Year-end events are the pot-liquor of the ever-lengthening year, served up lukewarm to those of us who watch ALL of the tennis, when the worst elements of the pro tour combine in one last wringing-out of the tennis calendar: The China swing that wasn’t supposed to happen (see: Peng Shuai. Oh wait; you can’t). The hastily-organized WTA finals. Exhibition matches.
But come January, those of us who endured all that are gifted with the glory of the Summer Down Ummer (or the Sunder Down Under, if you prefer; pick one, but it has to rhyme). This is the month during which we in the northern hemisphere are most likely to be stuck indoors, looking for inspiration in whatever Tennis feeds us. And Tennis, thankfully, always lays out a smorgasbord. This year’s spread looks promising: Pickleball has its own cacophonous channel, Dimitrov is back, Osaka’s outfit is fire, and Andy Murray is crying again.
All is not right with the world, however, because the best reason to be upbeat at the beginning of a new tennis year is not the tennis. It’s not the bright, hot sun entering our pupils or the festival atmosphere surrounding Melbourne Park. It’s the Visit Melbourne ad.