Is it just me or does the annual tournament at the All England lawn tennis and croquet club mean quite as much as it used to? While I have never had even the slightest inclination to watch people playing tennis, let alone paying for the privilege, the two televised weeks of Wimbledon would occasionally grab my attention. I would support the plucky Brit, who would inevitably lose once she or he played one if the top players in the world, until Andy Murray turned up and spoiled things by being truly world class and all bad tempered and angry with it. Oh and he won major tournaments. What a spoilsport. Bring back nice but boring Tim Henman. We’re now at the ‘business end’ of Wimbledon 2025 and I am less interested than ever.
In an effort to correct my apathy, I visited the BBC website just yesterday and read a column by Naomi Broady, whom I learned used to be known as the ‘bad girl of British tennis’, a reference I assume to her ability at tennis, judging from her record in major tournaments. Anyway, Naomi previewed the women’s final, painting it in the worst possible light. Describing the game between Iga Swiatek and Amanda Anisimova, Naomi says: “It’ll be a chess match.” Dear oh dear. Have you ever watched even part of a chess match? If she had previewed the game by saying, “It’ll be like watching the grass grow”, the prospect could not be any more bleak. Suffice to say, I will not be watching the final, between two players I have never heard of because there will always be something better to do with my time.
As it turned out, the women’s final was the most bizarre ‘chess match’ in history with Swiatek winning 6-0, 6-0. The chess equivalent is hard for a non expert to quantify, but let’s just say that Swiatek got to check mate within a few moves in a very short period of time. Perhaps, Anisimova is the new ‘bad girl of tennis’. Perhaps she should change her nationality to British?
The men’s side of the tournament has been almost as uninteresting. I watched part of a game between the charismatic young Spaniard Carlos Alcarez and the ‘bad boy of British tennis’, Cameron Norrie, who arrived in Old Blighty via New Zealand, South Africa and the USA, USA, USA. The BBC commentators pretended for a while that this was a competitive game, although the difference in class between the two players veered between vast and embarrassing soon put paid to that. That, I’m afraid, was that for me.
Today, it’s men’s final’s day at the tennis and croquet club, with Alcarez playing someone else I have never heard of, Jannick Sinner of Italy and it has caused me a serious dilemma. Should I watch the game or do something I am interested in? Hmm. Tough call.
I hesitate being critical of today’s tennis stars, complaining that somehow they are not as good as the players I grew up watching. Because I suspect they are every bit as good. I did enjoy watching Bjorn Borg against John McEnroe because they were pure box office and latterly the elegant Roger Federer, arguably the best, at least to watch, men’s tennis player of all time. I expect Alcarez and Sinner to put on a display of brilliant tennis, likely lasting five sets, and appearing nothing like a chess match. However, to my great shame I am now of the view that once you have seen one tennis match, you’ve seen them all.
Enjoy your strawberries and cream, your Champagne and, oh yes, your tennis. I won’t be with you, at least not with the tennis, but I hope you enjoy it. I certainly don’t expect it to be a ‘chess match’ but if it is, why not join me and watch the grass grow? If you can stay awake, that is.
