I posted this reel on Instagram right after Rafa lost his match in the Davis Cup, which was essentially his last professional match and was also his moment of retirement.
I downloaded the reel, but the music wasn’t available to download so it’s silent. Sing along to whatever tune you choose.
Yes, I know a photo appears twice. I was editing quickly and missed it.
The on-court photos that appear to have been taken by amateurs have been taken by amateurs. Namely, me. The on-court photos with Rafa and Feli López wearing blue shirts and white baseball caps were not taken by me, but were taken by someone who was sitting to my left. That person also appears in this video posing with Rafa in a conference room I reserved. I snapped that photo during the second interview with Rafa which I have not mentioned until this day. You’ll see me kneeling down with my elbows on the table. No, I was not angry. I was very tired.
The closing goodbye you’ll see at the end of this video, as well as a similar variation in the previous video, is paraphrased from something Rafa signed for me all those years ago. I will never forget it.
¡Vamos, Rafa! Por siempre.
I have about a thousand photos, but obviously they wouldn’t fit here
I couldn’t resist this capture today. I often walk around my front yard with my phone camera ready and waiting.
Dandelions feed the first bees and also the bunnies. I know people consider them weeds, but they’re not. They are food for creatures that are hungry after winter. They are bright, joyful indicators of spring, and I’ve heard you can make delicious wine from the flowers. The greens are very healthy to eat, as they cleanse the liver.
When the dandelion petals turn to fuzz and their seeds can be dispersed easily, this is where most people have a problem with them in their yard, but I’ve always liked to make a wish and blow the seeds wherever they may go. I’m hoping one day my wishes come true.
I’m not the only one.
One must always take advantage of dandelion fuzzies, even if you’re doing your job at the time. Wishes must never be wasted.It’s almost perfectly round. The imperfection on the top left makes it more interesting. There are a lot of wishes waiting to happen.
US Open, 2005. I was on a mission to deliver a US Open Bear to Rafa Nadal. Just a small token of appreciation for hours of tennis entertainment. Though I had followed Rafa’s career up to this point, I had never met him. Read on for my observations and probably some hijinks, because…me.
Tuesday, August 29:
Hmm…today feels different. It’s a curly hair day. I’m gonna wear my pink cowgirl hat today with my multicolored belt, Hello Kitty hot pink flip flops and my new hot pink tank top. I load up my Hello Kitty tote bag: sunblock, water, food, bear.
We board the bus and head off. Feli* is first on Court 16 or something, and luckily traffic out of the city is better this morning. We arrive and the line to get on the grounds is short. The girl inspecting my bag is nice – “Oh, cute bear!” she coos, as if she hasn’t seen them all over the grounds before.
“Yeah,” I say, “I hope today is the day I send him on his way.” She laughs and I laugh. As soon as I say that, I know today is the day.
We check the practice courts: nobody good. Wait. That sounds really bad. What I mean is nobody that we are interested in watching. We wait for Feli outside of the side entrance. He will come through these doors with his opponent and a couple of security guards. My friend L. is chain-smoking. I’m lounging on a bench, relaxing. She is pacing. I am looking around at all the people who are here at 10:30. A little after 11, I announce I am going “over here” to another spot on the grounds, and I hear, “OhmyGodAmythereheis!” I turn, and yeah, it’s Feli. He’s cute, sure, but I’m still calm. L. is in a full run, following Feli to court. We get there and sit down in the first row, behind the player chairs. He glances at my fabulous hat a few times, and L. is smiling like a loon, clicking photo after photo, and the match hasn’t begun yet.
Did I mention she washed her shirt that reads, “Where’s Feli?” last night so today is also “Where’s Feli?” day? Yes. So the match has begun and she, L., is planted there like a tree. (Fyi, she eventually had that shirt signed by the man himself.)
At 12 o’clock, I feel the need to get up and check the practice courts again. I wander over through the maze of tall bushes and finally come out to the screened off practice courts by Ashe**. There are a lot of people there, so I take a peek all the way down. No, no, no…Wait. Who is that on the last court. Ah, ha.
It was Rafa, wearing tan shorts and a backwards white hat. I walk the blacktop sidewalk down to the very end. There are bushes and privacy screening up so the public can’t watch. At the end, though, there is a gate with some gaps, and that allows a view to where Rafa is practicing.
