Game, match and set. A famous tennis player spoke on campus last week, then headed to Hamilton’s for a warm-up. We’ve never understood why every sportsman who swings a racket thinks they can play guitar just as well. The intruments may superficially resemble each other, but are strung rather differently.

The pro ingratiated himself into a set with that night’s cover band, The Babolats. His first number—a blues standard nobody would know if a certain celebrated electric guitarist hadn’t put it on a live album 30 years ago—devolved into a ten-minute guitar solo. (People forget that the song was originally written for harmonica.) The solo on the next tune, an early rock riff, took closer to 20.

The former champ continued to regress with excess. Many of us turned away from the stage, since he seemed to take the most casual sign of acknowledgement that he was still onstage as an invitation to play “just one more.” After an hour of such ball-chasing, there was no love between Mr. Backhand and his shattered admirers. Give us a football player hoisting fanboys while singing hardcore anytime.

Torn Tree and The Dry Maxes at the Bullfinch… The Polar Lobsters and Wha Sa at Hamilton’s (No rackets, no service)… Prince Thorlo and Gamma Head, a Hamilton’s-style band that somehow cracked the bigtime, at D’ollaires, with Perry Puma…