There’s a small tennis club that’s about five miles away from the house that I grew up in; it sits just off of the main road. It has six courts that sit side by side, the court surface a roughly 50-50 sand/AstroTurf mix. For eleven months out of the year it sits, deserted. The gates are always open, and every two days or so you might see a car or two in the adjoining gravel car park as you drive by. The club has lighting, but presumably you need to be a member with a key to turn the system on. Usually the club remains deserted. Except for two weeks out of the year when you see nothing but hive-like activity. Two weeks when this small tennis club, and thousands around the country like it, are swarming with life. The two weeks of The Championships, Wimbledon. During these two weeks the club literally buzzes with small children holding over-sized racquets, old couples playing back-and-forth and sulky teenagers who’ve suddenly become sporty after years of hiding in their bedrooms listening to Slipknot and Megadeath. The courts teem with activity during the two weeks of Wimbledon except, of course, when Britain’s annual number one seeded buzz kill Andrew Murray – or Andy to his, well…everyone – steps on Centre Court and ruins the Great British Summer.
Now, I’m not here to rag on Andy Murray. Not at all! The sporting press and anyone who has ever seen a tennis racquet will do enough of that when his tank runs out of gas in the quarter-finals. I’m not here to pick on poor Andy, we all know that he’s useless, and really that’s all that needs to be said about him. He’s like Jessie from Breaking Bad: he means well, but he is just useless. What I want to look at is this: why does tennis suddenly become important when it’s being played here? Why is it only during Wimbledon that tennis matters?
Question: why does no one care when they’re playing tennis in Australia, or France or Uzbekistan? I’m sure they have tennis players in Uzbekistan. And presumably (if it exists – I haven’t done any research here…) the Uzbekistan Open is a semi-prestigious event. I’m sure that they even clean the camel turds off the court before play commences. I’m sure Andy Murray plays this event if it actually exists. So why don’t we care about tennis then? Why aren't the nation’s children out buying cheap Wilson racquets and sneaking over the fence on to private tennis courts year round to practice (weather permitting, of course) during that tournament? Again I’ll ask; why is it only during Wimbledon that tennis matters?
I feel that a lot of it has to do with deeply rooted British pride. We are a nation of prideful Brit culture-junkies. We love to love being British and we love everything this involves. We’ll complain until we are blue in the face about the state of things in this country. We’ll complain to anyone that will listen. But we here in Britain are proud of our mess. We love our mess! We wouldn’t have Britain any other way, even though we spend inordinate amounts of time talking about how much Britain needs to get its act together. We have that British pride that just won’t quit. We love our music festivals, our mediocre musical acts that have somehow attained prominence in America (another British Invasion, only this time the “music” isn’t music, the “artists” are actually talent show hacks and it
Wimbledon falls in with this great big bubble of Britannia. It’s our tournament. It’s a sport the French invented, but we brought it here and we Brits will be damned if we’re gonna let those bastards lay claim on anything. It’s our tennis tournament. Of course these feelings are subliminal, we don’t even realise that it’s an international struggle against the French. We probably don’t even realize that we care, or why we give a damn. We just do. It’s in our blood. We just love Wimbledon. It’s a tradition.
This kinda illustrates why Britain will never embrace “American Sports” like Football, Basketball or Baseball. We have our sports. We don’t want or need any more. We can’t relate to these modern sports. We like our sports like we like Sunday dinners, TRADITIONAL! We have football (how'd America get Soccer? Really?) a sport that peasants used to play with pig bladders during feudal times, a sport that the British working class have been able to get drunk to for over 140 years! We’re not going to replace this tradition with ten tall black men, two hoops and a bouncy orange ball. Hell no! This isn't because we're racist here (we are) it's because we don't get it. We also have rugby, a sport that the inbred aristocracy and pompous middle class have been using to hash out their daddy issues for well over 150 years. It’s a sport (and really, just something) that the Welsh have actually succeeded at! There’s no way that that’s going anywhere anytime soon. Then we come right back to Tennis. Tennis is all manners and restraint. Whereas in Yankee Football there is no restraint, just sheer brute force and trash talk; pure power and aggression. Even though the majority of Britain is working class, we’re really still all about our traditions, even if we don’t like to admit it and even if we don’t realize it. And where British sports are concerned, it really doesn’t get any more traditional than Wimbledon. I mean come on! I saw Prince Charles at Roger Federer’s Centre Court match today! Royalty attend Wimbledon! You’re not gonna see the Royal Family roll up at the Super Bowl. You can count on that. American Sports will never make it in Britain because we are too hung up on our “old” sports to welcome in any new sports. Not only that, we SUCK at all of our sports on an international level. When sports are concerned, we Brits SUCK on all the levels you can think of. There’s no way that we’re getting shown up on a Baseball diamond.
Like I said, it all (probably) comes down to our national pride. We have a lot of pride in Wimbledon. It’s part of our culture. Like it or not (usually not) we watch Tennis between June and July. It’s what we do. It’s Britain’s Tennis tournament. We have to care. Just like you wouldn't see the Royal Family in throwback Patriots jerseys at the Super Bowl (you’re more likely to find Drake and Chris Brown sharing Gazpacho in a Canadian Bistro tomorrow afternoon), you won’t see them at the Uzbekistan Open. It’s a fact. You won’t see it because it doesn't matter. Only Wimbledon matters. It matters because it’s British.
I've only driven past that local Tennis club once since Wimbledon started, and it was during Andy Murray’s first round blow out against Nikolay Davydenko. It was deserted. No cars in the car park, no one on the courts. I didn’t drive past today, but I didn’t need to – I know what I’d find. I know that it was packed, that it’ll be packed tomorrow (until the Andy Murray game) and that the trend will continue until Wimbledon ends. It may last for a week or two after that, but then the inevitable will happen: those courts will again be deserted. They’ll be used maybe once or twice a week. Tennis will be forgotten until a) next year’s Wimbledon, or b) Andy Murray wins a Grand Slam. Whichever comes first? All those racquets bought across Britain will find themselves bagged up and thrown to the backs of hallway closets. Neglected, forgotten, gathering dust and Tennis will once more cease to matter.
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