Rafa Nadal, US Open practice courts, 2005
There are ten people there, and nowhere for me to stand and watch. I see that there is a kid in the bushes, leaning against the fence. I don’t think twice. “Hi,” I say to the kid as I enter the bush space next to him and kneel in the very dry dirt, taking off my hat and putting it over my bag that now lies on the ground. I know the pink of the hat is very visible from court. Feña***is two feet from us at times, and so is Almagro****. Rafa is on the far side, but I can still see through the grommet holes, and Rafa is instantly recognizable.
“You like Nadal?” he asks me sincerely.
“Yeah,” I say pleasantly.
“See, I have this poster of him.”
“That’s a good poster,” I say. A few seconds pass and Feña is in front of us picking up balls. The kid speaks Spanish to him, but Feña ignores the talking bushes.
“You speak Spanish?” the kid asks me.
“A little,” I whisper.
“You know Nicolás Lapentti?” he asks me in his cute accent.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to watch Rafa and listen to this kid at the same time.
“I am the best friend of his brother,” he says proudly. I smile and nod. What can I say? I don’t really want to talk too much, especially with Feña and Almagro right there. And my knees are hurting from kneeling and my jeans are getting dirty and damn, it is hot. Toni*****is there, I see, but sitting in a chair. There is some guy patrolling the court perimeter, but he hasn’t spotted us yet, or maybe he doesn’t care that we are in the bushes. Suddenly, from nowhere, the kid whistles a catcall, making it seem as if I, the girl in the bushes, whistled at them!
“Hey! They think I did that!” I chide. He laughs, thinking that is pretty funny. Soon after, an errant ball directly off of Rafa’s racquet rolls and stops in front of me. I dangle my finger through the bottom of the fence and give it a little nudge so that it goes a foot or so. Kid next to me thinks that is worth a chuckle. I laugh too, wondering if anyone else caught it. Shortly after, kid leaves the bushes in a mad dash. I stay for a while until my knees hurt so badly I must get up. By now, Rafa is tidying up the court. Practice is over. I press the side of my face against the open portion and watch Rafa tidy. He is sweating profusely and he looks as he always does in photos.
Agassi******comes in and they shake hands. I don my sunglasses, my cowgirl hat, and calmly walk the tree-lined path to the front where I know he will soon sign autographs.
I check on the bear. He’s on top, easy access and today is the day – I just know it.
I reach the front and see swarms of kids with big tennis balls waiting for Rafa to sign. I’m calm, the swarms are not. “Back it up, people!” I hear a woman say as I continue to press forward to where he will come out. It’s not that I don’t hear her, it’s that I am ignoring her. There are a few kids in front of me, but no adults anywhere. I am the tallest one, and I’m wearing a pink cowgirl hat. He walks over to where I am and is maybe three feet from me — it would have been closer if not for the kids in between. I study his face, taking in as much detail as I can in such a short amount of time. It’s not every day that a person can get this close to a professional athlete, so taking mental notes is important for memory reflection later. He’s dripping wet with sweat (NYC in the summer – oof!), he is not as darkly tanned as he looks on TV or in photos, his nose is a bit wider than on TV and in photos, and his lips are large (not that there is anything wrong with that – I’m taking mental notes). His face is large, too, but he is not overly tall. He seems much taller on television. I would study his hands but I can’t see them. He looks down immediately and signs one, then two items, because he is, of course, well-rehearsed in the task of signing his name. It is when I say “Rafa” over the noise of the kids that he looks up and then at me, mildly surprised. I reach in to get the bear and I lift it above the kids’ heads. I hear a man’s voice behind me repeating, “I’ll take it. Give it to me. I’ll take it for him.” I ignore the man’s voice behind me because I want to. I will be delivering this bear. Rafa looks at me. “For you,” I say quietly as I hand the bear to him. And his eyes have already begun smiling. “Thank you,” he says sweetly and takes the bear from me gently. I nod and give him a small smile, but my attention is entirely on his eyes. His mouth is not smiling, his eyes are, and they are so kind. I hope my eyes smiled back, and didn’t do any weird twitching, blinking, winking thing.
And then the moment was over. Bear was delivered. He looked down to sign more and I turned, held my head high and walked back to Feli’s match where L. was still was seated. I had a content smile on my face the whole walk over. Mission: Accomplished.
I found out later, quite by accident, that only kids 12 and under are allowed to stand where I was standing. Sometimes lady luck is on your side, but it doesn’t hurt to be a bit of a rebel.
