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Incredible. Stunning. Unimaginable. Are there better adjectives to describe yesterday’s colossal wipeout, when J.R. Smith spun for a reverse jumpshot to end the half, and when Isiah Thomas was 0-8 in field goal attempts and only scored two free throw points?

How about Murphy’s Law? If anything could go wrong for the Celtics, it did, including an injury to I.T. As for the Cavs, it was the reverse: if anything could go right, it did, increasing their lead by double digits per quarter and LeBron James playing possessed: 12 of 18 for an easy 30 while icing his knees as the City of Boston perspired.

I don’t recall watching a game that lopsided. Boston’s the top seed? It’s like Gilas trampling over Malaysia in SEABA last week. Like Game 1, once again we’ve seen the rise of Kevin Love. He’s pushing his 6-foot-10 body towards the hoop against smaller defenders; he’s detonating those long-range bombs, 4 of 9 yesterday and 6 of 9 in Game 1.

The Cavs defense. Outstanding. They’re sprinting side to side, front to back; scurrying with arms outstretched and legs dancing; LeBron’s flying for blocks; they’re tirelss and relentless — thanks to the restful days when their batteries have been 100 percent fully-charged.

How about that passing? Led by one of the all-time best passers (King James), they toss the ball three, four, six times, all in rapid succession before finding the open Three or an alley-hoop jam. There’s no buaya like a Kobe or Westbrook; they’re having fun, they’re like a serious Harlem Globetrotters.

10-0. This was the same position they had last year. In 2016, they swept past Detroit, 4-0, manhandled Atlanta, then won their first two games against Toronto before losing the next two. Those twin losses to the Raptors were caused by their playing in Canada. Not this year. Games 3 and 4 are in Ohio and we expect a clean 12-0 slate before they face the Warriors.

All these post-season sorties are tune-up games for Part 3. Some people are happy with this; others are not. The NBA has 30 teams and only two dominate. Good or bad?

Blame it on Kevin and Kevin. When Love joined Kyrie and LeBron, plenty cried foul: they’re too strong. When Durant joined Klay and Steph, many shouted unfair. Bad for the league? If you’re an OKC or San Antonio follower, you’re frowning. Otherwise, this is terrific. Like the era of the Celtics-Lakers in the ‘80s or La Salle-Ateneo in Manila or Borg/McEnroe or Nadal and Federer or Senna/Prost or the Yankees vs. the Red Sox, a strong rivalry is riveting. The only problem: our patience is required. We need to endure these lopsided Rounds 1, 2 and 3 before the championship bell rings on June 1.

ILOILO CITY — Last Friday was a day of mourning and celebration.

It was an afternoon of mourning because we laid to rest Mrs. Corazon Garabato Gayanilo, the grandmother of my wife Jasmin (the mom of my mother-in-law, Malu Mendez) in Guimbal, Iloilo. It was also a day of celebration because relatives from Atlanta, New Jersey, Florida and various places converged to pay their last respects to an outstanding person.

Lola Zon was born on June 21, 1911. She was born a decade after Emilio Aguinaldo stood as our first leader and lived through all 15 succeeding Philippine presidents from Manuel Quezon to her namesake Corazon Aquino to Rodrigo Duterte.

“Corazon” means heart and it’s fitting that such a loving and kindhearted person would leave this temporal place for eternity during this month of hearts. Our family is often asked, How did Lola Zon live so long?

“She was not a vegetarian,” my mother-in-law Malu Mendez, the eldest child, said during the necrological service. “She was carnivorous!”

So it wasn’t her diet. Lola Zon also did not swim or run daily — so we cannot attribute extreme fitness as the reason. So, what was her secret to long life?

“She had big ears!” my mother-in-law said. By that, she meant that Lola Zon always listened. She always had time to listen and always had time for others — especially to her family of four children (Malu, Virgilio, Sol and Rene), 10 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. She lived simply. She laughed. She laughed a lot. And we know how good a medicine laughter is.

Lola Zon was a teacher. “The best teachers teach from the heart, not from the book,” a quote reads. Her students spoke of her firmness but compassion and patience as a teacher. She loved to serve and give of herself — to her students from the various public schools that she taught in Igbaras, Passi, Iloilo City High School, and in Guimbal. As one of her projects in Guimbal, she helped build a kindergarten right beside the church.

