It’s simply a score! … A tennis score, silly !
The French, who have a reputation, deservedly or not, in these matters: love or tennis, you choose … just do it … and (whisper?) talk about it.
They say, a little upset for one and self-satisfied for the other, “Zéro-quinze” and then after the next ball is served, it can be “quinze-quinze” or “Zéro-trente” … followed by “Zéro-quarante” and if the non-serving player scores the next point it’s …
“Jeu.” Game over. No Love. Just a game. On to the next one … A set. Two sets. Match point. Match.
Anglo-Saxons, on the other hand, tend to be much more emotional. We start with “Love” and then the 15s and the thirties and the forties until … someone gallantly says …
“You won!” And then? Well, the next game begins with … “Love”, doesn’t it ? Two winners.
Of course, the British started by playing on … green grass. Lawn tennis. Like love, a little unpredictable as to where the ball bounces.
Fate? Destiny? as in Woody Allen’s masterpiece “Match Point.”
