Wimbledon tradition
Title: Wimbledon tradition
Main characters: Marat Safin, Dmitry Tursunov, Mikhail Youzhny, Igor Andreev
Other characters: Every player that practiced this day.
Rating: R (for the topic and language)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and this is a fiction.
Summary: The Russians have their own Wimbledon tradition.
Author's note: I guess this is about the craziest story I'll ever write :)
Marat looked at his wrist watch and smiled a knowing smile.
‘Of course, no one’s ever been late for this important tradition.’
He looked at his compatriots, Dmitry, Mikhail and Igor who couldn’t wait to get things started.
“Come on, Marat, we’re all here!” Dmitry almost cried out.
“Yeah, we don’t want to waste another minute!” Mikhail seconded and the latest member of this small group, Igor, nodded his agreement as well.
“Okay. Then let’s get the ball rolling. Happy Wimbledon!” Marat put his hand out and everyone put his hand upon it.
“Happy Wimbledon!”
They all rushed towards the practice courts and took a seat on the bench that had the finest view.
Mikhail moved the false ‘Under construction’ sign that he had put up last night and sat right in the middle.
Dmitry: “Wow, this seat is great! Nice choice, Mischa.”
Marat: “Yeah, better than last year. Good job.”
Mikhail: “Thanks, we moved one to the left.”
Dmitry: “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!”
Igor: “Guys, guys, enough talk. Look over there. Haas is sweating already.”
Igor hadn’t even finished his sentence when everybody turned his head in a very unsubtle manner to watch the German’s white shirt stick to the gorgeous body.
Mikhail: “Nice.”
Marat: “Very nice.”
Dmitry: “A classic.”
So the four Russians had this original Wimbledon tradition that involved watching players in white on a hot, sunny day. This club had started with only two members, Marat and Dmitry, but was proud to announce that it had two more members now, Mikhail and Igor.
The tradition might look simple but it actually involves all sorts of preparations. All four members have to play their part in order to have a successful day. Marat takes care of picking the right day and time which is the most important part, then there is Mikhail who picks the right spot which is also quite important. The newest member -who joined this year - Igor finds out who arrives in Wimbledon on which date and then, Dmitry takes care of bribing and luring the staff who is in charge of arranging practice sessions so all the hotties can practice in close proximity to one another.
Marat always picks the date according to the temperature and humidity so it was vital for him to check the weather forecast. Since no one wants to be distracted during a Grand Slam, it has to be done before the tournament begins.
It was three days before the start of the tournament and Marat thought that it was the perfect day for other players to sweat during practice and sweat a bit more afterwards.
Dmitry: “Hey, check out who’s Hasi’s partner today.”
Mikhail: “Oh God, it’s Roddick!”
Igor: “Guys, Gasquet’s tying his shoelaces over there.”
Marat: “Today’s definitely better than last year.”
Marat couldn’t be any prouder of his club.
Everyone was busy getting a good long look at his favorite players’ white clothes that were starting to leave nothing much to the imagination. The sun was merciless today, much to the Russians’ pleasure.
Dmitry already felt thirsty just by staring for ten minutes. He grabbed his sports drink and took a sip very carefully. He remembered last year, when, with a little bit of exaggeration, he had almost needed an ambulance while choking over Rafael’s illegally short shorts. No one even had even blinked an eye in his direction and that was when he realized how great their friendship was.
Dmitry: “Well, just so you know, I’ll willing to help if anyone chokes on his water.”
He expected a nice response from his fellow players but all he got in return was an annoying sigh.
Marat: “Nobody chokes on such an important day other than you, Dima. If you be careful, we’re all going to be fine.”
Dmitry was about to pout when Mikhail yelled out. “Oh, oh! Here come the sexy Spaniards!”
Lopez, Ferrero, Verdasco and Robredo stepped on court and when Feliciano looked up at the sun and peeled off his shirt, everyone had to grab their water bottles.
Dmitry: “Wow, he must have spent even more time in the gym.”
Mikhail: “I should move to Spain one day.”
Marat: “Yep, Spain is the place to go for a hot summer vacation. It’s like heaven. Maybe even better than heaven.” Marat chuckled.
Igor: “Is it allowed to practice shirtless in Wimbledon?”