*Feliciano López, Spanish tennis player
**Arthur Ashe Stadium, USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center
***Fernando González, Chilean male tennis player
****Nicolás Almagro, Spanish male tennis player
*****Uncle Toni – Rafa’s uncle and coach (at the time – I mean, he is still his uncle, he’s just not his coach anymore)
******IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHO ANDRE AGASSI IS, I CAN’T HELP YOU
As tennis fans celebrate the return of Rafael Nadal to the game in 2024, for what is expected to be his final season, we look back to the year 2006. Rafael Nadal was ranked Number 2 in the world, and had just turned 20 years old two months’ prior. Rafael joined me for an informal interview over breakfast in the restaurant of a hotel in Mason, Ohio, home of the Cincinnati Masters (as it was known at that time).
Many thanks to Rafael Nadal for this interview, and I wish him well in the next phase of his life.
Thursday, August 17, 2006, 9:20AM
This morning I had breakfast with Rafa. Well, he had breakfast, I had water. Originally, we had planned to do a brief question and answer session last night in the atrium of the hotel where we are both staying here in Mason, Ohio, but plans got a bit muddled and a new time of 9:20 a.m. was established.
I arrive at the atrium at the designated time, with my pink notebook, digital camera and Micro RC Racer pen in tote (I demonstrated my mini race car pen for Rafa later. “Yes, I see your car pen,” he humored me.) Minutes later, Rafa ambles down the hall, lugging with him a large cardboard box and chatting on the phone. He points in the general direction of the restaurant, indicating I should follow.
My short legs struggle to keep up with his long strides, but we make it. We are seated at a table near the front and Rafa takes off for the buffet. I sip my water the waitress brings and wait patiently, a bit nervous because I’ve never interviewed anyone before. Rafa arrives with a box of Frosted Flakes and is no longer on the phone. The waitress returns to take Rafa’s beverage order and he surprises me with his answer: hot chocolate. “Funny!” I tell him.
“Read my shirt!” (The print of my shirt reads Yeah, yeah…just give me the chocolate!) “I saw that,” he smiled and laughed. The waitress returns with the hot chocolate and there is no whipped cream. I frown. “You can’t have hot chocolate without whipped cream…” Rafa agrees and asks nicely for some whipped cream. Following Rafa’s consumption of the now melted whipped cream, he then proceeds to pour the entire contents of his Frosted Flakes box into his hot chocolate.
I do a mild shift in my chair. “That’s interesting…” I say. Rafa assures me it is done like this in Spain all the time. The only difference, he says, is that the hot chocolate is made with milk, not with water. We both agree that would taste much better. I’ll have to try the Frosted Flakes/hot chocolate combination when I really need a sugar rush. As Rafa eats his breakfast, the “real” questions begin.
“Do you like this tournament? Do you feel this tournament is helpful to your preparation for the US Open?” Rafa nods, “Yes, I am happy here. I did not play that well in Toronto. My goal is to play well in the US Open.” He mentions to me later on that he has been practicing three and a half hours each day since before this Cincinnati tournament began. I then ask him what his favorite tournament is. He tells me he likes many of them and can’t choose just one. Just about that time, the first fan comes up for an autograph and Rafa diligently signs. “Does it bother you when people ask you for your autograph when you are eating?” I ask. He shakes off my question. “No, it does not. It does not bother me.” Next question: “What’s the weirdest thing a fan has ever given you?” He does not understand me, so he enlists the table of Spanish-speaking men next to ours for help.
The answer: “A rock.” I stare at him. “A rock. Somebody gave you a rock.” One of the men at the table piped up to Rafa, “A rock, just like you.” They all laughed. Rafa let out a small chuckle. He didn’t understand my next question either, and I felt badly that I didn’t know enough Spanish to help him. (My goal: learn Spanish for next time.) But it was an important one, I thought, so again, our friendly neighbors assist. “I want to know what makes him laugh. What kinds of things does he find funny?” Rafa responds, “A lot of different things.” I think he said he likes to laugh and I gave him the universal thumbs-up sign for that response.
“So, when you win a tournament, is it the same feeling each time, or is it just a bit different?” Still munching on his Frosted Flakes concoction, he says, “No, no, it is not always the same feeling each time.” And that was that. “Rafa, this is my first visit to this tournament and I notice sometimes it can be…well…a bit boring when there is no tennis to watch. What do you do for fun during tournaments?” Rafa replies, “I have my computer, I play golf…” I ask if he will go to King’s Island Amusement Park.
He scoffs a bit. “Oh, well, maybe if I lose I will go there.” Cleary his mind is on work, not play. My last question before the interview ended was a bit odd, apparently. “Rafa, can you wiggle your ears?” He stared at me blankly. I lifted my hair to demonstrate. Wiggle, wiggle.
