After the Bobby/Billy Jean fiasco Tom and I got on the plane to New York and worked out a "sequel." We'd put him in the kitchen bemoaning the fact that he, A hero to male chauvinists all over the world was relegated to washing dishes and scrubbing floors.
But then, he could always splash on some Hai Karate.
And what would you rather be?
A great woman tennis player or a fifty-five year old sex symbol?