Mikhail: “Who cares?”
Dmitry: “I know I don’t. And if Feli gets fined for that, I’ll gladly dedicate my prize money to him.”
Mikhail: “Then I’ll dedicate mine to get him in a pool.”
Igor: “Aww, Mischa! Now I can’t think about anything else than a wet Feli inside a swimming pool! And I’ve got still so many players to watch!”
Igor whined and gulped down his water.
Marat: “Dima, where are the top boys by the way? Aren’t they supposed to practice now? This is the hottest hour of the day.”
Dmitry: “Oh, they practice in half an hour or so. I heard that they had something to do concerning that players’ council.”
Marat nodded, waiting for the highlight, and went back to take a good look at Juan Carlos who was leaning forward towards his bag to change his racquet.
Mikhail: “Marat, how many are you going to choose today?”
Marat: “I’m thinking three this year. Four was a bit tiring on a hot day.”
Igor: “Isn’t it better to just focus on one person?”
Dmitry: “Do whatever you wish, Igor. Just let me get Haas.”
Igor: “Fair enough. I choose Feli.”
Mikhail: “Roddick.” Youzhny was too busy drooling over the American to form a full sentence.
Dmitry: “So who are the lucky ones this year, Marat? Mario again?”
Marat: “I’m thinking Juanqui for now but...”
Marat’s thoughts were interrupted when he saw Tipsarevic pull the front of his soaked shirt so that it wouldn’t stick to his torso.
Marat: “Aww, don’t do that sweetie. You look just fine.”
Mikhail: “Damn it. Why can’t he just leave it alone?”
Dmitry: “Relax, Mischa. No need to get upset. Ancic’s water show is coming up in a couple of minutes. He always drinks water with his eyes closed, then pours it on his hair and neck before he changes his second shirt. And you know the rest of the story. Water traveling down his neck, sneaking into the shirt, Mario lifting his shirt to stop the water, then he decides that he should rather change and when he gets rid of the shirt, he pours more water so I can be blessed.”
Dmitry let out a happy sigh and smiled at the blissful memories.
Igor: “Wow. What a careful observation.”
Dmitry: “Thanks.”
Mikhail: “Well, it looks like it’s going to start at any minute.”
At Mikhail’s words, everyone left whoever he was watching and turned his attention to the Croatian.
Dmitry: “I always wish I could be one of those lustfully long fingers.”
Marat: “I wish I was that towel he’s sitting on.”
Mikhail: “I wish I was the mouth of that water bottle.”
Igor: “I just wish I could watch him closer.”
Everyone: “Amen.”
After half an hour of excessive drooling, Dmitry had already choked twice thanks to Gasquet who looked like he had accidentally worn a smaller short today and Clement who tried to offer a helping hand. Igor had already run out of water since he didn’t know that he was supposed to bring three bottles but he was thrown a lifeline when Mikhail kindly shared a bottle with him.
Mikhail: “Huh... am I hearing things? Or is that really Roger’s voice somewhere?”
Dmitry: “Roger?”
Igor: “Where? I can’t see him.”
No one needed to answer that question since Roger had just appeared around the corner with Rafael and Novak at his side, nodding eagerly to what he had to say.
Roger: “So it’s very important that we represent every player’s interest. It’s a huge responsibility, you know.”
While the other three were fantasizing about Rafael’s hand that was lazily scratching a spot on his left thigh and about a bead of sweat that had just rolled down Novak’s neck, Marat announced his choices.
Marat: “I pick Roger and Novak.”
Mikhail: “What...?”
Dmitry: “Hey, that’s not fair! You can’t have two of the big three!”
Marat: “Hey, how many Slams have you guys won?”
Everyone was quiet and the 2005 Australian Open champion put on a satisfied grin. “I thought so. It’s a Slam champ thing, nothing personal. But I’ll leave Rafa for you guys.”
The tallest Russian showed his generosity and the other members immediately prepared themselves for the official game of the club that settled all disputes in less than three minutes; a deadly rock, paper, scissors battle competed in best of five games.
Igor calculated his chances of winning the world number two and decided to play it safe. “I’ll give up Rafa if you guys let me take Feli.”
Dmitry thought for a moment and nodded with a sigh. “Okay, it stings but ok.”
