agree that "Kobe special" is a tremendous contribution to the cultural lexicon?)

Most people view Roger Federer as the embodiment of Swiss precision and neutrality, but you've noted otherwise. What's his real deal? (Which reminds me: is Pete Sampras as bland as we think?)
The great blessing/curse of tennis: the quotient for "colorful" (often a euphemism for batshit crazy) athletes is staggeringly high. So when a player comes along who doesn't project neurosis, go through rehab, have the Williams family backstory or Mike Agassi for a dad, reflexively we label them "boring." Federer is hardly boring; engaging guy, good sense of humor, speaks five languages. Watch this recent YouTube clip and it undercuts the "boring" label.

Even if Tiger Woods had the capacity for this, I suspect his agents would have confiscated the footage. I always say that if Federer were from Grand Rapids or Tulsa and weren't Swiss, he'd be a national hero on a par with Jordan and Lance Armstrong.

[Ed.: Note the suspicious silence on Sampras!]

Your book revolves around a single match: the 2008 Wimbledon final in which Rafael Nadal beat Federer in five long sets, 6-4, 6-4, 6-7(5), 6-7(8), 9-7. At the time, you wrote on SI.com: "I'm going unequivocal on this one: the 2008 Wimbledon men's final was THE greatest match of all-time. Period." Does that still stand?
I think so. It was one versus two. In the Wimbledon final. With all sorts of implications. Then the match had all the "Classic sporting event elements": skill, courage, self-sufficiency, sportsmanship, grace, gallantry, poise, intelligence, humility, injury, recovery, swaying momentum, etc. Selfishly, I had a scare this year when Federer beat Roddick in the Wimbledon final in another classic. I think the moral of the story: think hard before including a superlative in a book title.

Can Andy Roddick rise again? Your co-panelist from your recent book reading, Deadspin's own Will Leitch, thinks not. What's your outlook?
Damn, Will. That's another fellow-Midwesterner you're trashing. I think Will basically got it right: Roddick had the misfortune of being born within a few years of Federer and Nadal. And while he tries like hell, his game is a level down. But you sense the field is opening up a bit now. And here's the thing about tennis: you only to need to win seven matches to take a big prize. Start grooving your serve for two weeks and — presto — you're a Grand Slam champ. As a friendly wager — no tattoos — I'd bet Will that Roddick walks off with another Major before he's through.

[Ed.: I presume this means other stakes remain fair game. Your move, Mr. Emeritus.]

This is Katie Baker, btw.

jonstennistweet [Twitter]

A time when roughneck New Yorkers shift their sports attention away from Jets preseason, Joba Chamberlain pitch counts and the New York Mets Wing of Hospital for Special Surgery to a little tennis tournament in Queens, where they have no choice but to care about things like Rafael Nadal's knees, swarming Serbians and Juan Martin Del Potro. Andre Agassi is to be honored during a ceremony on opening night, but there's plenty of fodder beyond the return of the Day-Glo one. Here are nine story lines to keep a (hawk) eye on during the Open this year:

Federer.
Can anyone honestly stop Roger Federer? After a tearful loss to Nadal in the Australian Open final, the Swiss swordsman won the French Open (without having to beat Nadal), Wimbledon (without having to beat Nadal) and watched his (ahem) top seed produce a pair of twins with his wife Mirka (also without having to beat Nadal). He even won a tuneup in Cincinnati. Barring an upset-or a legitimately healthy Nadal-Federer will probably NetJet to his record 16th major title. And, of course, cry about it.

Nadal.
For a guy as fit as Rafael Nadal, his knees are a bit like Dick Cheney's. After a shocking loss in Paris and pulling out of Wimbledon, he has proclaimed them tendinitis-free for the hardcourts of Flushing. His draw, though, won't do them any favors, with Richard Gasquet — the tireless Frenchman who tested for positive for cocaine in Miami earlier this year but avoided a ban by claiming he must have ingested it by kissing a girl at a rave — awaiting the Majorcan matador in the first round. A quarterfinal match with Andy Murray, who unseated Nadal as the world's No. 2, would follow.

