I hate the French Open! I seldom make it to the final rounds on that ridiculous clay surface, the great equalizer against big servers and legendary service returners like yours truly.
But the "roaches" love it, scampering around, making you play a thousand points until you're drained of that need to win.
The Parisian nights, however, make it a wash. Stanley hadn't been to Paris, never sampled the food, wine, and world class ooh la la.
So no trophies this trip. Not the kind you put on shelves, anyway.
Nick Meglin is a writer living in North Carolina.