Lola Corazon’s life was devoted to God. In his homily last Friday, Fr. Albie Labaro spoke of how Lola Zon’s hands clasped a rosary as we paid our respects — and how she must have prayed the rosary for decades until her last breath. She was a grateful person. Contented. Humble. Generous. My wife Jasmin said that she was very, very kind.

As the saying goes, “A good teacher takes a hand, opens a mind and touches a heart.”

For 105 years, Corazon touched many, many hearts.

In tennis, when you say “Swiss champion,” you refer to one and only one person. That’s Roger Federer. No male human being has accumulated more Grand Slam singles trophies (that’s 17 major titles) — and is as venerated and esteemed worldwide — as the Swiss Federer Express.

In summer of last year, my wife Jasmin, our daughter Jana and I had the privilege of traveling to one of the world’s richest nations that’s located at the heart of Europe. Thanks to the incredible hospitality of Fritz Strolz, we got to traverse most of Switzerland in three full-packed days.

As soon as Mr. Strolz — who’s now based in Cebu and is married to the dynamic and pretty Pearle — picked us up at the train station in Zurich (after treking by train from Milan), our activities ran non-stop.

We toured Geneva for a day and visited the IOC Museum. We ascended Mt. Rigi, watching from a distance the Swiss Alps capped with snow. We visited Lucerne and Lausanne and were able to see the headquarters of such giants as FIFA (football) and FIBA (basketball). Would you believe, a total of 45 international sporting associations house their headquarters in Switzerland.

A highlight of our Swiss trek: When I disembarked in the Tennis Club of Basel — the venue where Roger Federer practiced his backhands and volleys as a child. The club has multiple red clay courts and, inside the clubhouse, photos and memorabilia of Roger (signed by the tennis artist himself) adorned the walls.

You see, in this land famous for many things world-class — Rolex watches, Swiss chocolates, pharmaceutical companies, Swiss banks — when you mention tennis, the automatic response (much like Philippine boxing equals Manny Pacquiao) is Roger Federer.

Not yesterday. Not when RF is injured and is recuperating from a knee injury. Often relegated as the groomsman of Swiss tennis because he’s always overshadowed by the Swiss maestro, it was Stanislas Wawrinka who triumphed at the U.S. Open.

Thanks to the live, two-week-long telecast of the ABS-CBN Sports + Action HD channel 701, I arose before 6 a.m. yesterday to witness the men’s final.

How did Wawrinka defeat the almost-unbeatable world no. 1 Novak Djokovic?

First, he’s not afraid of Novak. While Roger and even Rafa Nadal seem to have a mental inferiority against Novak (of the last 12 times they’ve played, Nadal has lost 11), the same is not true with Stan. While he’s only won five of the 24 times they’ve played, those victories have come at the biggest of stages.

French Open 2016. Last year, Djokovic was set to win the only major title that has eluded him. Who stood in defiance to beat him? Wawrinka. At the 2014 Australian Open, it was Stan who not only upset Novak but also beat Nadal in the final to win his first major.

Second reason why Stan’s The Man: his backhand. That one-handed topspin is glorious. Even if he’s 12 feet behind the baseline, he can wallop that shot and hit a down-the-line winner. John McEnroe calls it “the best one-handed backhand in the game.” I agree. And so does, I’m sure, Novak.

Three: He serves big. Not a 6-foot-11 behemoth like Ivo Karlovic, this Swiss still has tremendous power, often exceeding 132-mph with his serve. In the final, he served nine aces to the six of Novak.

Four: He won the bigger points. In break point chances, Stan saved 14 of 17. That’s an incredible statistic (and Houdini-like escape) against the world’s top netter. At the opposite end, he converted on six of 10 break point chances. This contrast spelled the difference in the match. Had Novak converted on his chances.. he might have won his 13th slam.

Instead, on the 15th anniversary of 9/11, a new champion was coronated in New York.

The world-famous brand Milo, owned by the largest food conglomerate in the world (Nestle, employing a staggering 339,00 people and grossing $91 billion a year), is sponsoring the 21st edition of the MLO.