Roddick.
It's been more than five years since he won the U.S. Open. And after his marriage to Sports Illustrated swimsuit model (and Deadspin favorite) Brooklyn Decker earlier this year, the obvious question surrounding Andy Roddick was a simple one: Would he get complacent, now that he had this waiting for him in the players' box? Roddick answered that rather sufficiently during another epic, five-set-plus Wimbledon final. Until there's a little Roddecker in the oven, expect a Stifler-like focus, especially in New York, where his hard serve works best.

Sharapova.
After being saddled by arthroscopic shoulder surgery and rehab (oh, and a new line of signature Cole Haan handbags!) Maria Sharapova is back with a new, Roddick-like service motion. And it hasn't exactly worked. She reached the final in Toronto despite amassing more than 50 double faults (he former coach called the new serve "atrocious, plain atrocious"). On Sharapova's side of the women's draw, however, are six names ending in "ova" (Tsvetlana Pironkova, anyone?) not including hers.

The Williamses.
Television, inexplicably, loves it when Miami Dolphins-owning sisters Venus and Serena Williams play each other. The rest of us, however, have had enough — as it tends to produce some of the least compelling tennis this side of a Billie Jean King exhibition. And even when they do, they can be equally annoying in their corporate self-awareness (after beating Venus in the Wimbledon final, for instance, Serena called it her "G Moment.") Luckily they're on the same side of the draw, so if they do meet, it won't be in a final.

The McEnroes.
For the first time in ages, the Open won't be carried by the USA network — which hopefully means tennis fans won't be subject to a mid-night match channel switch as in previous years. It also means that John McEnroe, tennis' de facto commissioner (in many ways, the U.S. Open is the McEnroe Open), will be joining his brother Patrick in the ESPN broadcast booth. Which should be refreshing — both are relatively outspoken, P-Mac slightly less so — provided you can differentiate between their voices. One way to tell: John will be the one criticizing James Blake, a member of Patrick's U.S. Davis Cup team, during his perennial early exit.

Clijsters.
Kim Clijsters, who retijred in 2007, announced in April that she was comijng out of retijrement. The 25-year-old Belgijan will make her rejturn from hijatus in Queens. "I stijll have that craving," Clijsters said recently. "I look forwajrd to the chjallenge." Clijsters would face Venus in the fjourth round.

Hawk-Eye.
Forget the bean bags. Tennis has the best challenge system in major professional sports, hands down. Hawk-Eye, the camera-powered triangulation system that determines the position of the ball on the court, has revolutionized the sport (it beats the hell out of Cyclops-remember that bleeping thing?). Sure, some players, like Federer and Roddick, have complained it doesn't always work right. And sure, it makes the prospects of a McEnroe-like outburst less and less likely. But watching the replay along with the players on the Jumbotron during a crucial point in a match is sure as hell entertaining.

The Bondarenko Sisters.
Trust me on this one. For those of you Deadspin readers who watch tennis solely for the, uh, display of skills, look no further than Alona and Kateryna Bondarenko, a pair of dewy, deliciously toned sisters from the Ukraine. If you happen to get out to the Open, check them out up close on a side court, before their collective tan forces tournament organizers to put them on Arthur Ashe stadium in primetime.

Deadspin at the Open.
Speaking of which, Deadspin (er, me, resident Deucebag) will be out at the Open during the first week of the fortnight. If you're going, feel free to ping me at dylanstableford [AT] gmail [DOT] com or on Twitter (twitter.com/stableford) and we can grab what I'm sure will be a reasonably-priced beer. First one's on you!

That's the backbone of Gorney's epic, sprawling profile of Nadal — which couldn't have hit newsstands at a better time, with his withdrawing from Wimbledon on Friday, even if it's actually just a big cover-up and he's already won it.

But before you get all psyched out about reading many, many words, here's one thing to think about.

With this story, The Times Magazine — and its Play, R.I.P. — has published two of the finest long-form profiles of Nadal and Roger Federer. What's more, the authors of the profiles (Gorney, a creative writing professor, and the late David Foster Wallace, he of no further introduction), are not sportswriters but writer's writers.

