Tuesday 1 July 2008

Tennis Is Not My God either.

The crowd on Henman Hill:
A one off special guest post from the corner of my brain that becomes very interested in that lofty middle class pursuit called Tennis, for the two weeks around Wimbledon. I was, for several hours, swept up in Andy Murraymania yesterday evening. His game against Richard Gasquet was cleverly scheduled for proles like me to watch it after we returned from work. This is not quite true. While I did watch the first set with an air of expectation, I resigned myself to Murray's inevitable defeat after the first game of the second set, and had a little kip on the sofa.

I was awoken innumerable ground strokes later, thankfully not in the midst of a Khubla Khan like dream that I would then forget, by the crowd hollering in phsychosexual patriotic hysteria, as Murray broke back at the end of the third set, and then bleary eyed, jolting myself slightly, I watched him win the third set.

Firstly Murray, a talented and determined player. He is clearly a more passionate character than other stoic 'Brits' who have graced the centre court. I can't imagine Tim Henman ever getting as animated as Murray, not even at the height of orgasm, when no doubt he has a little smile to himself and rabbit punches the air, like he did every time he won a break point. In other respects he's right out of the Henman mould. A very good player,capable of scaling the walls of greatness and competing, but incapable of ever winning a grandslam, just because there are other better players around, such as Federer and Nadal. He, like Henman, has a dodgy first serve too. Having said that he played extremely well last night. Gasquet is certainly no mug. I felt sorry for him last night, having played so superbly only to be undone, in no small part, by the crowd.

And what a crowd. I am all for fervour. I am all for cheering. But the kind of people that go to the Tennis (not all of them, obviously) really, really, really, get on my tits. They cheer like they have never cheered anywhere else in their suburban little lives. And the cheering sounds wrong somehow too, it is slightly jarring, like listening to your nan trying to sing Gwen Stefani. And they often cheer at inappropriate times. There is something ever so, and I hate to be politically incorrect like this, spastic about their cheering. It is like the Sunshine Club have descended en masse upon SW11.

: (spaz voice) C'mon Andy!!

My mental image of this was further bolstered last night when the camera panned around the stadium during the change of ends. We were treated to the sight of a bucktoothed, square headed, public school Murrayite wrapped in the flag, looking delirious on jingoism and the occasion.

Apparently having 15,000 flag waving imbeciles, and a plastic enhanced Cliff Richard, shouting your name and frothing over each other, while Sue Rider, [edit]I mean Barker[/edit] slides around on her seat, helps you win matches. I can't see how. Maybe this is what separates me from the demi-gods though, and explains why I am an office worker rather than a sports star.

But yeah, having said all that, and made my position on Tennis crystal, I do have to admit it was tremendously exciting last night. A great match. And if you can't beat 'em join. At least in this.

I hope Andy Murray wins it.

3 comments:

Terry Duffelen said...

Congratulations. From this day forth Sue Barker shall be forever known as Sue Rider.

Your placd in history is assured.

Chris Paul said...

ha- shit.

*hastily edits*

Jason said...

Horribly sexless middle-aged women in home-made t-shirts featuring exhortations such as "Go Andy!" etc

I love tennis and hate Wimbledon. The class aspect overwhelms me and the only tactic is to switch my gaze to hardcore pornography stationed strategically next to the television whenever the director throws in a crowd shot.

Not the worst way to watch tennis.