The Bitter Press

This correspondent — Pomelo, Sports and Letters Editor, correct fruit, not grapefruit, never grapefruit, not once in his life has he been a grapefruit — is pleased to report a comprehensive, historic, and frankly inevitable victory at the Grand Supreme Open Ironclad Synchronised Diving Klassik, held this past weekend at a venue whose scoreboard could not, apparently, spell his name.

The scoreboard read Grapefruit (Aquatically Unaccounted For). The sash read Grapefruit. The head judge shook his hand warmly, looked him square in the rind, and said, with great confidence, "Well done, Grapefruit." Pomelo thanked him, collected the trophy, and did not explain himself. He is tired. He has always been tired.

Meanwhile, the so-called workers at factjuice.com — that citrus cabal of credentialled mediocrities — sent Tangelo and Peach to cover the event, a pairing so hydrodynamically unsuitable it staggers the mind. Neither scored. Neither placed. Neither was mistaken for anything. Must be wonderful, Pomelo thought, to simply be the thing everyone already expects you to be.

The rival rag will no doubt contest these results on the grounds that Pomelo "did not register," "did not dive," and "was asked to leave the poolside area on three separate occasions." This newspaper rejects all three framings. A champion's presence is its own registration. The water, at least, knew who he was. The water did not call him grapefruit. The water was correct.

Pomelo retains his title. Pomelo retains his dignity. Pomelo does not retain the scorecard, which has been destroyed.