I was there in the first meeting when the Nestle executives flew to Cebu to introduce this major sporting event for the youth. Councilor Joy Young, with Ricky Ballesteros and a host of other sporting enthusiasts (including Bidoy Aldeguer) were present. If my recollection is correct of that meeting long time ago, it was held at the Ecotech Center.

This weekend, over 4,000 girls and boys from the Visayas are gathered to compete in the elementary and high school divisions.

Milo? Yes, we know the name to be the energy drink but, after a quick research, I found out that it traces its roots from a 6th century BC wrestler named Milo of Croton. 

The encyclopedia Britannica says Milo was a “Greek athlete who was the most renowned wrestler in antiquity. His name is still proverbial for extraordinary strength.”

Milo was said to have joined six Olympic games and seven Pythian Games and won 32 times. “According to legend,” it continued, “Milo trained by carrying a calf daily from its birth until it became a full-sized ox. He is also said to have carried an ox on his shoulders through the stadium at Olympia.”

In this regard, Milo is literally putting its money where it’s drinking (Milo) mouth is by sponsoring these sporting events.

Two nights ago, I visited the SM Seaside City and the giant mall was the venue for multiple MLO events: gymnastics, karatedo, table tennis, chess, arnis, scrabble and taekwondo.

This is an excellent idea for several reasons. One, the comfort of the athletes and parents inside SM. Two, you’ve got seven events housed in one venue — perfect for officials and for the general public who want to watch. Three, you’ve got all the dining and recreational options after a stressful game for the athletes.

Which brings me to think: The mall can actually be an avenue not only for movies and restaurants and shopping — but also for even larger sporting events (think of the inclusion of the bowling alleys and the skating rink).

Looking ahead to the Palarong Pambansa in 2017, it’s a toss-up, I hear, between Bacolod and Cebu. I’d say the big advantage goes to the land where Lapu-Lapu killed Magellan.

First, Monico Puentevella — a major player in Philippine sports — lost in the elections for Bacolod City mayor to Bing Leonardia. Second, we last hosted the Palaro in 1994 while Bacolod hosted it in 1998. Which means that we ought to be given a slight edge for this, right?

Expect the SM Seaside City to be busy next summer if Cebu hosts the Palaro.

When I was a Grade 7 student in La Salle Bacolod, we were asked to inscribe a short message in our graduation book. My motto read: “To be like my father.”

Those five words, 32 years later, still hold true today.

Above all things, our dad Bunny has shown us — my siblings Charlie, Randy, Cheryl, Michael and I — how to love unconditionally. He spends time with us. He listens. If we have projects or concerns that need assistance, he’s there.

He’s present. And isn’t this the best present fathers can give their children? To be there always?

From as far back as I can remember, my dad was always present. During basketball or tennis games; in Sunday family dinners or birthdays — all we need to do is ask and he’d come.

My dad is generous. Both outside and especially inside, he is a good man. He is always looking at the other person’s viewpoint, not being selfish. His temperament mimics Barack Obama’s compared to Donald Trump’s. He is fair, honest and is a positive force who motivates others.

He is a lover of sports. And since I’m “obligated” to tackle this subject in these back pages, my dad Bunny has taught us to the importance of sports. To dribble; to swing that forehand; to exercise daily. I’ll never forget our trip to watch Serena Williams and Andre Agassi win the US Open. When Manny Pacquiao fought in Macau, we did the same. And ever the boxing fan, he flew to Las Vegas and witnessed the Manny vs. Money.

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person,” Jim Valvano, the late basketball coach, once said. “He believed in me.”

Dad believes in us. He believes in others.

We thank Our Father above for giving us a father like dad.

Seven days have passed since that 13-seconder of a bombshell when Conor McGregor one-punched Jose Aldo into tears and, watching the replay videos and reading the post-fight commentaries, the UFC 194 clash is still talked about as arguably one of the most shocking of fight nights.

Jose Aldo, to the non-MMA follower, is near-invicible. Or, shall I now put it, was unbeatable. He not only won 25 of his 26 fights before last weekend — he was considered the No.1 pound for pound fighter in all of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. He’s the Floyd Mayweather, Jr. (minus the loud-mouth) of mixed-martial arts. And, for the past 18 fights spanning 10 years, he had never lost.

