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	Roland Garros  Bob Martin

To hell with breakfast at Wimbledon: Anyone who knows tennis knows the best Grand Slam -- full of history, but lacking the stuffy pretension -- is the French Open. Therefore, my day would fall on the first Wednesday at Roland Garros -- Kid's Day, when the stands are full of screaming enfant terribles who make the atmosphere raucous and goofy. Meanwhile, the tournament is still in its early stages, with plenty of great matchups to take in with a sticky chocolate croissant in hand.

Then, while I'm digesting, I'd fly the Concorde to San Francisco for a feisty game of one-on-one at the most picturesque single-basket court in the world -- in the pine tree-lined park off Steiner Street in the Fillmore District.

Next up, a quick flight to Boston for a Yankees-Red Sox tilt at Fenway (before they tear the place down) ... and then, since this is my day, after all, an instantaneous body transfer to Rome, where the Italian national team would pound Germany 5-0 in the World Cup soccer final.