The heat is on!

Not just metaphorically at the Australian Open this year. Consider that three consecutive days (or was it four?) the tournament officials thought it best to play under the safety of Salem steel. They better did that, because there was a very real chance that on Sunday a player or two could have collapsed on court. Even at 7pm it was oppressively hot, although very dry (thankfully), and it was almost as if someone was blowing flames in your face. I'm used to a bit of heat, but the last time I had to face anything of the kind was in the summer of 2002 in Kolkata. The heat isn't the thing, though, that has caused me grief. It's the fact that I couldn't get any tickets to the tennis itself, being late as I was. Tut, tut. There was the opportunity to pick up a ground pass and get some of the action on Margaret Court Arena or the show courts, but I'm glad I didn't. No, I'm not, but I'll use the heat excuse to console myself. Now there's only one resort, that fine online marketplace where you can get anything, although you're more likely to find Shane Warne's vomit than any finals tickets on sale at this stage of the open. Anyway. I still have a TV and it's all on free-to-air anyway. Thank goodness for that, 'cause my apt doesn't have anything but! Did I say this post was about tennis? In case you can't see, I'm sulking. - NK