Records are meant to be Rogered

Y’all, I am a truly outstanding Roger Federer fan. Really, he couldn’t ask for a more committed, enthusiastic supporter, and I have been that for so many years now. I watch every possible match whilst wearing my official-from-his-website RF hat. I know that he and darling wife Mirka have two sets of twins, Myla and Charlene, Leo and Lenny. I feel that Roger has great hair, including the perfect amount of arm and leg hair, and lovely skin and incredible legs.

As you can see from the six recent examples below, I am not kidding about the extent of my fandom.

Roger is class incarnate, just champion AF. I once heard him say that in his early years on the pro tour, he would sometimes emote in peevish fashion, yelling, say, or thrashing his racket. Watching replays of his behavior embarrassed him, and so he cut it out and has since acted with elegance and grace as far as the eye can see. Would that everyone be so self aware and willing to work on themselves, including in small ways like changing a bad hairdo (see early Roger below; OMG, code red).

Roger has both temper and hair fully under control today, and he is a shining example of masterful sports psychology, self-containment, and on-court compartmentalization. As I pace, cringe, jump up and down, hide my face with my RF hat, talk to the cats, text friends who sympathize, post updates to Facebook as if it’s my only outlet, send Mirka vibes of strength and understanding from afar, and quietly wish bad things toward Rogie’s opponents, Roger is cool as a cucumber. I mean, in today’s Wimbledon semifinal against Rafael tic-master Nadal, Roger lost the second set so mortifyingly badly (6-1) that John McEnroe and Chris Fowler were nearly speechless. Which is saying a lot. They finally concurred with much brevity that it was the single worst set Roger has ever played at Wimbledon.

Did Roger freak out? No he did not. He came back and whipped out wins in both the 3rd and 4th sets to advance to the finals, Rafa picking at his nethers and obsessively aligning his water bottles all the while.



I mean seriously. I had to go work out after the match because I was a mess.

I actually made this during the match because Mirka, me too! I feel you! But, our man won.

I actually made this during the match because Mirka, me too! I feel you! But, our man won.

Meanwhile, the man is a month shy of 38 years old and is setting records left and right. In the quarterfinals earlier this week, Rog became the first player in history to win 100 matches at Wimbledon. He has won more Grand Slam singles titles -20- than any other male player and more Wimbledon championships -8- than any male peer, spent a record 302 weeks as the world ranked #1, and won a slew of sportsmanship and humanitarian awards. His eponymous foundation has invested nearly $30 million in education and children in Africa and Switzerland.

I love him. He’s a total dish.

Nanny and I always loved the same players. We were hardcore Sampras fans for years. YEARS. We called him Petey and cooed sweet nothings at the TV every time he played. Then came Roger and our adoration moved on. I still think of Nanny every time I watch Rog play (and also the way I used to mock how nervous my dad and grandfather would get during sporting events and now realize that I am exactly them), and I thought of her today. Send vibes for Sunday’s final, Nanny. It NEEDS to be Roger’s day. Novak “I look like an angry muppet” Djokovic has years more to play and win. Step aside, sir.

You know where I’ll be this Sunday! Breakfast at Wimbledon hoping Rogie rogers another record: becoming the first man to win 9 Wimbledon crowns.