Bill Simons
For 144 years, Wimbledon has been a beloved haven. Andre Agassi contended, “You can have a tournament anywhere in the world and it will never hold the mystique that Wimbledon has…No words describe the magic you feel.” Writer Herbert Warren Wind commented, “Of all the evocative names in sports, I do not believe that any has more significance or rings the bells of memory more loudly and clearly than Wimbledon.”
But the place does draw critics, too. One Brit contended that with Wimbledon, “There has always been a deadening decorum, an air of restraint. A suitable motto would be, ‘With privilege comes the duty not to be seen to be enjoying oneself too much,’ or ‘All things in moderation except moderation itself.'”
Some say good ol’ Wimbledon is a tad stiff, a rather unbending place ruled by stultifying traditions. Here, traditions have traditions, pomp is an art form, civility is a religion.
We’re told, “Quiet please!” “Don’t jump the queue.” “No running.” “White gear only.” “Please, no flash photography.”
In this perfectly manicured slice of tennis heaven, ball kids are flawless. Chair umpires are crisp. Ushers are somber soldiers and sailors in impeccable dress uniforms. The Duchess of Cambridge is perfectly proper. The Royal Box offers the most cherished seats in tennis.
Yes, do enjoy your strawberries and cream. (There are precisely 11 berries in each serving, and all from the very finest of English farms.)
Bring along your mayonnaise and cucumber sandwiches for a picnic on Henman Hill. Do visit the champagne bar – sip your Pimm’s. Ladies, sport your brightest bonnet or your finest pearls. Gentlemen, tote your umbrellas and wear your finest tweeds. Stroll down St. Mary’s Walk. Note the stately ivy, the purple petunias, and forget that years ago former Wimbledon chief Chris Gorringe said the All-England Club could pay out equal prize money for women, “but then we wouldn’t have so much to spend on petunias.”
Most of all, in these parts, don’t dare to ruffle any feathers. Marat Safin stated the obvious: “Here you have to wear white, be nice and be polite to people.” After all, our beloved Centre Court is tennis’ sacred cathedral and Wimbledon is our most treasured competition. That’s why in Britain it’s just called “The Championships.”
True, it’s played on the sport’s most arcane surface – grass. And in ten days, some of the finest lawns in sports will be scruffy, emerald green no longer.
Still, truth be told, the other great venues are a bit green with envy. The Australian Open may call out, “G’day, mate!” With an unmistakable continental flair, Roland Garros greets us – “Bonjour!” – while at the US Open, Vinny from Jersey barks: “Sit down, buddy! you’re a loser!”
Last year COVID brought tennis to a halt, and missing out on Wimbledon – the only Slam that wasn’t played in 2020 – was one of the cruelest kicks in the gut the sport had to endure.
Yes, the All England Club had a pandemic insurance policy that delivered them a tidy consolation prize – $141 million. More recently, there were some questions whether the sport’s grandest gathering would even be played this year.
But at 1:30 PM this Monday the English throng will be giddy with delight when 2019 champion Novak Djokovic strides out onto Centre Court to initiate the festivities.
All the while, questions abound. Will Sir Andy Murray, metal hip and all, thrill his British devotees and win a few matches? Will the king of Wimbledon, Roger Federer, defy skeptics and make a deep run, or, goodness, could the eight-time Wimbledon champ even win his 21st major? Sadly, Naomi Osaka and defending champion Simona Halep won’t be on hand. Neither will Dominic Thiem or Rafa Nadal, who is still recovering after falling to Novak in a classic Paris final.
Speaking of Novak, will the Serb win his third major of the year, equal Roger and Rafa’s record of 20 Slams, continue on his lofty path to a calendar year Grand Slam and bolster the claim that he’s the GOAT?
Fans will certainly check out a couple of Aussies. World No. 1 Ash Barty left Paris with a hip injury and barely has a winning record at Wimbledon, where she’s never gotten beyond the fourth round. Charismatic Nick Kyrgios, who loves grass, will at last emerge from his long, solitary isolation down under. Speaking of long stretches, it’s been 21 years since an American man (Pete Sampras) won Wimbledon. Most US patriots would be thrilled if one or two made it to the second week.
A couple of “special K’s” – Russia’s “secret weapon” Aslan Karatsev and the rather unknown French Open winner Barbora Krejcikova – drew headlines in Melbourne and Paris. Who will come out of the shadows and shine in London? Will one of the ATP’s promising Next Gen stars at last prevail? Will Wimbledon seem more like La Scala as the crowd yells “Bravissimo!” for one of Italy’s young guns?
Will the WTA again give us a fresh-faced, first-time Slam winner? In contrast, Venus Williams, 41, has five Wimbledon trophies back home. But she’s lost six of her last eight Slam matches, is ranked No. 102 and had to get a wildcard to get in. