Goodbye Marat
"You know, the story of the hippo? The hippo comes to the monkey and said, listen, I'm not a hippo. So, he paint himself like a zebra. He said but he's still a hippo. He said but look at you, you're painted like a zebra but you are a hippo. So then he goes, you know, like I want be a little parrot. So, he put the colours on him and he comes to the monkey and said but, sorry, you are a hippo. So, in the end, you know, he comes and said I'm happy to be a hippo. This is who I am. So, I have to be who I am and he's happy being a hippo."
Today, that hippo played what he says will be his last professional tennis match. I don’t have the words to express how I feel about Marat, so I will again borrow someone else’s. Several years ago, someone asked Jon Wertheim of Sports Illustrated why we should care about Marat, and he replied the following:
“Because he is thoroughly entertaining, even in defeat. Because he is the human Skinner Box, a model of unpredictability, capable of stunning and stunningly bad tennis -- often on the same afternoon. Because he is thoroughly without pretense. Because he drips with personality, looks like a model, is funny even on the rare occasion he tries not to be. Because tennis would be incalculably less interesting without him around.”
Incalculably less interesting. Yes. That’s it exactly.
We'll miss you, you stupid hippo.