Mikhail: “Done. I just want Rafa.”
So it was all set; Dmitry vs. Mikhail. Of course, Marat and Igor had no interest in who was going to win the battle so they just went back mooning about players.
“Yes!! I get Rafa!” Mikhail threw his hands up in the air with pure delight.
“Well, he might not want you. You guys don’t even talk. We talk.” Dmitry couldn’t help being mean.
“Hey, he’s always been nice to me at the player’s lounge. All smiley at me.”
“He’s smiley to almost everybody.” Dmitry answered.
Marat stepped in. “Hey, just choose someone else and quit whining, Dima.”
“Fine, I go for Verdasco. Seriously, guys, have you seen those charity pictures? Wow, God bless those who pose for good causes!” Dmitry shouted dramatically and soon, all thoughts of Rafael went down the drain when Fernando lifted his shirt and toweled off his chest.
Marat: “Well, well, well... look what our top guns are into.”
Mikhail: “Hee, they’re going to play tennis football!”
Igor: “But they’re just three...”
Dmitry: “They just became four. Federer’s playing with Roddick.”
Igor: “Oh my... what a lucky day.”
The Russians tried not to waste too much time blinking when they had a chance to watch the four players all together. Rafael and Novak’s team had quickly scored two points which meant that they had shared two dramatic hugs already which Dmitry found very unpleasant to watch.
Dmitry: “That picture’s not right. There has to be me in-between.”
Marat: “Shut up. You’re ruining the mood.”
Igor: “Aww, didn’t Roger just lace his fingers with Andy’s?”
Mikhail: “He did? Argh... I missed it!”
The tennis football match went on quite interestingly as Roger and Andy’s team finally managed to earn some decent points. Dmitry had run out of water but he thought that he would die even if he had water when he saw Rafael caress Novak’s arm all too sensually during the changeover.
Dmitry: “Do you see that? He’s hitting on Nole.”
Igor: “Oh, he really is.”
Actually, Rafael was just interested in new massage oil since Novak was recommending him what his masseur had recently used on him. But in Dmitry and Igor’s eyes, the context didn’t matter. All they had to know was that Rafael’s hand was on Novak’s arm.
Igor: “Oh, I think Novak just licked his lips looking at Rafa’s shorts.”
Dmitry: “You saw that too? He wants him. No doubt about it. He wants him.”
Actually, Novak was just smacking his lips at the sight of a Nutella that was inside Rafael’s tennis bag, but yet again, the Russian’s didn’t care about the context.
Then, all four Russians had to hold their breath at Andy’s playful yell.
“I’m good at tying things! Trust me, Roger! I’m really good!”
Nobody knew what to say or how to react. It was too much for their fragile hearts and their vivid imagination.
Dmitry: “What did he just say...?”
Igor: “Does tying mean... like really tying....?”
Mikhail: “Why is he bragging about that to Roger?”
Marat had the answer to it. “Because he wants to tie him up.”
Everyone found a prayer according to their different religions and tried not to picture the Swiss and the American too much. They didn’t want to have a heart attack and die young. They were just innocent twenty something year old people who wanted a little fun.
Actually, Andy was just offering to help Roger with his headband since he was complaining that Nike made the ends a little bit too short for him to tie it around his head. But of course, the Russians couldn’t care less. They just wanted Andy to show off his tying skills somewhere else.
After the lethal match was over, Marat got up from the bench and asked. “Everyone picked who they want, right? Now it’s time for the main dish, boys. Remember, seducing always starts with eye contact.”
Everyone: “Eye contact.”
The club members nodded, each trying to come up with a plan to seduce their favorite players.
Igor: “Uh... Any tips, Marat?”
Igor wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to approach Feliciano. Marat took pity on the newest member who looked as nervous as a 220th ranked player facing triple break points on Center Court.
“You speak Spanish. Feli’s always more friendly to those who speak the same language as him. Oh, and start by buying him a cool drink at Starbucks. I ran into him yesterday and he looked happily torn choosing which one to drink.”
Igor hugged the founder of this amazingly wonderful club and as he saw Dmitry approach Fernando, he took the opportunity to talk to Feliciano who was stepping off the court alone.
‘Now I know where they had all disappeared last year. Well, what else can I say? Happy Wimbledon!’
