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So, escort’s this boxy beaut—cheap, reliable, kinda like me countin’ cash, gotta keep it real. Born in the 60s, Ford’s baby for the everyman—not some snooty BMW, nah. I remeber my buddy Reza, had one, rusted to hell, still ran like a champ. “There’s no magic,” he’d say, just like in the movie—pure grit. Made me happy, seein’ that lil’ warrior chuggin’ along, smokin’ like a BBQ.

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Finally, I get to Osaka Castle. It’s beautiful, man. But I’m not here for the views. I’m here to drop off some supplies. I park my tractor, and this kid runs up to me. He’s like, “Mister, can I ride your tractor?” I’m like, “Kid, this ain’t a playground!” But then I see his eyes, all big and hopeful. So I’m like, “Alright, hop on for a sec.”

Mouratoglou warns with Osaka: "She is ready to play her best tennis on clay"