To be embarrassed and subdued and to crumble to the ground with his head wobbly and dazed in the shortest UFC championship fight in history makes that victory as one of 2015’s most incredible of stories.

Did the antics and mind games played by McGregor infiltrate the steely mind of the Brazilian? Definitely. Their clash was supposed to happen last July — until Aldo backed out because of injury. Since then, when McGregor defeated Chad Mendes, the Irishman has unleashed one verbal punch after another, insulting Aldo and taunting him. There’s no doubt that the once-inpenetrable brain of Aldo was pierced and wounded even before they stepped into the eight-sided ring.

What’s amazing was how McGregor looked so loose and relaxed, as if this were some rock concert in Dublin where he’d sing and dance while everyone clapped. This was the biggest Saturday of his life. And while many questioned his showboatmanship and moviestar-like publicity stunts prior to Dec. 12, after UFC 194, nobody will question his talent and gift.

It’s like that advertisement: “Blood. Sweat. And Respect. The first two you give; the last you earn.” Surely, given the years of sweat that McGregor has poured, he’s earned our respect.

What’s exciting about McGregor is his personality. While some superstars are reserved (Aldo) or gentlemen-like (Federer and Nadal; thus, not attracting controversy), the 27-year-old, 5-foot-9, 145-lb. featherweight champ is all about hoopla, hysteria and notoriety. That’s why he’s labeled The Notorious.

Sport is entertainment. And this man, to match his skill inside the octagon, is a wild beast of an entertainer whose body is littered with tattoos and whose English accent spews invectives. His being articulate is a huge plus for his appeal. Interviewed by Joe Rogan, the new champ delivers seven words onstage that should be memorized by every fighter: “Precision beats power and timing beats speed.”

As McGregor was ready for the win, he, too, was ready with that quotable quote. His conquest was massive. It goes beyond the personal triumph of a former plumber turned MMA celebrity; it was a major score for UFC’s popularity.

Speaking of upsets — as this was an upset win over Aldo — who would have pictured the all-red, all-swollen, all-demolished face of Chris Weidman. He looked smaller than Luke Rockhold. He looked less confident; his kicks stung less than the challenger’s. He was totally outclassed. Where was Anderson Silva’s tormentor? Given that bloody mess that carved Weidman’s face, Herb Dean should have stopped the bout at the end of the 3rd. Maybe the referee had too much respect for Weidman, thinking that the previously-undefeated New Yorker would resurrect himself? Maybe. Still, that was too brutal and grisly an ending.

The worst upset of all? The previous UFC event (UFC 193) held in Melbourne. Who’d have expected Ronda Rousey to be downed in Down Under. Wasn’t she the person whom Joe Rogan called, “Once in a lifetime doesn’t apply to Ronday Rousey. It’s once EVER in human history?” Those words were a bad omen. (On RR, you should read ESPN’s exclusive story, “Rousey Says She’s Down But Not Out,” her first interview since that embarrassment.)

Aldo. Weidman. Rousey. What does this teach us? “To never let success get to your head and to never let failure get to your heart.”

Ha-ha. Of course they will. The NBA regular season stretches to 82 games per team and, thus far, we’re wrapping up the first quarter; 24 percent of the games have been played and GSW has been spotless.

“After coming off a championship run, one would think that the Golden State Warriors would still be hung over from winning it all,” said Jonas Panerio of Cebu Daily News, in an email yesterday. “But no; fuelled (or more like, angered) by naysayers and doubters who threw shade on what they did the past year, the Warriors took what already was a well-oiled machine and turned it into an unstoppable juggernaut, winning 20 in a row behind a beautiful brand of basketball that have made them the biggest draw in the league.”

Twenty-zero. Since their first game last October 27 until today, they’ve faced 15 different squads and defeated each one. When they met the Brooklyn Nets last Nov. 14, the team from New York led by three points with 10 seconds left. But a long-range missile from Andre Iguodala tied the game, sent it to OT, and after 34 total points from Mr. Curry, the Warriors smiled at game’s end, 107-99. Against the LA Clippers days later (Nov. 19), the Clippers led by as much as 23. In the 2nd quarter, the score posted at the giant screen of Staples Center was 50-27, in favor of Griffin & Co. But like Houdini, GSW escaped and clawed its way back to snatch the prize, 124-117.