Main characters: Marat Safin, Dmitry Tursunov, Mikhail Youzhny, Igor Andreev
Other characters: Every player that practiced this day.
Rating: R (for the topic and language)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and this is a fiction.
Summary: The Russians have their own Wimbledon tradition.
Author's note: I guess this is about the craziest story I'll ever write :)
Marat looked at his wrist watch and smiled a knowing smile.
‘Of course, no one’s ever been late for this important tradition.’
He looked at his compatriots, Dmitry, Mikhail and Igor who couldn’t wait to get things started.
“Come on, Marat, we’re all here!” Dmitry almost cried out.
“Yeah, we don’t want to waste another minute!” Mikhail seconded and the latest member of this small group, Igor, nodded his agreement as well.
“Okay. Then let’s get the ball rolling. Happy Wimbledon!” Marat put his hand out and everyone put his hand upon it.
“Happy Wimbledon!”
They all rushed towards the practice courts and took a seat on the bench that had the finest view.
Mikhail moved the false ‘Under construction’ sign that he had put up last night and sat right in the middle.
Dmitry: “Wow, this seat is great! Nice choice, Mischa.”
Marat: “Yeah, better than last year. Good job.”
Mikhail: “Thanks, we moved one to the left.”
Dmitry: “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!”
Igor: “Guys, guys, enough talk. Look over there. Haas is sweating already.”
Igor hadn’t even finished his sentence when everybody turned his head in a very unsubtle manner to watch the German’s white shirt stick to the gorgeous body.
Mikhail: “Nice.”
Marat: “Very nice.”
Dmitry: “A classic.”
So the four Russians had this original Wimbledon tradition that involved watching players in white on a hot, sunny day. This club had started with only two members, Marat and Dmitry, but was proud to announce that it had two more members now, Mikhail and Igor.
The tradition might look simple but it actually involves all sorts of preparations. All four members have to play their part in order to have a successful day. Marat takes care of picking the right day and time which is the most important part, then there is Mikhail who picks the right spot which is also quite important. The newest member -who joined this year - Igor finds out who arrives in Wimbledon on which date and then, Dmitry takes care of bribing and luring the staff who is in charge of arranging practice sessions so all the hotties can practice in close proximity to one another.
Marat always picks the date according to the temperature and humidity so it was vital for him to check the weather forecast. Since no one wants to be distracted during a Grand Slam, it has to be done before the tournament begins.
It was three days before the start of the tournament and Marat thought that it was the perfect day for other players to sweat during practice and sweat a bit more afterwards.
Dmitry: “Hey, check out who’s Hasi’s partner today.”
Mikhail: “Oh God, it’s Roddick!”
Igor: “Guys, Gasquet’s tying his shoelaces over there.”
Marat: “Today’s definitely better than last year.”
Marat couldn’t be any prouder of his club.
Everyone was busy getting a good long look at his favorite players’ white clothes that were starting to leave nothing much to the imagination. The sun was merciless today, much to the Russians’ pleasure.
Dmitry already felt thirsty just by staring for ten minutes. He grabbed his sports drink and took a sip very carefully. He remembered last year, when, with a little bit of exaggeration, he had almost needed an ambulance while choking over Rafael’s illegally short shorts. No one even had even blinked an eye in his direction and that was when he realized how great their friendship was.
Dmitry: “Well, just so you know, I’ll willing to help if anyone chokes on his water.”
He expected a nice response from his fellow players but all he got in return was an annoying sigh.
Marat: “Nobody chokes on such an important day other than you, Dima. If you be careful, we’re all going to be fine.”
Dmitry was about to pout when Mikhail yelled out. “Oh, oh! Here come the sexy Spaniards!”
Lopez, Ferrero, Verdasco and Robredo stepped on court and when Feliciano looked up at the sun and peeled off his shirt, everyone had to grab their water bottles.
Dmitry: “Wow, he must have spent even more time in the gym.”
Mikhail: “I should move to Spain one day.”
Marat: “Yep, Spain is the place to go for a hot summer vacation. It’s like heaven. Maybe even better than heaven.” Marat chuckled.
Igor: “Is it allowed to practice shirtless in Wimbledon?”
Mikhail: “Who cares?”