And those running a sports magazine could take yet another hint from this type of standard: Sometimes, it pays to turn your pages over to outsiders. Not all the time, mind you, but sometimes, for a fresh take. They might not know anything about sports — still, DFW did — but they can make sentences cha-cha real smooth. Or squirt a variety of juices in your face.

That's what matters most.

Ripped. (Or Torn Up?) [New York Times Magazine]
Roger Federer As Religious Experience [Play]

Swinging his arms wildly and taking practice strokes in the locker room just a few feet from Roger Federer's head, Rafael Nadal cut the classic figure of a warrior preparing for battle. He had just taken a cold shower and now, with his sympathetic nervous system kicking into high gear, Nadal was in fight-or-flight mode. His heart-rate jackhammering, stress hormones coursing through his body, his pupils enlarged, he stretched and paced and pissed, making sure his urine was clear and odorless, an indication that his body was properly hydrated. Even when he tried to conserve some energy, he fiddled with the tight bands of tape below his knees, worn to prevent the patellar tendonitis that has bothered him in the past. As if afflicted with low-grade OCD, he riffled through his swollen racket bag again and again. Another "ritual," he lowered and elevated his socks until they were precisely the same height. Sitting nearby, Nadal's Uncle and coach, Toni Nadal, offered motivation in intense staccato bursts. "There is no such word as ‘cannot.'"… "Do what you have to do."…. "Obligations are obligations."

At around 2:15 p.m., half an hour after their initial estimated departure time, Federer and Nadal were advised that the sky, though still inky, had stopped spitting raindrops and the "tarp tent" protecting Centre Court from the moisture, was being deflated and disassembled. Federer and Nadal walked out of the locker room, wended down a long, carpeted hallway and slowly descended a set of stairs leading to the court. With Nadal walking ten feet ahead, they both passed a photograph of Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe's Wimbledon final in 1980, the match against which all other tennis clashes are judged.

Here again, the Federer-Nadal differences were italicized and in boldfaced. Having outgrown the cream, gild-trimmed Great Gatsby blazer he'd worn without irony (and, miraculously, pulled off without mockery) in past years, Federer was now clad in a cream, gold-trimmed cardigan straight out of Brideshead Revisited-conservative attire that represented a sense of respect and history. The sweater, made by Nike, retailed at the Wimbledon gift shop for the larcenous price of £260, and only 230 had been produced, an inventory made to correspond with the 230 consecutive weeks Federer had spent ranked No.1.

Nadal, who would sooner wear a grass skirt than a $500 cardigan sweater, donned a white warm-up. Federer wore classic tennis shorts cinched with a belt; Nadal wore his customary clamdiggers that sagged below his knees, no belt required. Federer's ration of hair was carefully styled, while Nadal's simply draped down his olive-skinned neck. They both wore Nike headbands and white Nike socks that poked out of white Nike shoes.

Just before walking on the court, they endured a pre-match interview, an excruciating drill that requires players to offer a sound-bite or two on a match yet to be played. The "host networks" have negotiated this access as a condition of their hefty t.v. rights fee, and the players, lacking as they are in a real union, are forced to abide it. Still in their mental spaces, the players clearly resent this intrusion and usually offer a banquet of clichés. It should be a good match. Winning the first set will be key. I need to serve well. I'm going to try my best and we'll see what happens.

Yet even these hollow phrases can be pregnant with meaning. When Federer stood before the interviewer, he remarked, "I feel good [but] it might be a tough day with the rain and everything and a tough opponent so it should be interesting," betraying what sports shrinks call "negative mental hygiene." When Nadal was asked a similar question about the rain delay and the inauspicious forecast, he rocked his head from side to side and shrugged, his default gesture. In his thick accent, he said softly, "The rain is for both [of us] so no problems. I just accept the weather conditions and I just play."
A veteran of the finals choreography, Federer went directly to the net for the ceremonial coin flip, where a local child, often one with a chronic illness, is summoned to play a small role in the match, helping to determine which player serves first. In this case, Blair Manns, a thirteen-year-old Macaulay Culkin look-alike from Gloucester, who suffers from pulmonary disease had the honors. He represented the British Lung Foundation. In addition to scoring an autographed poster of the finalists he and his folks also received choice tickets for the match. Now Blair and Federer stood at the net. "Are you going to enjoy the match today?" Federer asked amiably. The kid nodded, too nervous to keep the conversation going.

