The problem with silence is that any rudeness can be engulfed in it.
Almost behind closed doors, Roland-Garros scoop.
Squeaks, moans, yelps.
We shout and groan, we scream in every corner.
The press room which, on Monday, hooked up a television all day long on the Suzanne-Lenglen court, leaving the sound there, spread an atmosphere of Bulgarian porn throughout the room, without arousing, and this is the most astonishing, neither the slightest shame nor the beginnings of emotion.
Like the acceptance of a new acoustic standard.
Read also: The great blues of the players at Roland Garros
Noise management is an old logomachy of tennis, but it is funny to observe these players who, in the twelve unoccupied hectares of Roland-Garros, are startled by a squeaky chair, or interrupt themselves because Nelson Monfort uttered words, but at the same time, pay no attention to the bellicose grunts of their fellows.
Sunday, Andy Murray stopped serving because on the set of France 2, well above his
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