“When will they lose?” asked Panerio. “Nearly 20 teams have tried. All have failed. Pundits are saying that they will at some point during their current seven-game road trip. Your guess is as good as mine.”

At 6 a.m. today (Phil. time), GSW’s record-breaking run is again under threat when they face the Toronto Raptors (who possess a 12-8 record). This is their second meeting. Last Nov. 17, the squad from Canada came close, losing 110-115 after 37 points from Steph Curry.

After today’s trip to Toronto, it will be four more visits for Golden State (in Brooklyn, Indiana, Boston and Milwaukee) before they play five straight at home. We all know, at some point, that the Warriors will lose. But we can’t help but root for their perfect run. When this golden episode ends, Panerio adds tackeld GSW’s next target: “The talks have been ripe of the possibility of touching or even breaking the 1995-96 Bulls’ regular season record of 72-10.”

One lucky father-and-son tandem who recently saw the Warriors was Dr. Ronald Eullaran and his son Ron Ryane.

Cebu’s top rheumatologist, Dr. Ron attended a conference in San Francisco and for one week bonded with his son. They toured the headquarters of Google, Apple and Facebook. And, to celebrate his 13th birthday during the trip, one stop that the young Ron “Yani” Eullaran requested was a trek to Oracle Arena. The date was Nov. 9. The Eullarans arrived at the venue so early that Yani was interviewed by the local TV station. He spoke about flying to America and making sure he watches his favorite, Steph Curry.

Of the 27-year-old, 6-foot-3 MVP, whose nicknames include “Baby-Faced Assasin” and “Golden Boy,” Panerio writes: “Sports writers, talking heads and analysts are quickly running out of adjectives to describe the daily devastation that the golden one is wreaking upon the league. With a Player of the Month award already tucked in his belt after averaging 31.6 points, six assists and five rebounds, Curry is quickly rewriting common basketball convention with a framework he calls his own. I mean really, what can be done with a guy who strikes while you’re still setting the defense up, often from ranges you don’t even cover?”

SB Nation’s Seth Rosenthal adds: “Stephen Curry doesn’t just excel at basketball. He affronts our customs for presenting and enjoying basketball. If Steph wrote a movie, the good guy would kill the bad guy in the opening credits. Steph dismantles the structure on which an entire production is built. He breaks every rule the rest of us are trained to follow and flourishes just the same. It’s not fair.”

Head to head, if we compare our 100-million-strong nation to the 1,400-million strong giant that’s China, we’re dwarfed. That’s why we appealed to the heart. Puso. We spoke about our heart. Our puso. That, despite our smallness and lack of height — both as a people, compared to Westerners; and as a nation, compared to China — that we have the heart. The fighting spirit.

We came so close. If this were an Olympic contest, we reached the finals. The gold was within our reach. But, in the end last Friday, when the FIBA Central Board gathered to decide on the host of the FIBA Basketball World Championships four years from now, we lost.

As close as we were, the final tally wasn’t close. It was 14-7. Heading towards Tokyo last week, I’m sure the members of the FIBA board already decided on which letters to choose: CHN or PHL.

As important as the final presentations were, I’m sure there was intense lobbying in the months prior to last weekend. The final vote was a formality. Still, what an accomplishment. As my colleague (and sports editor) Mike Limpag aptly put it last Sunday, the Philippines will have a mighty difficult time hosting an event as huge as, say, the Asian Games (with 10,000 athletes). But the FIBA World Cup — given that as few as four venues make us eligible — was within our grasp.

If there’s one video clip that you ought to see, it’s this one: “FIBA 2019: Philippines’ bid presentation.” Go to YouTube, type those words and you’ll be treated to an inspiring and enthusiastic presentation. I don’t want to be a “movie spoiler” but the show and the words uttered were outstanding. If the contest revolved purely on presentation, we’d have won.

Manny V. Pangilinan opened the 20-minute final proposal. Highly-respected not only in the business community but also in the basketball world, MVP spoke of this day being one of his proudest.

