The party wears on and down until the champagne and caviar are gone and the world’s finest go back to their digs to rest up for their next assault on the casinos. As I see the last guests to the door, I can’t help but marvel in the delicious irony that an unknown (Greek) woman has captured the Millennium title of a man’s game.

And then it hits me. Back in Athens, 3,000 years ago, they played naked to keep that sort of thing from happening. Maybe I’ll do that next year. I hope Olga can make it.