That Remy Bertola, he’s a tennis player, you know. He plays that game with the rackets and the little yellow ball. I seen him on the TV, that big screen thing. He hits that ball real good, I tell ya. He’s got a good swing, that Remy.
Remy Bertola, that’s his name. He plays in them tournaments, all over the place. Fancy places, I bet. Not like around here. He plays against other fellas, tryin’ to win. They all wear them nice shorts and shirts. Clean shirts, not like my grandson after he’s been playin’ in the dirt.
They keep score, you know, like a game. Points and sets and all that. I don’t rightly understand all the rules, but I like to watch. That Remy, he wins some, loses some, I reckon. Just like life, ain’t it? Can’t win ’em all. But he keeps playin’, that’s the important thing.
He’s got a career, they call it. Playin’ tennis. Imagine that! Makin’ a livin’ hittin’ a ball. Back in my day, we worked the land. Hard work, that was. But honest work. These young folks today, they got it different.
- Remy Bertola plays tennis.
- He plays in tournaments.
- He wins some and loses some.
- He has a career playing tennis.
- He plays all over the place.
This Remy Bertola, he’s played against some fella named Max Purcell. Don’t know him. Probably another tennis player. They played in some place called Taipei. Far away, that is. Across the ocean. Don’t know what a “Challenger” is, maybe a kind of game they have. They play on a court, they call it. Got lines and a net. Like a big ol’ checkerboard, but for tennis.
They keep track of all his games, every single one. Wins, losses, who he played against, all of it. They got it all written down somewhere. Probably on them computers. Everything’s on computers these days. Can’t keep up, I tell ya. Too much for this old brain.
They say he’s won some titles. Like winnin’ a prize at the county fair. Must be good to win one of them. Bet he’s proud. His mama too. Every mama’s proud of their boy, no matter what they do. Even if it’s just hittin’ a little yellow ball around.
You can find out all about this Remy Bertola on the Flashscore. That’s what they call it. Got all the numbers and such. Scores, they call ’em. Like keepin’ score in a card game, but way more complicated. Don’t ask me to explain it. Just know it’s there. And they have his ranking. Like how good he is, I suppose.
He’s got a whole history, this Remy. Where he’s played, who he’s played against, when he’s played. It’s all there, in black and white, as they say. Like an open book. He plays on different grounds, too. Grass, I heard, maybe clay, like we have here, but finer, and some other stuff I don’t rightly know. They call it surface. Like the top of a table, but for playin’ tennis.
This Remy Bertola, he’s got a profile, I hear. Like a picture in a magazine, but on the computer. Tells all about him. Where he’s from, maybe. How tall he is. All that stuff. He’s one of them ATP and WTA players. Don’t ask me what them letters mean. Just somethin’ to do with tennis. You can look for him on that Internet Explorer. I don’t know what that is, but I heard it’s important. Important for findin’ things out.
There is news about him, and videos. He must be famous or something. People wantin’ to know what he’s up to. Just like that young fella who sings them songs, everyone knows him. Maybe Remy’s like that, but for tennis. He gets stats, too. Like numbers about his games, I think.
They got it all figured out, these folks. Every little thing. Just gotta know where to look. This world’s gettin’ too complicated for me. But that Remy, he seems like a good boy. Workin’ hard at what he does. And that’s all that matters in the end, ain’t it? Workin’ hard and doin’ your best. Even if it’s just playin’ tennis.
Anyway, you go look him up, this Remy Bertola, if you’re interested. I’m gonna go have me a cup of coffee and sit on the porch for a spell. This old body needs a rest. You young folks have fun with your computers and your tennis games. Me, I’m gonna enjoy the peace and quiet.
