My search for Fabrice Santoro’s amazing 2nd round shirt (seen above) lead me to this pretty great (although awkwardly named) tennis blog, Corned Beef Hash Marks. Enjoy.

Galley Friend A.W. sends us this story which suggests that the WWE might be a little spooked:

World Wrestling Entertainment, under fire since one of its top stars was involved in a double-murder suicide, announced the suspension of 10 of its wrestlers on Thursday.

They are being suspended for violating the WWE’s “wellness policy.”

Why now? Because:

A spokesman for the House Energy & Commerce Committee said Thursday that its commerce subcommittee will be holding hearings into the WWE in late September. The aide said a witness list has not been finalized.

Also looking into the company is the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform.

Remember, you heard it here first.

I love Richard Gasquet. His game is so fluid and elegant that it’s probably the most aesthetically pleasing tennis on tour. I don’t know a ton about him, but I’m inclined to like Donald Young because his game looks uncommonly graceful, too. A lot, in fact, like Gasquet’s. So you can imagine how interesting their second-round match-up today at the Open looked.

Except that Gasquet didn’t show. He called out sick.

I know nothing about the circumstances here, USA was reporting it as fever and sore throat. Maybe it was a lot worse than that. Maybe he was really, really miserable. Or has a pretty serious illness. Lord knows I’m terrible when I’m sick. Just miserable.

But this is the U.S. Open. That’s why Rafa Nadal strapped it on to play yesterday despite having knee surgery the day before. Gasquet is one of the elite players, one of the few who has a chance to win a major. What’s French for, “Lean into it, big guy.”

Whoa. Follow the link and then use the George Bush info Film Drunk gives you to get past the age verification and then strap yourself to a damn chair.

So here I am rhapsodizing of NJ tennis and the greatness of Mike Sell and who do I see on Universal HD last night, sitting in John Isner’s box while the 6’9″ monster moves into the third round? Mike Sell! I wonder how many generations of UGA tennis greats will be with him if he beats Federer in the third round.

It’s that time of year again: I couldn’t hand with the KSK guys during the off-season, but now that we’re close to kick-off, I’m back on the bandwagon with this awesome, awesome post:

Oh Tom, look! It’s a boy! We had a boy! Or, to be more accurate, I had a boy. You didn’t do jack shit. He’s mine. All mine. In fact, I just came up with his name. I think you’re gonna like it. It’s John Edward Thomas Moynahan.

That’s right. John Moynahan, you heartless bastard. No Brady for you. Oh, were you hoping to continue your name on through future generations? Well then, you better start riding Gisele bareback, if you aren’t already, you negligent prick. You don’t even get the middle name to yourself! Ha! I’m making you share it. In fact, I put Edward first in the middle name pecking order, just to piss you off.

No man betrays the Bridge and gets away with it.

In fact, I’m gonna make sure he grows up to be nothing like you. He’ll be generous, and responsible. And you know what else he’ll be? Gay. That’s right. I’m gonna raise him to be super gay. Positively flaming. Know why he’s named John? It’s after Johnny Weir. I’m gonna dress him in girly clothes, make him watch hours of Bette Midler movies, and send him to performing arts school. He’ll be hitting London discotheques by age 11. Shit, he’ll be gayer than Hugh Jackman. And there ain’t shit you can do it about, you lecherous fiend.

Oh, did you want him to play football? Sorry. No football in the Moynahan household. No, I think he’ll be playing lacrosse. Lots and lots of lacrosse. He won’t care about touchdowns and fly patterns, because he’ll be too busy prancing around a field twirling a basket on a stick. Suck on that.

Oh, there’s more. I can’t wait until Eli has his first 3-INT game . . .

Sad news all around from the Open yesterday. First, Daniela Hotchukova got sent home in the first round. Second, Maria Sharapova began what will be an inevitable march to the finals because she’s playing nobody between now and then. Let’s get this straight: There are five women with a good chance to win the Open. The top four of them (Venus, Serena, Henin, Ivanovic) are all on one side of the draw. Just how much money did Canon drop off at the USTA’s offices to make sure that it was the #1 seed, Justine Henin, who has to battle through Serena and then either Venus or Ivanovic to just to reach the finals. The USTA even hid Jelena Jankovic on her side of the draw, just to make sure Sharapova didn’t have to see her. It’s kind of disgraceful.

The other sad news was that Justin Gimelstob played his final Open singles match last night, losing in very competitive, high-quality, straight sets to Roddick. This may not mean much to you, but Gimelstob was the last small connection from my high school days to professional sports.

My alma mater, Moorestown High, was something of a tennis powerhouse in the early ’90s. Our big stud was a guy named Mike Sell. Sell was a fun kid–I sat next to him in computer lab for a semester–and the best athlete I’ve ever seen close up. He could do anything. He was probably the best basketball player in school, ditto soccer. He probably could have been the #1 runner on the cross country team and a high-level 800 runner, too. He was legendary at ping-pong.

Also, he was the best tennis player in the state by a mile. Mike went to the University of Georgia where, if memory serves, he lead them to a national championship. He went pro eventually and was ranked as high as somewhere in the vicinity of #133 in the world. Last I had heard, he had retired and was doing some coaching, first of Monica Seles and then with the USTA.

Anyway, Sell was ahead of me in school and shortly after he graduated, Gimelstob emerged on the NJ tennis scene being billed as “the next Mike Sell.” All of us who were Sell partisans looked at him with some sourness because of this, but he became a dominant high school player, a fine college player, and a good pro, finding his way into the third round of a few majors. A big guy with soft hands, he played great serve-and-volley tennis and gave great interview. Tennis players are not the brightest subset of athletes; Gimelstob is a smart, articulate, charming guy.

Now that he’s stepping away from the game, none of my contemporaries who I knew of in high school are left in professional sports. And I’m feeling pretty old.

If you haven’t done so already, go check out the site for Esteemed Galley Advertiser D-War. The trailer looks kind of awesome, like Volcano meets Reign of Fire.