He looked down to his cereal, almost disturbed, and clearly flustered. “No, no, I cannot do that.” Oops. I hope I haven’t violated some kind of ear conduct code. Sorry, Rafa! Then the interviewee asks the interviewer some questions. “Where do you live?” he asks. “About nine hours from here, in a place that looks very much like this place – boring! And here I travel all this way to end up in a place that looks like my home.”
He seemed sympathetic. He lives in Mallorca – he should be sympathetic. He is also sympathetic of my severe sunburn, telling me, “Well, it’s hot…” It’s getting close to the time when Rafa needs to leave for practice. One more fan walks up to the table and Rafa grapples with spelling out personalized autographs using English names for the letters.
He perseveres and gets it right. Rafa asks for the check, signs for it and we’re off. A hotel staff member takes a photo of Rafa and me (I poke him in the back and whisper for him to smile – he does), and he says, “Okay, Amy, see you soon,” or something to that effect. He was already on the move, eager to work off those Frosted Flakes on court, I’ll bet.
If you’re a tennis fan, you know that Rafael Nadal has been sidelined by injury for the past year.
Today, December 1, 2023, Rafael made the announcement that he will be returning to Brisbane, ahead of the 2024 Australian Open. Anyone who has followed Rafa on social media knows that he has been working hard to come back for one more year before retiring from tennis on his own terms. It’s not a secret that he – and most tennis fans everywhere – knows this is his final year on the pro tour. At 37 years of age, his body has essentially decided that it’s time to do other things. Rafa turned pro at the age of 14, which is a lot of mileage on a body. But, as one would expect from someone of Rafa’s ilk, he’s making one final push to achieve more. On his terms. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to be forced out of my life’s calling, either.
I first became aware of Rafa Nadal during the Davis Cup competition when Rafa was 16 years old. I sat in my chair in my living room and stared in amazement at my television screen. I’ve been a tennis fan since I was 15 (which was 137 years ago), so I know when I see burgeoning greatness. But with Nadal, the greatness was already evident, the burgeoning had already happened, somewhere, somehow, without anyone seeing.
Since then, I have attended several tournaments where I have seen Rafael practice and play – there is a little distinction between the two, the ball is struck just as hard for a seemingly unrelenting amount of time. The quickness Rafa displayed, especially early in his career, was a marvel to witness. The sheer size of a tennis court doesn’t translate on a television. Sitting courtside, you become more aware, and standing on a court with a racket in your hands, you are painfully aware of the ground you must cover, but I digress. And I may be projecting, so please forgive me. I’m not able to chase down all the balls, but Rafael Nadal is otherworldly. He arrives to the court to battle. To chase every ball down, to attempt to hit every shot. When the score line reflects the opponent is winning, he still fights. The belief never leaves him. Never.
As I mentioned, I have attended several tournaments and have seen Rafa play firsthand. A most fortunate occasion occurred in 2006 at the Cincinnati Masters (as it was called then). I was given the opportunity to interview Rafa Nadal. He is intelligent, humble, funny, clumsy, and gracious. He has the heart of a warrior and his body that is now battle-proven (forget about tested – been there, done that) – is testament to his warrior spirit. But in 2006, Rafael Nadal was a youthful 20 years old, was not yet fluent in English, and I couldn’t speak much Spanish. More on that later.
I’ll leave you with this, for now. If you’ve ever shaken a professional tennis player’s hand, you’ll immediately notice the calluses. The blisters. The evidence of how hard they work every single day is just at your own perhaps smooth fingertips. The feel of hand of a warrior is a bit alarming. At the same time, as a tennis fan and as a less-than-mediocre tennis player myself, the feel of a hand of a warrior is exhilarating. To be able to sense with your own touch the mind, body and soul that goes into being a professional athlete is awe-inspiring.
I’m still in awe, but not about the calluses. I’m in awe at how long and successful a career Rafael has had, and how fortunate I have been to see it evolve. I am in awe of how time flies without realizing it even does. In his final year on the ATP tour, and in all endeavors to follow, I wish Rafael the very best.
In the next few days, I will be posting the interview that I conducted with Rafa back in 2006. It will be my contribution to the celebration of Rafa’s hugely successful tennis career. I’ll take you back to the beginning, as we look now to the end, with a smile on my face, and yes, a few tears. ¡Vamos, Rafa!
“It's Amy,” I said. 