Dmitry: “I know I don’t. And if Feli gets fined for that, I’ll gladly dedicate my prize money to him.”
Mikhail: “Then I’ll dedicate mine to get him in a pool.”
Igor: “Aww, Mischa! Now I can’t think about anything else than a wet Feli inside a swimming pool! And I’ve got still so many players to watch!”
Igor whined and gulped down his water.
Marat: “Dima, where are the top boys by the way? Aren’t they supposed to practice now? This is the hottest hour of the day.”
Dmitry: “Oh, they practice in half an hour or so. I heard that they had something to do concerning that players’ council.”
Marat nodded, waiting for the highlight, and went back to take a good look at Juan Carlos who was leaning forward towards his bag to change his racquet.
Mikhail: “Marat, how many are you going to choose today?”
Marat: “I’m thinking three this year. Four was a bit tiring on a hot day.”
Igor: “Isn’t it better to just focus on one person?”
Dmitry: “Do whatever you wish, Igor. Just let me get Haas.”
Igor: “Fair enough. I choose Feli.”
Mikhail: “Roddick.” Youzhny was too busy drooling over the American to form a full sentence.
Dmitry: “So who are the lucky ones this year, Marat? Mario again?”
Marat: “I’m thinking Juanqui for now but...”
Marat’s thoughts were interrupted when he saw Tipsarevic pull the front of his soaked shirt so that it wouldn’t stick to his torso.
Marat: “Aww, don’t do that sweetie. You look just fine.”
Mikhail: “Damn it. Why can’t he just leave it alone?”
Dmitry: “Relax, Mischa. No need to get upset. Ancic’s water show is coming up in a couple of minutes. He always drinks water with his eyes closed, then pours it on his hair and neck before he changes his second shirt. And you know the rest of the story. Water traveling down his neck, sneaking into the shirt, Mario lifting his shirt to stop the water, then he decides that he should rather change and when he gets rid of the shirt, he pours more water so I can be blessed.”
Dmitry let out a happy sigh and smiled at the blissful memories.
Igor: “Wow. What a careful observation.”
Dmitry: “Thanks.”
Mikhail: “Well, it looks like it’s going to start at any minute.”
At Mikhail’s words, everyone left whoever he was watching and turned his attention to the Croatian.
Dmitry: “I always wish I could be one of those lustfully long fingers.”
Marat: “I wish I was that towel he’s sitting on.”
Mikhail: “I wish I was the mouth of that water bottle.”
Igor: “I just wish I could watch him closer.”
Everyone: “Amen.”
After half an hour of excessive drooling, Dmitry had already choked twice thanks to Gasquet who looked like he had accidentally worn a smaller short today and Clement who tried to offer a helping hand. Igor had already run out of water since he didn’t know that he was supposed to bring three bottles but he was thrown a lifeline when Mikhail kindly shared a bottle with him.
Mikhail: “Huh... am I hearing things? Or is that really Roger’s voice somewhere?”
Dmitry: “Roger?”
Igor: “Where? I can’t see him.”
No one needed to answer that question since Roger had just appeared around the corner with Rafael and Novak at his side, nodding eagerly to what he had to say.
Roger: “So it’s very important that we represent every player’s interest. It’s a huge responsibility, you know.”
While the other three were fantasizing about Rafael’s hand that was lazily scratching a spot on his left thigh and about a bead of sweat that had just rolled down Novak’s neck, Marat announced his choices.
Marat: “I pick Roger and Novak.”
Mikhail: “What...?”
Dmitry: “Hey, that’s not fair! You can’t have two of the big three!”
Marat: “Hey, how many Slams have you guys won?”
Everyone was quiet and the 2005 Australian Open champion put on a satisfied grin. “I thought so. It’s a Slam champ thing, nothing personal. But I’ll leave Rafa for you guys.”
The tallest Russian showed his generosity and the other members immediately prepared themselves for the official game of the club that settled all disputes in less than three minutes; a deadly rock, paper, scissors battle competed in best of five games.
Igor calculated his chances of winning the world number two and decided to play it safe. “I’ll give up Rafa if you guys let me take Feli.”
Dmitry thought for a moment and nodded with a sigh. “Okay, it stings but ok.”
