Wimbledon Line Judge Bro Goes For The Fist Bump And Is Quickly Reminded He Has No Friends

I’m not sure how you get to be a line judge at Wimbledon, but what I am sure of is that if you’re a line judge at Wimbledon, it’s your fucking Super Bowl. Like if you’re dressed for your Holy Communion for a tennis match, this is big business for you. You treat that 14 seconds of airtime like you’re in a sex tape that will make its way on PornHub. This particular dude had higher aspirations than just calling a ball in or out, he wanted to approach his big day with some flare, some bravado. So instead of just walking, one foot in front of the other, this courageous line boy thought he’d throw some daps at his fellow line boys, thus asserting himself as King Line Boy. Instead, he was left hanging like a Johnny Manziel jersey at a Dick’s Sporting Good clearance sale. The poor bastard will be thinking about this very moment in the shower for decades to come.

[h/t Deadspin]

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Matt’s love of writing was born during a sixth grade assembly when it was announced that his essay titled “Why Drugs Are Bad” had taken first prize in D.A.R.E.’s grade-wide contest. The anti-drug people gave him a $50 savings bond for his brave contribution to crime-fighting, and upon the bond’s maturity 10 years later, he used it to buy his very first bag of marijuana.