In a world perpetually poised on the brink of pending disaster, it’s time for some trifling, inconsequential, critical commentary — and there’s nothing much more insignificant than the sport of tennis.  Somehow this activity manages to survive, as always resuscitated by a few exceptional athletes whose personality and talent invigorate major events. Underway at this moment is something called the French Open, a competition played on red clay. Europeans — at least the citizens of France and Spain —  love it. There’s a lot to like, a lot to observe, for everyone. Factually, tennis exhibits the human body. Men who appreciate young women can appreciate the skimpy wear on many alluring bodies, especially when given intimate camera close-ups. Women who appreciate young men delight in ripped abs and trendy facial hair of the celebrity athlete. For other viewers, their interest might be peaked by a famous athlete wearing a full body suit that emphasizes a massive Gluteus Maximus. Speaking of hindquarters, there is the mystery of all mysteries, concerning a superstar named Rafael Nadal. Here you have a giant of the game — a tennis idol with money to burn, who evidently can not find underwear anywhere that does not doggedly crawl into his intergluteal cleft. Before serving a tennis ball, his routine never varies, including a series of tics and mannerisms, one of which is to use two fingers to deftly tug at the rear of his shorts, apparently to pull his underwear out of his butt crack. Nonchalantly, he does this in broad daylight, in front of millions. This behavior is not intermittent. He never fails to do the “tug” before every serve. Every serve. Thousands of “tugs.” You are left to wonder: Is the “tug” just a psychological habit? Is the “tug” a secret “tactic” that has vaulted him to the top of the tennis world? Would he have failed without the “tug?” Perhaps in the future annals of tennis, some expert will have written the Nadal biography and reveal all — a book that could be entitled, The Immaculate Tug. In any event, sports media ignore it. As do cameras. If his matches were played in Cameron Indoor Stadium, the crazies would invent a sound that would be voiced in unison to coincide exactly with the “tug” — something like, well, the word itself — “tug.” You no longer watch a Nadal event — but boycotting him has nothing to do with his fixation. Thanks to Monica Seles, he is one of the many players who have decided to ruin tennis. He, and they, do this by accentuating each shot with a loud shout, scream, groan, howl, shriek, bark, or squawk. Obviously, they have been taught by karate gurus that yelling reinforces power, concentration and intimidation. Many great players have adopted this crutch and many have avoided it. But you don’t believe screaming bothers the average tennis fan — because the dumbing-down of tennis fits right in with the wailing, complaining and whining of generations of Millennials. You’re relatively certain that tennis screamers are okay people, but you will never cheer for them, period. The Sharapovas, Williams, Haleps, Nadals, Del Potros, Ferrers, Murrays and many more are almost as annoying as the moronic Florida State tomahawk chop. Well, enough said about a trivial subject. Tennis has a tiny audience. No one cares about Nadal’s “tug.” But, gosh, you really would like to know the secret. Just think — if, before every tee shot, you reached behind and gave a quick tug — maybe — just maybe — your golf game would thrive with this unique pre-shot routine. Anything’s worth a try.