The two were joined by Pascal Maria, the chair umpire for the match, and by the tournament referee, Andrew Jarrett. The quartet waited…and waited…and waited. Nadal sat at his chair, sipping Evian, chewing on an energy bar, folding his sweats and then indulging his longtime ritual of sipping from each of two bottles of water, one colder than the other, and then fastidiously arranging the bottles just so with the labels pointed outward toward the side of the court he'll next assume. (And to think: Federer is usually cast as the anal one.) Impatience transparent on his face, Federer rocked back and forth and took a few practice swings near the net. Surely this affronted his sense of Swiss punctuality. The match had already been postponed by rain and the forecast was grim; why was Nadal taking his sweet time? Nadal seemed not to share the same sense of occasion; and clearly this was part of Federer's annoyance. According to a member of the Nadal entourage, in the players' box Federer's girlfriend, Mirka Vavrinec, watched the Spaniard's dallying and muttered, "Oh, come on."

After a full minute of self-indulgence, Nadal trotted to the net. Having shed his warm-ups, he wore a sleeveless white tank top. It was made of "wicking" microfibers that served the dual function of displacing his copious sweat and accentuating his propane tanks for biceps. Perhaps flustered by the delay, young Blair Manns tossed the coin without asking either player to call it in midair. Jarrett intercepted the coin. Nervous smiles all around, Blair flipped it again. This time Federer correctly predicted "heads," entitling him to serve first. But really it was beside the point. They had yet to strike the first ball and already, intentionally or not, Nadal had struck a psychological blow.

Federer and Nadal then stood together for a ceremonial photo and, like fighters touching gloves before a bout, tapped rackets. As Federer demurely walked away to begin the five-minute warm-up, Nadal turned and bolted from the net to the baseline in the manner of a giddy young bull. Running low to the ground, he performed a quick split step and then jogged along the baseline. Though Nadal dismisses this as still another ritual, it functions as still one more psychological salvo. Message: pack a lunch hombre, because I'm going to be coming for you all day.

Even in his warm-up, Federer is the picture of seamless efficiency. There's virtually no wasted movement. Like all great athletes, he has a natural mind-body connection. Whatever his brain imagines, his body executes. Clearly eager to start the match, Federer glanced several times at the courtside clock. He hit a few of his practice serves while standing inside the baseline. On the other end of the court, Nadal was all exertion. He thrust and pounded and unfurled his left-handed sidewinding strokes, punctuating his shots-his practice shots-with a fwwwwuuumph. Already his white tank top was irrigated with sweat.

It was 14:35 GMT when the warm-up ended and Pascal Maria, the high priest in the umpire's chair, intoned, "Ready. Play."

And did they ever.

Strokes Of Genius [Amazon]

TOP Photo: Ian Walton/Getty Images

In an essay for Slate, Huan Hsu recommends that the USTA halt its implementation of a fancy-schmancy player development system and instead, invest in what precedent has proven successful: crazy tennis parents. The nuttier, the better. Find people like Richard Williams, who hid his wife's birth control pills, and Jim Pierce, he of "Kill the bitch!" and Mike Agassi, who dangled tennis balls over poor Andre in the crib. There's something about obsession that makes a tennis player particularly valuable, and when the tennisista is too young to understand how deeply he must crave championships, parents can instill that passion.

There are plenty of perfectly batty parents overseas — Damir Dokic, in particular, comes to mind — but, for whatever reason, their lunacy doesn't necessarily result in greatness. After all, there are really only two players in tennis that matter. Neither is American, and neither has parents who threaten to drop a nuclear bomb on their home cities — or, you know, anything like that.