Mikhail: “Done. I just want Rafa.”
So it was all set; Dmitry vs. Mikhail. Of course, Marat and Igor had no interest in who was going to win the battle so they just went back mooning about players.
“Yes!! I get Rafa!” Mikhail threw his hands up in the air with pure delight.
“Well, he might not want you. You guys don’t even talk. We talk.” Dmitry couldn’t help being mean.
“Hey, he’s always been nice to me at the player’s lounge. All smiley at me.”
“He’s smiley to almost everybody.” Dmitry answered.
Marat stepped in. “Hey, just choose someone else and quit whining, Dima.”
“Fine, I go for Verdasco. Seriously, guys, have you seen those charity pictures? Wow, God bless those who pose for good causes!” Dmitry shouted dramatically and soon, all thoughts of Rafael went down the drain when Fernando lifted his shirt and toweled off his chest.
Marat: “Well, well, well... look what our top guns are into.”
Mikhail: “Hee, they’re going to play tennis football!”
Igor: “But they’re just three...”
Dmitry: “They just became four. Federer’s playing with Roddick.”
Igor: “Oh my... what a lucky day.”
The Russians tried not to waste too much time blinking when they had a chance to watch the four players all together. Rafael and Novak’s team had quickly scored two points which meant that they had shared two dramatic hugs already which Dmitry found very unpleasant to watch.
Dmitry: “That picture’s not right. There has to be me in-between.”
Marat: “Shut up. You’re ruining the mood.”
Igor: “Aww, didn’t Roger just lace his fingers with Andy’s?”
Mikhail: “He did? Argh... I missed it!”
The tennis football match went on quite interestingly as Roger and Andy’s team finally managed to earn some decent points. Dmitry had run out of water but he thought that he would die even if he had water when he saw Rafael caress Novak’s arm all too sensually during the changeover.
Dmitry: “Do you see that? He’s hitting on Nole.”
Igor: “Oh, he really is.”
Actually, Rafael was just interested in new massage oil since Novak was recommending him what his masseur had recently used on him. But in Dmitry and Igor’s eyes, the context didn’t matter. All they had to know was that Rafael’s hand was on Novak’s arm.
Igor: “Oh, I think Novak just licked his lips looking at Rafa’s shorts.”
Dmitry: “You saw that too? He wants him. No doubt about it. He wants him.”
Actually, Novak was just smacking his lips at the sight of a Nutella that was inside Rafael’s tennis bag, but yet again, the Russian’s didn’t care about the context.
Then, all four Russians had to hold their breath at Andy’s playful yell.
“I’m good at tying things! Trust me, Roger! I’m really good!”
Nobody knew what to say or how to react. It was too much for their fragile hearts and their vivid imagination.
Dmitry: “What did he just say...?”
Igor: “Does tying mean... like really tying....?”
Mikhail: “Why is he bragging about that to Roger?”
Marat had the answer to it. “Because he wants to tie him up.”
Everyone found a prayer according to their different religions and tried not to picture the Swiss and the American too much. They didn’t want to have a heart attack and die young. They were just innocent twenty something year old people who wanted a little fun.
Actually, Andy was just offering to help Roger with his headband since he was complaining that Nike made the ends a little bit too short for him to tie it around his head. But of course, the Russians couldn’t care less. They just wanted Andy to show off his tying skills somewhere else.
After the lethal match was over, Marat got up from the bench and asked. “Everyone picked who they want, right? Now it’s time for the main dish, boys. Remember, seducing always starts with eye contact.”
Everyone: “Eye contact.”
The club members nodded, each trying to come up with a plan to seduce their favorite players.
Igor: “Uh... Any tips, Marat?”
Igor wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to approach Feliciano. Marat took pity on the newest member who looked as nervous as a 220th ranked player facing triple break points on Center Court.
“You speak Spanish. Feli’s always more friendly to those who speak the same language as him. Oh, and start by buying him a cool drink at Starbucks. I ran into him yesterday and he looked happily torn choosing which one to drink.”
Igor hugged the founder of this amazingly wonderful club and as he saw Dmitry approach Fernando, he took the opportunity to talk to Feliciano who was stepping off the court alone.
‘Now I know where they had all disappeared last year. Well, what else can I say? Happy Wimbledon!’