Thank you, BrooklynSki Club for alerting me to the fact that your site and its' contributors are not a bunch of sniffling blow addicts ripping rails through Billyburg. I can't say I'm not slightly disillusioned at the dangerous, wild lives that my imagination had painted for you all, but carry on with your boroughtastic blogging mission.
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Last night I had the distinct pleasure of witnessing this and I must say, I think Billie Jean King stole a bit of my heart last night. What an eloquent, thoughtful, intelligent, charming and engaging speaker she was at the dedication/renaming of the USTA complex.

Billie Jean King was just a little bit before my time, but coming from a tennis family I learned both fundamentals and history. I learned about the battle of the sexes and became familar with Billie Jean as a retired player who provided expert commentary and rose to leadership positions within the WTA. And then of course, her alternative lifestyle.

What I never knew, was how eloquent and distinquished Billie Jean could be. What a mentor she was to younger players - when she easily could have lost herself in her own legend and ignored progress. What a humanitarian she could be to those who came after her.

Last night she spoke passionately about public parks and tennis courts, how they belong to the people and we should use them. It struck me that one of the disadvantages of becoming such a globally connected society (through social media), is that while shifting our consciousness to crimes and concerns around the world, we can lose sight of what's right in front us. We can get lost in Darfur or AIDS or poverty or education and forget the simple pleasures that make up our offline community.

I'll admit, I waxed nostalgic during her speech, to simpler times as a child. A time without home PC's and even before atari. A time when playing wasn't Second Life, writing in your diary meant a bound book with blank pages rather than Diaryland and when talking to a friend, you meant actually next door at their house rather than IM. A time when parents spent weekends with their kids - and not checking email, answering mobile phones or driving to the corner.

During those times, BOTH of my parents, would tell my brother and I to put our sneakers on, and the four of us would walk with our wooden tennis rackets and metal basket filled with tennis balls, just a 1/4m to the nearby public tennis courts and hit balls for a few hours until dinner time.

They'd run us kids all over the court and we loved it. We'd drink from the public water fountain; bottled water only existed if your septic tank was contaminated. The four of us would laugh and yell and run and hit and not even notice that the whole afternoon had passed and it was too dark to even see the balls come over the net. Then we'd walk home and have dinner together. There isn't a single night I can remember - unless it was the rare sleepover - that we didn't all eat dinner together.

My parents celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary on July 15th of this year.

All of this crossed my mind at last nights' US Open. During the match, as a family of four sat behind me and the mother and father explained the game to their son and daughter, I found myself pulling out my mobile phone at Arthur Ashe stadium and calling my parents at home to tell them where I was and provide a firsthand account of the match.