Why insane parents are the only way to end America's tennis draught [Slate]

Federer broke down in tears during his post-match speech probably because he played tennis as well as any one on the planet can for five sets—7-5, 3-6, 7-6, 3-6, 6-2—but it still was not enough. He had a great tournament and a great final match, but Nadal was just a little bit stronger. It was his fifth straight win over Federer, a streak that includes three Grand Slam finals and pretty much ending any lingering arguments about who is the best.

So that's how the day and the month begins. Let me check the schedule and see if anything else is happening today ... hmmm ... not seeing anything here, but I'm sure something will come up. More to come...

[Bloomberg]

While yesterday's matches featured a bit more off-the-court action than organizers had hoped for, what with the chair-throwing mini-riot and the free-range wang-danglers, today attention was focused back on the tennis. Number one-seeded Nadal dusted off Tammy Haas in straight sets, while the fourth-seeded Murray did the same to Jurgen Melzer. The two are still on track to square off in the semis, in just the latest incarnation of that classic Spanish-Scottish rivalry.

Meanwhile, on the women's side, Serena Williams easily knocked off China's Peng Shuai (U-S-A! U-S-A!) to keep her quest for a tenth Grand Slam title on track. Serena also bravely shared her recollection of the disturbing events from her previous match:

I noticed he didn't have underwear on. I thought, 'OK, I must be seeing things.' Then I just thought, 'my eyes, my innocent eyes'

Friggin' Australians, traumatizing innocent North American athletes. Just for that, I'm deleting Flight of the Conchords from my "Scheduled Recordings" list.

Nadal, Murray dominate at Australian Open [AP]

This from Machochip:

The two have been dating for quite some time now, making their romance public two years ago when the lovely vixen was 18 years old (you sly dog, Nadal). She was at Nadal’s side during his streak-severing winning performance against five-time Wimbledon champ Roger Federer yesterday and now the world will know about her.

This is a big deal in Spain, evidently. More photos here.

Shwing! Meet Rafael Nadal's Secret Girlfriend: Maria Francesca "Xisca" Perello [Machochip]
Rafael Nadal Has It All: Muscles, Wimbledon Trophy And A Secret Girlfriend Named Maria Francisa Perello [Guanabee]

Brough Scott, from the Telegraph UK, was a bit more dignified and chose to go all Wordsworth on everyone's asses:

• "It ended in darkness but the pair of them had given us a blazing, eternal light. No sport, no playwright, has conjured up such magical theatre as those last three games as Rafa finally found his moment and threw himself triumphantly back on to the dew-gathering Wimbledon turf."

The NY Times' William Rhoden got into the act as well, dubbing Nadal "the muscled young prince" and then ended his essay with this statement:

•On this rainy, gusty Sunday afternoon, then evening, a young man had grown, in stature and legend.

Rafael Nadal, the prince, had become Wimbledon’s king.

It should be noted, however, that Rhoden, on assignment to cover the event in some capacity, didn't see the ending in person. No, he left the FUCKING FINALS MATCH AFTER TWO SETS TO GO SEE FUCKING "Hancock."

• More Britishisms. This time from William Hill gambling parlor spokesman Graham Sharpe:

"What you have here are two players at the peak of their powers and popularity. "They are almost a tennis soap opera - traditional Federer appeals to the mums and dads with his cardigan, and Nadal is the modern sex symbol, appealing to kids with his sleeveless vests."

The kids do love those sleeveless vests. That and their noisy rock and roll music.

• The blog "The Millions" paid tribute to yesterday's match by referencing David Foster Wallace's genius NY Times magazine essay "Federer As Religious Experience", in an effort better emphasize all that television spectators missed out on yesterday.

At least not entirely. TV tennis has its advantages, but these advantages have disadvantages, and chief among them is a certain illusion of intimacy. Television's slow-mo replays, its close-ups and graphics, all so privilege viewers that we're not even aware of how much is lost in broadcast. And a large part of what's lost is the sheer physicality of top tennis, a sense of the speeds at which the ball is moving and the players are reacting.

