The home of alternative sports commentary

At TippyTappySports, our aim is to bring you the best alternative sports commentary from around the world.

Whether it's football, cricket, rugby league or basque pelota, we'll bring you the kind of entertaining insight that only former captains of the under 9A's have access to.

So keep an eye on our broadcast schedule for upcoming major sporting events.

Follow us on all our social media for updates, snippets, previews and more. Because at TippyTappySports we’re dedicated to the use of sporting cliches – one match at a time.

So mute the tv. And turn up the tippy tappy!

Filtering by Tag: tennis

Roger Federer and The Miami Age Machine

Overnight Roger Federer, the king of effortless strokeplay and diffident pasta twirls, won his 101st career title, taking out the Miami Open. The Miami Open is an ATP World Tour Masters 1,000 event which, to the uninitiated, means that it’s one of the biggest tournaments outside the 4 grands slam – or is it grand slams – and the end of season ATP Finals. In other words, it’s a big deal. After all, the prize money is over USD$1million. Not that Roger needs any more hard earned. Or coolly earned as the case may be.

The reason why we are banging on about this achievement is because Federer is a tennis champion at the grand old age of 37. Thirty seven. He’s the oldest ATP Tour tournament winner and is the only player this year to have won more than a single tournament. Let that sink in for a nanosecond. [Let’s thought sink in] Federer is relatively ancient and he’s still winning major tournaments. Ok stop. You too Federer.

Just a reminder – Federer is playing professional tennis. He’s not a golfer i.e. someone who walks by lakes and sandpits and whacks a little ball with a big stick and doesn’t even have the self respect to carry the clubs himself. Nor is Federer a goalkeeper, ambling around the 18 yard box and occasionally punching balls away because catching them is too hard. No, not for Our Roger. He’s out there floating around the court, creaming off-forehands, fizzing one handed top spin backhands or flicking half volleys from the baseline, all before apologizing for breaking serve. But never breaking into a sweat.  

Yes, much has been written about Federer previously. His talent is supernatural. His touch is extraordinary. His tears whenever Rod Laver appears contain the elixir of eternal life. His grace and demeanor is unparalleled to the point of nauseating. Father of the year, player of the century, there is nothing he can’t do. He even makes wearing a linen blazer in ivory seem like a good idea. Trust us, it’s not. We’ve done it. Heaps of times. It wouldn’t be so hard to take if he was in his mid 20s with a sunny disposition, fuelled by the misplaced optimism of youth. But he’s not. He’s old. He should be retired. He should be Dad bod friendly. He should be spruiking hair plugs and committing unspeakable acts in broom cupboards. He should be working out what to say during a tell all interview with some shonky media outlet who’s holding a form of Swiss kompromat that would make even Donald J. Trump blush. But he’s not. Sad!

By the age of 37, any right thinking person has glanced wistfully into the rear view mirror and thought to themselves, “how did it come to this?” Ok that might be just us here at TippyTappy Sports. As for Federer, he shows no sign of slowing down. Rather, he is accelerating. His skill is in deciding late, yet moving early. His delay is what gives him his advantage. That is the true mark of genius. Watch Federer play and there’s always a nagging sense that he’s not actually playing the person on the other side of the net. His opponent is not Nadal. It’s not Djokovic. It’s also not Kyrgios mainly because Kyrgios has threatened to make good on his talent but has spent the previous evening playing Fortnite and flossing on a jetski before rolling his ankle while jumping off. No, the only opponent that Federer ever has is himself. He may never win another major. He may never win another tournament. But Federer will always be playing.


The Renaissance of Alternative Sports Commentary

just as 15th Century Florence was a hotbed of artistic, intellectual and philosophical intrigue, the same can be said of the tippytappysports commentary team. We are Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo all rolled into one resplendent renaissance self. Splinter is our patron and mildly aristocratic vermin overlord. We can see the Uffizi from our sewer. We generally mix metaphors and take things a simile too far. Let the Renaissance (re)commence.

You might be wondering what we’ve been doing during our brief hiatus. Well, so have we. The time wasn’t spent in a daze. In fact, we needed that time out to let our minds rest and recuperate. After all, sports commentary is hard, alternative sports commentary even harder. Our renaissance is more of a rupture. A redoubling if you will of all that is good, bad and indifferent about sports and sports commentary.

Since we’ve been off air, we’ve seen the passing of Muhammed Ali. He was the greatest. At what precisely remains a mystery. There is nevertheless so much to look forward to. We have the world championship Zika virus about to take place in Rio de Janiero. Our Olympic coverage will consist of duels between Bob Costas and some other dude. We may look to re-enact the Juan Antonio Samaranch highlights reel consisting of receiving brown paper bags and downing bottles of Chateau Petrus before elevenses.

Apart from the Olympics, at some point over the next little while, we will seesomebody write an article about whether it’s time for Arsene Wenger to retire, whether Leo Messi is better than Cristiano Ronaldo, does Australia have any idea how to play the Duke ball and is Novak Djokovic’s true destiny to play Travis Bickle in the inevitable remake of Taxi Driver. Tennis Player directed by Michael Bay and produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. Of course, some professional sportsman will disgrace himself and then apologise for any offence “he may have committed”.  

In that respect, plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. We don’t even know what that means. But just as Steve Waugh’s insistent mantra was “no regrets”, we would say in response, “non, je ne regrette rien” which just sounds like French for “no worries m8 sik kunt”.

So apologies to you all for leaving you just like that. But let’s not look backward. Let’s look to the Renaissance. Let’s don some tights and a jerkin and mince around like we’re extras in Game of Thrones. Sure, that might be taking things a bit too far but when has excessive restraint ever been in the tippytappysports playbook?

Keep an eye on our broadcast schedule for upcoming live calls, appearances – likely to be every day somewhere – and general silliness. Embrace the Renaissance and live stream hilarity will ensue. Guaranteed.

So mute the tv and turn up the tippytappy. Your ears will thank you.