In a time of changes, social shifts and trends over the last number of years, too many to comprehend – Brexit, the rise of Trump, the hipster beard, kale, quinoa and other superfoods (lauded at first and then probably swiftly considered a staple food), even the unfathomable rise yet popularity of Ed Sheeran – Wimbledon is one of those institutions that remains constant. The strawberries and cream, the BBC coverage, Pippa, Cumberbatch or maybe a Duchess or other making an appearance on Court 1, all sunglassed and attentive. George and Amal perhaps.
And there’s Sue Barker, still presenting with her oft stripy umpire co-ordinated outfits, or perhaps a green blazer, the colour of Centre Court grass. And the queues, but more importantly, the rules and etiquette of the queue. Two of the actual rules that have not changed for decades include: ‘You must not leave the queue for more than half an hour,’ or ‘Queue jumping is not acceptable and will not be tolerated’. And the more recent practices that have now been enveloped into tradition: the Pimms on Henman Hill, Henman himself, all suited, shirted and tied, no matter the weather, stoic yet safely jocular, not a hint of envy as he pundits upon multiple grand slam titles of the big 4 – Federer, Nadal, Murray, Djokovic, while the caption under his names ‘4 times semi-finalist’ appears. Unspeakable celebration of mediocrity – unspeakable because Wimbledon does not do shame! Like in the times of war, it soldiers on! The British way. Keep calm and carry on!
This year, with the sun setting on day 5, has seen a few shocks to the system already – a few hairs out of place, a few toes out of line. Earlier in week, Andy Murray – riddled with a hip injury since last year, one that he tried his best to pooh pooh and undermine, was not fit to play this year. But most shocking of all – the women’s game has been thus far topsy turvy – many of the top seeds knocked out well before the middle Saturday, or before you could say ‘My! I do declare, Princess Michael of Kent! Hit me over the head with a babalot’! Britain’s Johanna Konta was knocked out yesterday by Slovakian Dominika Cibulkova in the second round. Konta – an avid baker, yesterday managed to achieve the tennis faux pas equivalent of a soggy bottom – went to a 3 set game in the first round – a pattern that usually predicts an exit in the early rounds. Sharapova, Venus, Kvitova, Wozniacki all out. Let’s see what happens in the second week.
The SW19 tournament – so fervent in his prowess at holding up tradition – is almost the perfect place to welcome back its most famous sons and daughters of the game in recent times – Rafa (this time, minus Uncle Tony!) and Federer, Serena and Venus. Still amazing, playing their best tennis in years, maybe the best they have ever played. We relish the prospect of a repeat 2008 final between Fedal. Or maybe a Serena post maternity leave victory. The only small noticeable changes or kinks in the order of things, was the umpire calling ‘Advantage MRS. Williams’ at Serena breaking serve, under the eye of her husband, Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian in the VIP box. No modern Ms would do! Or the potential messiness of so many young children in the VIP box. Federer – his two sets of twins, his family of doubles, Mirka supporting without a fault.
The women’s game, so unpredictable in this tournament, so hard to call that prehaps it mirrors the World Cup – the better teams out early in the tournament. Are we meant to finally champion the underdog? The sporting summer of ‘schadenfreude’ – savouring the pleasure in the better’s misfortune. Rather ironically, it is the Germans who have a word for this.
Though as far as Wimbledon goes, the minor foibles this year are about as upsetting an encumbrance as wiping dandruff off your navy Hugo Boss suit. Nothing ever changes really. Except for new balls please.