If he watched yesterday, Wallace could easily pump out 14,000 words on Federer vs. Nadal 2008. Maybe even without footnotes.

John McEnroe Hails Rafael Nadal victory as Greatest Match Ever [Telegraph UK]

A battle of wills that takes the game to a new level [Telegraph UK]

Rafael Nadal As Religious Experience [The Millions]

Rafael Nadal seemingly had won the 2008 Wiimbledon championship at three different moments during the epic nearly 5 hour match against Roger Federer. After two rain delays, two tiebreaker sets, and a final set sudden death where both he and Roger just sucked the life out of each other, it appeared at one point this match would never end — and that wouldn't have been a bad thing. It was the longest Wimbledon match in history and it's tough to imagine a better one will ever be played between two rivals at the top of their game.

Wimbledon officials were only going to allow it to go until 9:30 at night and as the last flickers of sunlight began to disappear at Centre Court, Rafael Nadal finally broke through and beat Federer 9-7 to win his first Wimbledon championship.

Dylan Stableford, resident tennis deuce-dropper at Deadspin, volunteered to live blog it this morning. But with the temperamental programming issues Gawker IT's experienced the past week, it didn't seem feasible and would've probably been more trouble than it was worth. Also, if he had live-blogged this event, it would've been at least 11,000 words.

Unfortunately, highlights won't do this Wimbleldon justice. If you watched it live, you should feel fortunate that you witnessed a match that will be talked about for years to come.

See you tomorrow.

Federer/Nadal Liveblog [Yahoo! Euro]

Nadal beats Federer in grueling five-set final [Independent UK]

Nadal Dethrones Federer In Classic Battle [AP]

It is the French Open final (right now) and it involves Federer's nemesis, Rafael Nadal, who has mastered not just clay surfaces but a basic tenet of competition when you face a virtual monopoly, as Federer is in tennis:

Pick something very specific to do slightly better than the dominant player. You won't win all the time, but you will win SOME of the time. And in the Federer Era, that's all you can hope for.

Still, there's no question: On clay, Nadal owns Federer's ass. You just know it irks Roger to no end, because Nadal is the only thing standing between him and not just one Grand Slam, but "Glutton-at-Denny's" proportions.

That's why this morning's French Open men's final qualifies as one of those "If you watch one tennis match all year..." events:

Arguably the most dominant athlete in the world, trying to finally beat back the one-trick pony lined up between him and true immortality.
— D.S.

UPDATE: Nadal crushes Federer in 4 sets. The agony continues.

Roger vs. Rafa [Official French Open site]

What began as an exhibition became a spirited contest as the world's two best players slugged it out on Nadal's home island of Mallorca, with the 20-year-old world No 2 eventually beating the No 1 7-5 4-6 7-6 (12/10). Nadal enjoyed the match, even though he had doubted the idea.

We would like to see this taken a step further, of course, and see the next match played in two different countries, with the border being the net. A match between the U.S. and Mexico would be fun, although Lou Dobbs wouldn't allow the winner to hop over the net.

A Game Of Two Halves [Times Online]

Annoying. I usually don't take sides in matters of tennis, but if Federer starts winning these, he has a chance to go down as the greatest ever. Nadal, on the other hand, if he keeps winning these, has a chance to go down as "that trophy-eating guy in capri pants who Federer couldn't beat on clay." That's not as awe-inspiring.

The French Open is May 28th. Get to work, Federer. Either on your clay court game, or on finding someone to leadpipe this little bastard's knee.

Nadal tops Federer to win third straight Monte Carlo title [The Sports Network]

But, if anything, it'll be nice to watch these two battle it out over the next few years. And the post-match interview with Rafael Nadal is on now and I'm not saying a damn word about it. So there.

Wimbledon Coverage [Deadspin]

"I want to win, for sure," Nadal said. "But not for that reason because I gonna win, because is his best surface. He is the best in this surface, for sure, no doubt. He is the favorite by far."

Still, the relentless Nadal says he will give Federer everything he has, which has worked well for him up to now - much to the chagrin of the world's top player.

