Net gulp

 Serena Williams is 44 years old and plays her first singles match at Wimbledon in four years today, so of course she's all over media, social and otherwise. She is THE story of this Wimbledon, because she's not only come out of what was presumed to be retirement to do this, she's also playing doubles with her sister Venus.

And so everyone's wondering what a 44-year-old icon's game will look like, after so long away.

Will there still be echoes of who she was, which is the most decorated player in women's tennis history? Will there be a laser forehand from, oh, say 2009, or a blistering volley from 2010? Will there be even a whisper of her 23 major singles titles, or will she just look like a rust-laden 44-year-old trying to keep up with the kiddos?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Me, I want to know what Maya Joint's thinking right now.

"Who the heck is Maya Joint?" you're asking now.

Well, she's a 20-year-old from Melbourne who grew up in Grosse Pointe, Mich., the daughter of an Australian dad and a German mom. She turned pro in 2024, and in her only previous Wimby last year she was knocked out in the first round. She's ranked 87th in the world, and her biggest career achievement so far was reaching the second round of the U.S. Open in 2024 and 2025.

Now, in a couple of hours, she's going be on Centre Court at Wimbledon, looking across the net at Serena Williams.

Serena Williams, who's been on Centre Court so many times they should charge her rent.

Serena Williams, who's won Wimbledon seven times -- the last time a decade ago, when Maya Joint was in grade school, and the first time in 2002, when Maya was still four years away from being the proverbial gleam in her parents' eyes.

Fun fact to know and tell: Serena won her first major title at the U.S. Open in 1999, when she was 17 years old. That's 27 freaking years ago to you and me, kids.

Now Maya Joint's going to be on the other side of the net from her. I don't know if that constitutes a net gain for the young'un, or a net gulp.

Holy crap, it's really her. SERENA WILLIAMS. Greatest women's player in history. Twenty-three major titles. There's probably a statue of her somewhere. Several statues, even. Would it be weird if I asked for her autograph?

I'm guessing Maya Joint will be trying super hard not to think that.

I'm guessing she'll be trying super hard to think this instead: Look, Serena's a 44-year-old woman who wasn't even sure if she wanted to do this until the very last minute. I'm younger. I've been playing professionally for three years; she's been having babies. She's ambivalent; I'm not. So I figure she'll be gassed  by the middle of the second set, and th-

OMG! I'm playing SERENA WILLIAMS!

Gulp. 

Powers that were

 So remember the other day, when tiny Ecuador stunned Germany 2-1 in the group stage of the World Cup?

Well ... as Johnny Olsen used to say, "But wait, there's more!"

"More" in this case being, "Germany is out of the World Cup."

Got nicked 4-3 in PKs by Paraguay -- just a suggestion, but maybe Deutschland should avoid South America from here on out -- and was bounced in its first game in the knockout round. The game ended in a 1-1 draw after a German goal was disallowed that apparently shouldn't have been disallowed.

But wait, there's more!

Not only are the once-mighty Germans gone with the expanded knockout round barely begun, so is the Netherlands. The Dutch went down to Morocco in their round-of-32 match, also on PKs. It was their earliest World Cup exit ever.

So two powers-that-be are gone, calling into question whether they're now just powers-that-were. One can only imagine what great departed souls from each country must be saying, having gloried in the spangled days of the Franz Beckenbauer Germans and Johan Cruyff and the Clockwork Orange.

"For cripe's sake, Paraguay? We got knocked out by PARAGUAY?? Can anyone even find Paraguay on a map?", Bismarck and  Goethe must be spluttering.

And from the Dutch?

"Dutch Masters, my a**!" Van Gogh is surely fuming. "This team looks like it was conceived by that lunatic Bosch!"

"Hey!" Hieronymus Bosch weighs in. "Bite me, you one-eared freak!"

Whereupon they commence throwing paint at one another.

In all seriousness, though, maybe Germany and Netherlands bowing out is just a nod to the world's game actually becoming more worldly.

South America has always been strong, of course, so no surprise that Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Ecuador and Colombia all reached the knockout phase. A bit more revealing, however, is the fact Canada just notched its first knockout win ever, and eight African nations made the round of 32 -- including tiny Cape Verde, playing in its first World Cup, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, which got in by beating Uzbekistan 3-1 the other day.

It was DR Congo's first World Cup win ever. Les Leopards get England next in their first knockout game.

England: Another traditional power, and one which has already been played to a nil-nil draw by Ghana. 

Bet the Three Lions if you must. But beware the prevailing theme.

Priorities

 NBC blew off "Major League Baseball" last night to air the finish of the weather-delayed Travelers golf tournament, farming out the latest Yankees-Red Sox tilt to MSNBC and Peacock. It even stuck with golf during the rain delay, switching over to the Women's PGA Championship.

