Murray Miracle

To paraphrase a commonly used expression,
since the inferno has officially frozen over – you know, the place where Paganini and McEnroe trade stories of their devilish youths – it is now time to resume, after a leisurely pause, the joy of blogging. Yes, my friend(s), Andy Murray has actually won a Slam! It wouldn’t feel any more peculiar to learn that Mitt Romney had been raised in a slum or that Evgeny Kissin secretly has a repertoire of Jay Z transcriptions, which he plays with a baseball cap twisted on sideways. Thus after a slew of dashed hopes, oceans of tears, and flirtatious plot-line twists, Godot has finally arrived, and it does feel odd. Maybe he was waiting for just the right combination of Czech and Transylvanian coach to terrorize him… In case you’re wondering why Sir Murray is not appearing in the Slam count on the right-hand side, I am enforcing an arbitrary 2-Slam title minimum – not to mention that I fully expect to sneak out a Wimbledon consecration before he does (there is another one in a small Slovakian town that no one knows about…). Oh, and he won gold at the Olympics too! Ring bells, trumpets, shofars, cracked french horns…