Every time I think I can’t love HBO more, they bring out something new. Their original programming has been spinning its web around me for years, arguably starting with the comedy stand-up specials they’ve been airing since the 1970’s, people like George Carlin, Bill Cosby, Eddie Murphy and Ellen DeGeneres.
The first original series that just floored me was Six Feet Under, as I think I’ve noted here before. I caught the pilot, called my then girlfriend, now wife, into the room and said, “Honey, you’ve got to see this.” I never missed an episode after that. We became devoted followers of The Sopranos around that time, as well. And yes, I’ll cop to it: I watched Sex and the City, too.
Most recently, they’ve hooked me with True Blood, Game of Thrones and Treme. There are several more I’m not mentioning. I don’t seek out Bryant Gumbel’s Real Sports news magazine but tend to stumble across it, and I never change the channel when I do.
HBO’s documentaries are also outstanding; I don’t know where they find all the incredible talent they showcase. There was one about the elementary school in Chechnya where hostages were held, and eventually killed, and you felt like you’d survived something after watching it.
Occasionally HBO Sports makes its own documentaries, all of them narrated by Liev Schreiber, and all of them excellent. There was one about the Curse of the Bambino, and the whole psychology of the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry.
Just the other evening I happened to be flipping through the guide and saw that “McEnroe-Borg: Fire and Ice” was coming on. I sat up in my couch, immediately flashing back to my childhood, and the excitement of the few matches between the two that I was able to witness live on television.
Even at that young age, I knew I was witnessing something special. The two men looked, and “felt,” so different from one another. I found myself rooting for the Swede for some reason. I preferred his reserve to Mac’s wild outbursts and petulant scowl. Borg just seemed so classy. And, as the documentary points out, he was like a rock star, constantly being hounded for autographs by screaming girls.
If I ever wanted to be a tennis player, it was definitely Borg. Lately, I’ve come to like the mellower McEnroe, and I actually think he’s one of the best sports “color men” I’ve ever seen. No one knows the sport better or can speak with more authority about being in the heat of competition. He freely gives his opinion about players and their games, but he’s never ugly about it. In a word, Mac has grown.
Not only was it lovely to see these two men reminisce together about their amazing, if brief, rivalry years ago, but the footage put me right back there in White Plains, at 18 Hartford Lane, in the brown paneled play room, watching Wimbledon live, early on a Saturday or Sunday, rooting for a cool breeze from Scandinavia by the name of Bjorn Borg, my dad sitting comfortably on the couch, with me on one side and my brother on the other, much as I now watch Federer and Nadal with my boys.
I miss those days, but the present is a comfort to me, and the future beckons, in all its excitement and mystery.
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