This immediately got the pearl-clutchers saying this proved America's Pastime truly is Past its Time, because back in the day it would never have taken a backseat to golf in the Sportsball World pecking order. The priorities have changed, in other words, and heaven knows if they'll ever un-change.

I don't think it was quite so seismic. I suspect it just meant NBC chose struggling Nelly Korda missing another putt over the 937th rendition this season of Yankees-Red Sox.

Which, OK, was a big deal for suffering Rolled Sox fans, because Sonny Gray almost hung a no-no on the snooty pinstriped one-percenters from New York, and the Sox went to a finish a weekend sweep of the Yankees' caviar-munching tushes with a 5-4 win in ten innings.

This either signified the long-awaited stirring of the Bostons, or a brief sunlit moment in what has been a relentlessly gray season. After all, even after racking four straight Ws, and seven in their last 10 games, they're still last in the AL East by a game-and-a-half.

That's not why NBC chose golf over baseball, though. I suspect it goes back to the 937th rendition thing.

Which is to say, yes, Yankees-Red Sox is baseball's marquee rivalry, but it's not as if we've never seen it before. Like, every other week, it seems. Or every week. Seriously, do these two ever play anyone else?

Doesn't feel like it, at least to the casual observer. No, yesterday was not the 937th rendition this season, but if it's exaggeration for effect, the point pertains: Every time they play one another, it's on the tube. No wonder a good part of America thinks Yankees-Red Sox is the "Law & Order" of baseball: On all the time somewhere.

"Hey, look, Martha, it's the Red Sox and Yankees!"

"AGAIN??"

That sort of thing. 

Anyway, it's Golf 1, Baseball 0 this time around. So hooray for Haeran Ryu (who won the Women's PGA while Korda tied for eighth), and Scottie Scheffler and Viktor Hovland, who resume their playoff today.

I'm going with Scheffler. Better changeup, I hear.

O Canada

 Happy Monday, Blobophiles, and here's your name to remember for today: Stephen Eustaquio.

He became, I don't know, the Wayne Gretzky of Canadian soccer or something yesterday, when he knocked an attempted clear smartly into the goal in extra time to give Canada a 1-0 victory over South Africa in the knockout round of the World Cup.

It was Canada's first knockout round victory, like, ever. Thousands of young Canadians will now forsake hockey and start kicking soccer balls around, on account of they're bigger than hockey pucks and you don't have to learn to skate.

OK. So I jest.

But imagine -- just imagine -- what would happen if Canada were to jack around and win a second knockout game, in which case Les Rouges (the Reds) would advance to the quarterfinals of the whole shootin' match. Now imagine if you're a kid growing up in Toronto with a throwback Dave Keon Maple Leafs jersey. Or a kid in Montreal, Edmonton, Calgary or Vancouver who's never seen a Canadian team in the Stanley Cup Final in his or her lifetime.

Canadian Dad: Come on, son, strap on the blades, grab the lumber and let's head out to the rink!

Canadian Kid: Aw, geez, Pop. I was gonna go kick a soccer ball around with the guys.

Dad: WHAT?! You mean you don't want to be the next Gretzky or Lemieux or, goodness gracious, Gordie Howe?

Kid: Nah, hockey's for losers. I want to be the next Stephen Eustaquio.

(Dad clutches his heart and immediately expires. They bury him in his throwback Yvan Cournoyer jersey.)

(Les Rouges send flowers and offer his son a spot on their developmental team. Word is he's such a dazzling striker he's started going by one name, like Pele. Everyone just calls him Jacques.)

(No Longer) Cruds Alert!

 Didja see? Didja see what happened last night in Major League Baseball?

"The Cubs lost to the Brewers again?" you're saying.

Well, yes.

"Your Pittsburgh Cruds (about whom we've heard quite enough, by the way) lost to the sorry Cincinnati Deads?" you're saying.

Uh-huh.

"Well, what else, then?"

Chicago White Sox 22, Kansas City Royals 1. That's what else.

Yes, the baseball team formerly known as the What Sox absolutely beat the brakes off those pathetic Royals, and not only that, but the Cleveland Guardians lost, too. Which means guess who's sitting atop the AL Central this morning with the third-best record in the entire league?

"The baseball team formerly known as the What Sox?" you're saying.

Correct!

They're 42-38 here on June 27th, a game clear of the Guardians. This is quite impressive, all things considering. In fact it's a damn miracle, or something close.

A year ago on this date, after all, the still-the-What-Sox-then were 26-56 and dead last in the division. And two years ago on this date, when the What Sox put on the field the all-time worst team in the modern era, they were 22-61.

That's 20 more wins and 23 fewer losses, if you're keeping score at home. And untold less suffering for fans of the Pale Hose.

And so forget the Blob's periodic Cruds Alert, at least for today. Today, it's the No Longer Cruds Alert.

