The strains of the Black Eyed Peas 'I've Got A Feeling' are still ringing through my fragile head, Fergie and 'Will.I.Am' having made no less than six appearances on Saturday night at the wedding of Mauritian rugby international Henri Vaulbert. It proved an apt anthem for a night of island revelry (I'm almost certain Ozzy Osborne's originally Mauritian); not quite so appropriate for South African rugby fans, particularly as victory in Brisbane was all but certain going into the game.
Still, kudos to the Springboks for seeing the bigger picture, acting for the good of the Tri-Nations, and allowing the Wallabies a victory that will have cheered them up immensely, and extended interest in the competition a little longer. Selfless men, John Smit and his team, acting with a sense of philanthropy unusual in professional sport; South African nerves will be a little frayed in the lead-up to next Saturday, though...
But enough rugby for now, as another sport takes centre stage this week. The US Open enters week two today, and with it my second week of a debate on the game. 2009 has confirmed Roger Federer as the greatest player of all time, a status another title at Flushing Meadows will only reinforce. A new question for tennis, then, and which this week's tournament poses all the more relevantly: is this the greatest era of tennis the game has ever seen?
My mother will lead the furious outrage at this suggestion; clinically obsessed with Wimbledon, she's still trying to deal with the demise of wooden racquets and players in long trousers, and has to go and lie down with a comforting picture of Fred Perry every time Rafael Nadal arrives on court dressed as a skateboarding parrot. And the older tennis fans amongst you, fans who remember the battles that McEnroe, Connors and Borg gave us, or back further still, to Arthur Ashe, or even Rod laver, will have good reason for favouring halcyon days of old.
More recently, Stefan Edberg, Boris Becker and Ivan Lendl led their own mighty generation, as did Sampras and Agassi ? and that's before touching on the women's game. Martina Navratilova, Chris Evert, Billie-Jean King; Steffi Graf and Monica Seles; not so long ago, the Williams sisters and the Belgian duo of Clijsters and Henin-Hardenne. Every era has a rightful claim to golden status ? but could this week in New York be the greatest advertisement for tennis yet?
The presence of Federer is a major factor, certainly, but his rivalry with Nadal is currently sport's most electric, and there are a couple more years in it once the Spaniard is back from injury. It's not just a two-horse race on the ATP, though. Roddick disappointed on home turf last week, but his Wimbledon final produced as glorious a defeat as we'll see in sport this year. Andy Murray might finally give Britons something to celebrate at Wimbledon, such has been his improvement in the last twelve months. Djokovic is all class, and across the Tour young talent is bubbling under and making life tough for the more established names.
But why tennis is flourishing so radiantly at the moment is because the women's Tour is in similarly rude health. After a period of apparent apathy towards the game, the Williams sisters have their mojo back, and are as competitive as ever. The swarm of top Russians has strengthened the game considerably, Dinara Safina the latest to have risen to the top of the pile. And the quiet return of Clijsters, playing this week on a wildcard, is tribute to the allure of the game, and how much the Belgian still wants to be part of it all.
Era for era comparisons are impossible to affect objectively, and this more so than most, given the improvements in technology, and particularly the influence of a big serve. But however much you might pine for the sight of a McEnroe tantrum or Borg headband, a Graf backhand or a Seles grunt, you can only revel in the quality, style and competitive depth of the game at the moment. Long nights in store this week, then, catching the last of each night's action; right now, tennis makes for some of sport's most compulsive viewing.