There is no game with so much excellence currently swirling at its top, that so reliably delivers not just entertainment, but historic greatness. It isn’t to be missed. Conventional superlatives fail. Once-a-lifetime? Symphony of brilliance? Wicked good? It all sounds cheesy, inadequate. But what’s happening in the men’s game is as close as sports gets to unadulterated joy, the kind of outrageous viewer experience that leaves the audience gasping, as if anaerobic, as it did Sunday morning, in the men’s final of the Australian Open.
Thanks, Yoshi!
Preach.
