It was a Shroud of Turin moment. Biblical in its spiritual proportions…
There I was, happily watching the world’s top clay courters slug it out on court Suzanne Lenglen, when all of a sudden, what should appear but a shadowy glimpse of the Guitar God of Rock n’ Roll.
Suddenly, Rafa and Ferrer were irrelevant. They were usurped by a higher power. Their grunts, antics, and sliding maneuvers couldn’t draw me away from the image.
It was an epic moment. Even better than this guy’s coming-to-Jesus moment when Jesus Christ appeared to him in spilt fabric softner on his t-shirt.
Maybe it had something to do with Prince bringing a supermodel and his scepter to Roland Garros on Monday.
Or maybe I was lazily dozing in a post-Subway dream state. (It was a really good foot-long meatball sub, by the way…)
More than likely, though, is that magical moments happen at Grand Slams. And it doesn’t always happen on the courts. Sometimes it’s IN the courts… Spooky, right?
Do you see him, too?