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"Last week, someone asked if I was Yankees or Mets. I&amp;apos;m a native New Yorker, and should have a ready answer for such an important question. I told them the truth, Mets all the way, despite the fact that I couldn&amp;apos;t name a single player on the team since Mookie Wilson. Pathetic? Sure. But I did not grow up in a baseball-loving household. The only sport I ever watched on television with my family was tennis.\r\n\r\nPete Sampras&amp;apos; giant tongue and Andre Agassi&amp;apos;s wig were the big topics of discussion. We loved Martina Navratilova and Steffi Graf and Monica Seles. Jim Courier was a dweeb and John McEnroe was the hothead, the most fun to watch, always. My mother played tennis a few times a week with her friends in the park, and my brother would be pressed into service at least a few times a summer. Everyone understood that I was useless at anything athletic and they left me alone.\r\nIn recent years, my family has fallen into two clear camps: Federer and Nadal. My mother favors the former, as steady and beautiful as a Swiss timepiece, whereas my husband and I favor the latter. I like Rafa so much that I wrote him into my novel in two different ways, not even counting the fact that the book takes place on Mallorca, where Nadal is from. The creepiest thing I did was turn Rafa into a Spanish tutor and deliver him as a devirginating savior to my teenage heroine.\r\nWhat is it that I love about him? His face. His grunts. His wedgie-picking. I like that he&amp;apos;s coached by his uncle, and that he has a totally unguarded, sweet smile. I like his Facebook page, where he posts pictures of himself in his swimming pool with his entire family, as if that&amp;apos;s a normal thing to do. I like the slightly deer-in-headlights look he gets whenever he&amp;apos;s in front of a camera and not in motion with his racquet extended.\r\nThere are, of course, other likable tennis players. Novak Djokovic&amp;apos;s Ice Bucket Challenge video shows him dancing around to &amp;quot;Ice Ice Baby&amp;quot; before dousing himself, something that neither Federer nor Nadal would ever do. Tennis hasn&amp;apos;t seen a sense of humor since McEnroe! A few years ago, I was riveted by the endless Isner/Mahut match, and I was delighted to see that Lena Dunham and Andy Samberg are making an HBO mockumentary inspired by it. Maybe we&amp;apos;re on the cusp of something great, where people realize that it&amp;apos;s easier to pretend to be a tennis player than a junkie. I can see it now: Christian Bale gaining three pounds to play an aging star on the circuit.\r\nRafa Nadal just dropped out of the US Open due to a wrist injury. It makes me sad for him, unable to defend his title, but it also makes me sad for me. I&amp;apos;m 34 now, a mother myself, with less time to spend hours watching a tennis match. How many years is it before Rafa Nadal is my new Mookie Wilson, a symbol of how out of touch I am with the sport? A couple of years ago, I saw Nadal walking down the street in Manhattan during the Open, and he seemed so small, so human-sized. I prefer him on television, where his forearms are the size of my thighs. Rest up that wrist, Rafa. I&amp;apos;m not ready to give you up just yet.\r\nEmma Straub is a bestselling novelist. Her latest book, The Vacationers, is out now, and available everywhere books are sold. More information about the book can be found at www.emmastraub.net. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/features/requiem-for-rafa-preparing-for-a-us-open-without-nadal-20140825>