Daily Archives: July 6, 2008

The Vamos Brigade: Wimbledon 2008

The Vamos Brigade: Wimbledon 2008

 

Well, ladies and gents, I called it. Five sets, two tie breakers with a Nadal win. Sorry Marie. :) Just be glad that you didn’t place any bets with me. Most amazing game that I’ve seen in a long, long time.

I’m going to write this post in Spanish for those of you who are my Spanish-speaking readers ;)

¡Qué incredible Rafa! Ganas el mejor premio en tenis. Eres el mejor tenista en arcilla. Y ahora en hierba. ¡Asombroso! Su pais le ama. Mallorca ahora está en el mapa. ¡Viva España! ¡Vamos Rafa!

If

If

This poem has been quoted to me on various occasions when I am sad, angry or not thinking clearly. Interestingly enough, part of it is etched on the Wimbledon Stadium. I highlighted the part that’s in Wimbledon.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same
;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

 

–Rudyard Kipling