Tennis anyone?

On Monday, the 2009 Hall of Fame Championships kick off at the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport. This is always a fun event, which includes the induction ceremony on Saturday. This year's headliner is Monica Seles.

After recently talking with, and writing a story about, Taylor Dent, I'd be hard pressed not to be rooting for him this week. He was one of the top Americans in the game in 2005, reaching No. 21 in the rankings, before two back surgeries sidelined him for more than two years.

He made his return to the ATP Tour last year by getting a wild card into the touranment at Newport, eventually losing in the first round to Frank Dancevic. But he's getting stronger physically, and he said he's willing to put in the work to better his game. Good for him.

On antoher note, I'm not sure if it can happen because the draw has yet to be released, but I'm pulling for a Taylor Dent-Fabrice Santoro final. The pint-sized Frenchman has become a bit of a cult figure here in Newport, winning the tournament in 2007 and 2008. He announced that this will be his final year on the tour, and winning one last title would be a nice way to go out.

Home sweet dome

The new retractable roof on center court at Wimbledon seems to be working fairly well so far. Luckily, it hasn't been needed very much during the last week and a half. But it makes sense to have it, because as anyone who watches the tournament or has been to London knows, it tends to rain a bit there.

That's why I'm officially calling for some retractable domes on Aquidneck Island. Without roofs, we may never see another outdoor sporting event. After an absolutely dreadful June, the start of July is looking even worse. Who would have thought that was possible?

So here's what we do, find a couple of hundred million dollars (did someone say Powerball?) and put a roof over Cardines Field (because the Newport Gulls and a lot of Sunset Leaguers need to go back to school soon). And, of course, the R&R Construction American Legion team will benefit, too.

Then we take a page from Wimbledon's book and put a roof over Bill Talbert Center Court at the International Tennis Hall of Fame. The Campbell's Hall of Fame Championships are next week, and will require at least five dry days to complete in a timely fashion. I'm not sure we've had five total dry days since the beginning of June.

We have to come to grips with the possibility that we may never see the sun again. Tuesday's beautiful weather very well could have been the sun's swan song.

Hence, we need some domes, and we need 'em now.

Vegas, babies.

While spending several days in fabulous Las Vegas, a common theme kept bothering me. No, it wasn't the pocket jacks that knocked me out of a poker tournament and then, the next day, watching my jacks get busted by pocket kings. Don't get me wrong, that was pretty infuriating, but it's part of the game.

What continually troubled me was the ridiculous number of families with children. Small children. Children who couldn't yet walk.

Anyone who's been to Vegas knows that there is a ton of stuff to do there besides gamble and drink (although those are my personal favorites). But why on Earth do people bring their kids to such a place? Would you take your little kids to a frat party, a bar or an R-rated movie? Because, in a nutshell, that's Vegas: a big R-rated party at a bar. Only the bar is the Strip.

Every time I saw a kid walking around a casino, all I could think of was Jason Lee's escalator rant in "Mallrats." For those who aren't familiar with the classic Kevin Smith movie, Lee sees a kid sitting on the escalator and goes off on this tangent:

"I hope his pants get caught and a bloodbath ensues. Don't get me wrong. I don't wish the kid harm, but his mother should suffer that horrific ordeal so she'll learn how to manage her child."

There's more, but you get the idea. Bringing your kids to Vegas just seems like bad parenting. Yes, there are pools and roller coasters and other stuff kids can enjoy, but it's impossible to get to any of those family friendly attractions without walking past and/or through a casino.

A casino is no place for children, and neither is Las Vegas.

The old and the beautiful

When I get up in the morning, my back aches and my legs are sore from running two miles the day before. I'm 31 years old.

So I really can't imagine what it's like to be a professional athlete in his or her 40s. Take, for example, Chris Chelios, the longtime NHL defenseman who played 28 games for the Detroit Red Wings this past season. He's 47.

Or how about Kenny Perry, the 48-year-old golfer who has 14 PGA Tour victories to his name? Of those 14, five have come since the start of the 2008 season, including this weekend's Travelers Championship in Connecticut. In April, he nearly became the oldest man to win a major, edged by Angel Cabrera at the Masters.

Clearly it takes dedication to keep your body in top form, but it also takes a little luck. To think that Cal Ripken, who retired in 2001 at age 41, didn't take a day off for 16 seasons is just astounding. Normal aches and pains can leave guys out of the lineup indefinitely (looking in your direction, J.D. Drew).

What Tim Wakefield and John Smoltz are doing right now is nothing short of awesome (although much different, seeing as though Wakfield is a knuckleballer), and the same can be said for Randy Johnson, who recently notched his 300th victory. Heck, even Mark Martin, who at 50 has three Sprint Cup wins this year.

And with that, I'm heading out for a run ... and subsequent ice bath.