"I gonna try my best always, no? I gonna try my best," Nadal said. "I gonna need play my best match in my life for try the victory, so I gonna try that."

Seriously, were his quotes run through a Babel Fish dictaphone? 4-year-old autistic kids doing a Yoda impersonation come off more articulate than that.

Anyway, here's a nice little rundown of some Wimbledon pregame stuff to enjoy with your morning coffee, paper, and wood. Go Nadal.
Federer-Nadal Potent One-Two Punch [WaPo]
Nadal Won't Be Easy to Take Out on Grass [ESPN]
Federer Has the Edge [Yahoo Sports]
Wimbledon Finals Preview [Tennis With Attitude]
Wimbledon Finals Coverage [Off the Baseline]

However, all you fellas who love broad-shouldered gals will be happy to know that Amelie Mauresmo grunted her way to victory over Justine Henin-Hardenne 2-6, 6-3, 6-4, to become the woman's champ.

But, this is a great opportunity to prepare for tomorrow's battle of the greasy hairdo men's final between defending Wimbledon champ Roger Federer and French Open champion Rafael Nadal. Even if you dont like tennis, strawberries, or the color white, this is a match you'd be in the best interest to watch. But don't let me tell you that, let former tennis champ Mats Wilander sum it up for you as bluntly as possible:

Rafael has the one thing that Roger doesn't: balls. I don't even think Rafael has two; I think he has three....Roger might have them, but against Nadal they shrink to a very small size and it's not once. It's every time.

So, if anything, be sure to pay special attention to both player's shorts tomorrow. I wonder if Nadal's extra-large peach basket will slow him down?

Nadal-Federer [The Airing of Grievances]

I was a little disappointed. I wanted five sets, and honestly, I wanted Federer to win. It looked like he was completely dead halfway through the fourth set, but he fought back, which is rare for a Swiss guy. He forced a tiebreaker, but he just never seemed to find his groove. He had a lot of unforced errors, and Nadal, of course, was great. But I just can't support a guy who wears his sister's pants. I'm sorry. It bothers me.

It's 60 straight wins on clay for Rafa, and he's now 6-1 all-time against Federer, both of which are freakin' mind-boggling. And we'll see at Wimbledon and the U.S. Open if he can translate that level of play to any other surface.

Nadal topples Federer for French Open crown [ontennis.com]

She also reached the final of the Australian Open earlier this year, and quit while in the middle of getting pounded by Amélie Mauresmo. And she took a beating in the press for it, too, so hey, a little bit of redemption for her. Hopefully, she found Bud Collins somewhere and said something mean to him in French.

Tomorrow morning, meanwhile, is the men's final, pitting world #1 Roger Federer against #2 Rafael Nadal, or, as I like to call it, the only men's tennis matchup really worth watching. Nadal's won 16 titles in his career, 12 of them on clay surfaces. And three of his last four victories in finals have come against Roger Federer. He's 5-1 against Federer all-time, which is incredible. And even more amazing, he's done it all in capri pants.

Henin-Hardenne took the queasy way out [Boston.com]
Henin-Hardenne Wins 3rd French Open Title [Washington Post]
No. 1 vs. No. 2 When Federer and Nadal Meet [NY Times]

Nadal had a banana between games, and a piece got stuck in his throat. He inexplicably re-took the court with the banana still in his throat, and a couple of points later, rushed off the court, pointing at the troubled area. "I thought, I've got to stop because I don't want anything serious to happen. Never mind if I don't look good. (It was) not my fault."

You're right, it's not your fault. It's Kirk Cameron's fault for making bananas seem so goddamn perfect. That devious son of a bitch. And on a seperate note, Nadal is also blogging from the French Open at ATPtennis.com, putting in some long entries that actually kinda seem like he's writing them himself. Observe, from the June 1st entry:

I've been saying that I've been having breakfast but I haven't told you what I eat. Today I had a big bowl of cereal with milk and some bread and butter. To drink I had an orange juice and another orange juice.

If that's a ghostwriter, it's a bad one.

Nadal chokes on banana [Scotsman.com]
Rafael Nadal Player Blog [ATPtenis.com]