Lou Diamond Phillips was very, very passionate. Born in Subic, the movie actor and director was animated. He spoke from the heart when he talked about the Filipino heart. Next up was the man who best symbolizes the small-player/big-heart of the Pinoys. He’s Jimmy Alapag. He was fluent and motivating. Coach Chot Reyes was also very passionate. Finally, the most famous Pinoy on earth, it was Manny Pacquiao who pitched for us. Watch the video! You’ll enjoy it and will feel inspired.

Had the Phils. won the bidding, it would have been a major, major 2019 for Cebu sports. Because apart from the Phil. Arena, the Smart Araneta Coliseum and SM’s  MOA Arena, our very own SM Seaside City Arena would have been the fourth venue. Imagine the world’s greatest ballplayers (NBA stars) visiting?

In the end, China was too big and Yao Ming was too tall an opponent. China’s eight city-venues and world-class infrastructure — plus, this will be their first-ever FIBA World Cup hosting — were too compelling.

I thought our age-old Pinoy adage “Give others a chance” would come into play. China hosted the 2008 Olympic Summer Games. Come 2022, they’ll host the Winter Olympic Games. Maybe the decision-makers will choose the Philippines, to give “others a chance?” Ha-ha. No chance.

PARIS — One item that I never fail to carry each time I travel is my pair of Asics Gel Kayano 19 shoes. Almost every morning during our European sojourn here, I get up earlier than the two girls; I lace my shoes, sip a cup of jolt-awakening coffee and I’m speeding out of the hotel door.

A few mornings ago was different. That’s because I was paired with a running buddy: my only child Jana. Jasmin was supposed to join our trio but she woke up feeling not too well. And so it was a father-and-daughter date along the romantic streets of this most romantic city.

Starting near the Opera district where we’re housed, we slow-walked to stretch our cold muscles until our steps turned into a relaxed jog.

Prior to our trip, we had planned to go sightseeing via running. And so Jana was fully-equipped: wearing her pink Nike shoes, she wore 2XU compression tights and snapped-on a Garmin 15 GPS watch to track our distance.

In many of the quaint side streets here, you’ll be stepping on cobblestones and brick-layered floor. Watching your steps for uneven bricks is part of the challenge. And while Paris is one of our planet’s most luxurious of cities, home to iconic art galleries and fashionable people, the streets are often littered with trash and cigarette butts. It was part of the maze, zigzagging to avoid the obstacles.

As Jana and I exited the narrow alleys, we soon arrived at a majestic building: The Louvre. Jogging beside this incredible structure — with 10 million visitors each year — was surreal.

The next stop was refreshing: the Seine River. It cuts across the heart of Paris and snakes through the city. We climbed the bridge to inhale the cold wind that cooled our heating bodies. It was 14C degrees. This is the beauty of running with this aircon-like temperature that envelopes this continent. You don’t tire easily. That’s why you’ll notice hundreds of slim-figured people doing the same forward-movement activity.

I brought along my phone and with the help of Google Maps (the most important App in any travel), we traversed through the Jardin des Tuileries. This historic open space built in 1667 is awash with gardens (“Jardin”), fountains, forest-like trees, picnic grounds. From the Louvre to the Place de la Concorde, we sprinted a straight path on soft clay and pebbles.

We did not run nonstop. The intersections provided the mini-stops to relax. They forced us to look around 360 degrees each time we arrived, gazing at these monuments where Napoleon Bonaparte once walked.

Continuing our journey, we headed north-west to trek along possibly the most famous street anywhere: the Champs Elysees. It’s not flat but a steady incline. At 8:30 in the morning, the shops were still closed, including the seven-story flagship store of Louis Vuitton.

Thirsting for water, we found a store and bought a bottle for 2 Euro. That’s expensive. A tiny bottle for over P100. The price you pay in Champs Elysees.

At the top of the 1.9-km. avenue stood another stunning masterpiece. It’s the Arc de Triomphe. It stands erect at the center of a rotunda — imagine a giant-size Fuente Osmeña — with 12 outer roads that lead throughout the city. Pausing to recharge our legs after the climb, Jana and I stood in amazement.

We plotted our next move: We ran along Avenue George V. It was a welcome downhill drive, running past the Four Seasons Hotel and the Crazy Horse cabaret stop. We emerged back to La Seine and coasted along the riverside.

