Serena vs Henin-Hardenne

Once upon a time a person obsessed w/sexual innuendo could have some good fun with Justine Henin-Hardenne's name. Now that she'd divorced and the hyphenate is gone, it's much more difficult. Why did you divorce, Justine? I can no longer imply through my pronunciation of your last name that you are, in fact, an erect male phallus, battling the world's top women players in a best-of-three contest for the right to advance in a grand slam.

Disappointing, perhaps, but in a way fitting, since Henin really isn't a joke anymore. She dominated Williams the Younger last night, winning in straight sets. Serena put up a fight in the first but was clearly broken mentally in the second set, losing 6-1 and running her record to 0-3 against Henin in Grand Slams this year.

Early, Serena looked a bit sluggish, as if she were having trouble answering the bell. Serena's breasts looked quite alert and fit, but they were muffled on this night, with only a bare hint of that lush cleavage peeking out. Perhaps this had something to do with the final outcome? Still, after a few games Serena was lathered up and looking good. The broad, muscular expanse of her back and shoulders glistened under the lights. Her nostrils flared, her biceps, triceps and lats clearly defined, she looked like every tennis player's nightmare.

And yet Henin stood firm. She laced her penetrating groundstrokes into both sides of the court, thrusting deep, withdrawing, thrusting again, varying her pace and rhythm to keep Serena constantly off-balance, occasionally urging herself along with a quiet, "Allez." It was clear that if Henin worked her opponent with that hypnotic rhythm, Serena would lose control of the match. It made for captivating tennis; Hennin's aggression, Serena's efforts to retain her composure and prevent Henin's deep thrusts to her ad and duece courts.

And so it went, point after tense point, game after tight game until finally, with a loud shriek of agony, ecstasy, and capitulation, Serena collapsed in a quivering heap and remained there, panting, for several minutes. The constant rhythm of those fuzzy balls had done their worst. She had again suffered the mini-death against the former Mrs. Hardenne, and would have to wait until the next match for her revenge.