January 21, 2013
January 22, 2013
I just awoke from a delightful slumber. I thought my 7,000 thread-count sheets back home were nice, but nothing can quite compare the chinchilla fur comforter in my Royal Deluxe Superstar Celebrity Luxury Penthouse Suite. Like the soft kisses of my beloved, it is truly bliss in a blanket.
Chinchilla fur or not, it’s always easier to sleep after dismantling an opponent with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. But young Milos will have his day. At some point. Probably.
After the match, Jimmy C. yet again had the privilege of conducting my on-court interview. And, yes, I told a slight mistruth about the undershirt. While it does help keep my midsection warm and cozy, it’s the compression qualities that I’m really after. Mirka was right. It definitely minimizes my belly pooch.
Also in the interview, I joked about the size of my left arm. Truth is, it has long been an insecurity of mine. My one-handed backhand may be smoother than my hair after a good blowout, but my left side just hasn’t developed quite like my right. When I caught Serena staring at my baby arm recently, I knew it was time to take action.
There was only one thing to do: hire Sam Stosur as my bicep and forearm consultant.
I’ve tried my hardest to keep our new arrangement under wraps, but then I found this note in my locker:
Roger, please, please let me join you. You have one baby arm. Imagine having two! Sam may be my only hope.
Anxiously awaiting your response,
Clearly word has gotten out. I will not let that stop me. Workout no. 1 scheduled for this afternoon.
January 23, 2013 - Midday
It’s match day yet again. Jo-Willy is in my psychological crosshairs. I just lunched with Rod Laver who, I should note, also has a baby arm. And he owns it! I, on the other hand, was hoping for at least some increased vascularity after my first workout with Sam yesterday, but she cancelled our gym session at the last minute. Something about not being able to perform her best within a 1,000 mile radius of Australia. Indian Wells can’t come soon enough.
Roddy and I had a nice meal, and I, of course, kept things light with a match in just a few hours. Coincidentally, Lleyton was sitting a few tables over. It was so strange, though. He kept yelling, “Come On!” and throwing up some bizarre hand signal as the waiter delivered each successive course. He wouldn’t even let his wife speak to him as he ate. Love that guy. Such intensity!
My driver has arrived. Time to head to the courts. Black compression top tonight…stealth.
January 24, 2013 – 12:30 AM
Well, all that weight Jo-Willy lost has really done him some favors. And, it seems his new coach (fake hair alert!) has done some amazing things with his game over the last couple of months.
Ugh, people just don’t know how hard it is to sleep after a win like that. I just keep replaying the brilliant display in my head. Plus, Tiger keeps texting me.
TW: What up, my fellow GOAT!? Way to dominate!
RF: What did you expect?
TW: Haha touché! What u up 2 in Aussie land? Lovely ladies out there!
RF: Aw, Tigs, you know that’s not really my style.
TW: Come on bro! It’s morning here and the party lives on! #YOLO!
I’ve been a sex symbol for so long now that I don’t even notice the women anymore. It’s funny - people assume I have game, but I still have nightmares about guys on tour calling me “The Swiss Cheese.” Meanies! Didn’t stop me from nabbing Mirka anyway. Score!
And she’s waiting for me under that chinchilla fur comforter as we speak. Bonne nuit.
To read previous entries in Roger's diary, see here: "A Magical Journey Begins" and "Pretty in Pink."
Blair Henley is a tennis writer and a proud owner of a one-handed backhand. That, and her silky locks, are all she has in common with Roger Federer. Follow her on Twitter: @BlairHenley
(Photo Credit: Mark Peterson/Corleve)