SHORT FICTION | ZANY CLAYCOURT TALK

I am Stade Roland Garros

I am more important than the other grand slams

Photo by Armand Khoury on Unsplash

Yes, I’m a stadium housing the greatest Grand Slam of them all, don’t doubt me.

Sorbeez Antaliguy has tasted singles glory on my golden courts a staggering 14 times, if you ask me, he’s had some ‘assistance’ in the form of ‘whizzed fizzed Gatorade’ or whatever the kids call it these days.

Speaking of 14, this brings me to a most farcical occasion; the 2014 women’s finale between two soon-to-be-done dopers Simona Halep and Maria Sharapova.

What a scene that was, I told the officials these two were volleying with inhuman skill, deftly moving like gazelles overdosed on “trop de” pseudoephedrine tablets. French officialdom poo-pooed my claims and let these lasses duke it out Marvel-style.

In the post-final board meeting I raised my voice. I was right all along.

“How can a five-foot-nil Halep counter-punch backhands with such velocity and match the statuesque Sharapova in belting the felt off a tennis ball? And why is Maria sliding across my gritty clay in 0.14 seconds flat, top spinning screaming winners down the fuckin’ line?”