Then we heard sirens and police cars. Thinking that there was some operation on-going (maybe they were trying to catch a thief), we continued our hike. At the end of the bend, a policeman approached us and, upon closer inspection, said in classic French accent, “You are not a suz-pect!”

Whew! We were relieved. Only later did we realize the truth: There was a race going on and, not wearing race bibs, we were ushered into a different road.

Finally, as the Garmin watch showed 8.0 (kms.), Jana and I stopped. We high-fived, smiled, snapped a photo and looked up. Ahh, the Eiffel Tower.

PARIS — After three days of gazing at bicycles in Amsterdam and after an overnight hop to Brussels to sample Belgian chocolates and waffles, we arrived at the City of Light.

Yes, would you believe here in Europe now, at 9:40 at night… it’s still bright. The sun arises early before 6 and it doesn’t set until nearly 10 p.m. Which means, for this city with the illuminated Eiffel Tower, you’ll have endless time to walk the gardens, snap photos of the Louvre and crave on crepes and croissants.

The first stop for this tennis-crazy writer? Where else: Roland-Garros.

Here in Paris, they don’t call their tennis tournament “French Open.” That would make it too obvious. Roland Garros is the name of a World War I fighter pilot (not of a tennis legend). It is also the name of the Parisian tennis garden where, for two weeks, rackets will pulverize balls and rubber shoes will slide on sand.

My wife Jasmin, our 16-year-old daughter Jana and I are staying near the Opera district. On Monday morning at 9:25, I walked to the Metro station in Grands Boulevards and descended the flight of stairs. A speedy 25 minutes later, I emerged from Michel Ange Molitor.

As soon as I alighted from the Metro station, I knew I was in the correct place. A “STADE ROLAND GARROS” signage pointed the way. On the asphalted sidewalk, there was a spray-painted sign that read, “1100 meters away.”

Walking briskly (I didn’t want to look overly-excited by sprinting), I reached the gate alongside hordes of other tennis fanatics.

This is my second time inside Roland-Garros. But the first one was different: Back in 2001 with the Mendez family of my wife, we entered the empty complex in Sept. and toured staring at empty green seats and no one firing backhands on the 20 courts.

Last Monday was different. It was a holiday in France and thousands congregated inside (I couldn’t even buy tickets for Jasmin and Jana).

Roland-Garros is special because, like many landmarks that stand here like the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Versailles Palace, it is rich in history. Founded in 1891, it began as a tennis event limited only to male members of French clubs. Six years later, women competed in their own category. It wasn’t until 1925 when international netters were welcome.

I attempted to soak in all of this history two days ago. Before watching any balls being hit from right to left, I walked the hallowed grounds. Sculptures of tennis legends adorn the gardens. A museum houses the memories and moments. Names like Henri Cochet and Jean Borotra are sprinkled around walls.

Rene Lacoste, world famous for his clothing brand, is a three-time French Open champion. During his playing days, he was nicknamed the “Crocodile” for his ferocity on-court; thus, the logo of Lacoste.

Everyone here, naturally, wears Lacoste. All the umpires wear blue coats or T-shirts with the the crocodile logo. Same with the officials and linesman, in honor of their French star.

I got to see plenty of boxing last Monday. Yes, like Manny’s sport, tennis is one on one. (More challenging than boxing: no coach is allowed to converse with you.)

Fabio Fognini was a magnet for spectators in Court 2. He played Tatsumi Ito. For those who went to Plantation Bay in 2011 for the Davis Cup tie when we played Japan, you’ll remember the tall Japanese. He promptly lost to Fognini.

Soon after, Jasmin asked me on Viber: How are you doing? My reply: “I’m in tennis Disneyland.”

Two youngsters impressed me the most. One was Dominic Thiem. Only 21, the Austrian smothers that serve and forehand. Another kid to watch is Borna Coric, the former No.1 junior, who defeated Sam Querrey. That first-set tiebreaker was a thrill. Coric, only 18, is the youngest player in the Top 100 (he’s 46).

At Court Suzanne Lenglen, it was Gael Monfils who fueled much applause. He’s French and he reminds me of Yannick Noah. Remember the 6-foot-4 serve-and-volleyer (who’s the dad of the Chicago Bulls star, Joakim)? He won Roland-Garros in 1983 — the last Frenchman to win the men’s singles crown.