Aching for Andre

Who wasn't hoping to see an aching Andre Agassi ace a few and make another round at the U.S. Open? Well, me for one. Initially I was rooting for the 36-year-old tennis icon. For two glorious rounds Andre thumbed his nose at Father Time. It looked like the former champ was proving that 30-something is the new 20-something. He even knocked off a kid too young to ever have seen a wooden racket. I owned one back when the earth was still cooling.

So, I joined the chorus pulling for Andre. "Go old guy! Go old guy!" I yelled, accompanied with a little dance. Suddenly with my arms torqued to the right and my lumbar region twisted to the left, my vertebrae tore faster than a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction. I couldn't stand up straight... or crooked. It wasn't like I had been pulling off some impossible return of service or a big top spin lob or even reaching for a dropped pen. I couldn't move. Of course, a stadium filled with screaming performance-enhancing fans wasn't pumping me up. I had no entourage whisking me to a specialist armed with a nauseatingly long needle filled with pain relief. Nope. Like most mere mortals with a miserable spine, I got an ice pack and my doctor's answering service. It was then that I realized this 30-ish tennis legend was making a poor example. If Andre could make it through two rounds of the U.S. Open at his age with a bad back, what might people expect of my body and me?

I'm an expert on being 36. According to my annually updated online dating profile, I've been 36 for about 10 years. Andre, I'm sorry. I'm glad you lost because it will diminish the physical expectations of my next ex-husband.

So, Andre welcome to our world. It's a world where we try the moves of our 20s and pay the price with battered bones, throbbing muscles and a heart rate higher than the price of gas. And that ping you hear is definitely not a broken string. It's your ligaments realigning after decades of gravitational pressure. That grunting noise will no longer be the result of a hard hit topspin forehand, but the automatic sound you'll make every time you plop down on a chair. It's usually accompanied by a resounding OY! each time you get up. And if you pull an all-nighter like you did for that inspiring 2nd round victory, you'll find an undeniable need for a very long nap the next afternoon. Then just try to explain to your kids you're playing the newest virtual reality video game called REM SLEEP.

I guess I'm just jealous. I wish that I could quit my day job and retire at 36 and get an 8-minute standing ovation, and still make a multi-million dollar salary, and turn over millions to charity and be married to one of the greatest players ever. You're just a bad role model for the rest of us underachievers. So, I'm glad you finally showed some backbone and lost.

Now, let's talk about Martina Navratilova. She's planning her retirement after this U.S. Open. She's turning 50. Gosh, I hate her.

By Stephanie Becker 

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