“Sounds like a wrestling match,” I say. “A wrestling match.” He laughs.
Yes, you could describe life that way.” “So which side wins?” I ask. “Which side wins?
He smiles at me, the crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth. “Love wins. Love always wins.”
Taking Attendance
I flew to London a few weeks later. I was covering Wimbledon, the world’s premier tennis competition
and one of the few events I go to where the crowd never boos and no one is drunk in the parking lot.
England was warm and cloudy, and each morning I walked the treelined streets near the tennis courts,
passing teenagers cued up for leftover tickets and vendors selling strawberries and cream.
Outside the gate was a newsstand that sold a halfdozen colorful British tabloids, featuring photos of topless women,
paparazzi pictures of the royal family, horoscopes, sports, lottery contests, and a wee bit of actual news.
Their top headline of the day was written on a small chalkboard that leaned against the latest stack of papers,
and usually read something like DIANA IN ROW WITH CHARLES! or GAZZA TO TEAM: GIVE ME MILLIONS!
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