Meow

It's never a pretty spectacle, watching clueless people pick up big hammers and hit themselves in the head with them. Part of you feels for them, but another, bigger part thinks "Damn, you people are stupid."

Enter the French Tennis Federation.

Whose president, Bernard Giudicelli, announced the other day the French Open would be instituting a dress code ala Wimbledon. The code was widely and accurately interpreted as a shot at Serena Williams, who wore a black head-to-toe catsuit at this year's French, partly for health reasons. A victim of multiple pulmonary embolisms, Williams donned the suit at least in part to help prevent further blood clots in her legs.

This cut zero ice with Guidicelli, who said the catsuit would "no longer be accepted."

""One must respect the game and the place," he said.

Excuse me?

And just what the hell does that even mean?

That the premier women's tennis player in history lends prestige to the game and the place simply by showing up -- cat-suited or otherwise -- should be abundantly obvious to anyone unencumbered by the stuffy self-reverence of tennis. Saying Serena Williams, of all people, was not respecting the game and the place by wearing an outfit that was at least partly functional ... well, if there was a more tennis thing to say, I can't imagine what it would be. It's the sort of thing you say when your mailing address is 1885.

Unfortunately for the Defenders of Respect, it's 2018, not 1885. In this century, folks really don't care if Serena Williams is wearing a catsuit. This is because it's her athleticism and artistry they come to see, not her choice of wardrobe. Only the Bernard Giudicellis, with their Victorian notions of propriety where women in particular are concerned, become exercised over such paltry matters.

In so doing, they only show how out of touch they are with modern sporting audiences. And, by extension, how out of touch their game and their place are.

Nice goin', Bernie.