Grab another Old Style, you south siders. You've earned it.

Cinderella Men

 The best story of the World Cup so far got even better yesterday, when those plucky islanders from Cape Verde played Saudi Arabia to a nil-nil tie. It was the Verdeans' third draw in three games, which means they're still undefeated, and which also means they're on to the knockout round.

You remember how they played Cup favorite Spain to a scoreless draw in their first-ever World Cup match, a stunning upset approached so far only by Ecuador, which shocked mighty Germany 2-1 the other day. ("Wait, we lost to ECUADOR??" -- Otto von Bismarck. "Great, now I gotta write another tragic opera." -- Richard Wagner). 

Well, now the Cinderella Men are on to the round of 32, just like Spain and France and all the other big boys. Led by 40-year-old keeper Vozinha, who's given up just two goals in three games, they're the smallest nation in the tournament. With a population of just 525,000, in fact, they're smaller than every one of our 50 states.

So, go, you Cape Verdeans. May we all wrap ourselves in the national flag (blue with red and white stripes and gold stars), and sing the praises of the Tubaroes Azuis ("Blue Sharks") on July 3 as they march fearlessly into their first knockout match against defending World Cup champion Argentina.

Yeah, Lionel Messi 'n' them will probably crush 'em. But July 3 is the day before America's 250th birthday, and nobody thought we'd kick British booty, either. So maybe Cape Verde will catch some of that vibe.

"We are small," Vozinha said, echoing Washington or Thomas Paine or someone. "But we have big hearts and we are fighters."

Added Cape Verde coach Bubista, echoing, I don't know, maybe Herb Brooks: "Everyone is entitled to dream, and nothing is impossible."

"Darn skippy!" shouted Ben Franklin, banging his fist on the table.

OK, so he didn't. But you get the gist.

Justice delayed

 Look, by now we all know what the WNBA is. And, no, not a bunch of black lesbian white-girl haters, which is what some people say who swear they have nothing against black or gay folk, but sure talk like they do.

Nah, nah. What the WNBA is, it's Dick Van Dyke tripping over that ottoman.

(And for you younger Blobophiles who don't get the reference, the Blob suggests you jump on YouTube and punch in "The Dick Van Dyke Show" opening. Consider it a learning experience.)

Anyway, the Can't Get Out Of Their Own Way Bunch did it again this week, after Alyssa Thomas of the Phoenix Mercury kneed Indiana Fever star Caitlin Clark in the groin and pushed herself up with a fist to Clark's throat in a loose ball scrum.

Now, I have watched the video half a dozen times, and I still can't tell how much of that was intentional. When the ball comes loose and players scramble after it, stuff happens. Players catch elbows and knees and, yes, fists, in unfortunate places. So I certainly don't think Thomas should have been charged with assault, as some of the more unhinged Caitlin worshippers were hollering.

What I do think is it shouldn't have taken a whole day to slap Thomas with a Flagrant 2, and it should have resulted in far more than a puny one-game suspension. The WNBA, tripping over the ottoman again.

The league's officiating has faced a well-deserved tsunami of criticism since Clark's star power turned a spotlight on the WNBA, and it bought another wave with this latest hoo-ha. Thomas, you see, not only was NOT charged with a Flagrant 2 on the spot, she wasn't even assessed a regular old garden-variety foul. Apparently the officials didn't see nuthin'.

How that could be when four players -- Thomas, Clark and two other Mercury players -- were wrestling on the floor for the ball is a mystery undreamt of in your philosophy, as the Bard would say. What were the on-court officials looking at? Freddy Fever, the Indiana mascot? Some superfan up in section Triple Ought Z?

Beats me. The upshot, though, was the WNBA's delayed justice ("Oh, crap! We're getting crap! We need to do something!", you can almost hear league officials saying) further stoked the narrative that the league isn't doing enough to protect its golden goose. And there's more than a little truth to that.

It is not, however, as neat a storyline as it seems. Or so it says here.

Yes, there's no question Clark gets knocked around a lot. But while some say it's jealousy (and stupidity, considering how much money Clark has made for everyone in the league), it's also that opponents have figured out that aggressive defense throws Clark off her considerable game. 

That's not jealousy or stupidity. That's just strategy.

And, listen, Clark plays into it, to an extent. There is, let's face it, more than a little thespian in her: The exaggerated flying backward at the slightest bump; the blatant selling of the foul; the theatrical pleading her case to the officials.

She is, in other words, a Bill Laimbeer Class flopper on occasion. Defenders also shove, trip, elbow and beat on her like a guy pounding out dents in his '85 Corolla. Both things can be true.

This also is true: After the Mercury shoved, tripped, elbowed and beat on her the other night, she left the floor with a sore back. 

And not from carrying an entire ham-fisted league, either.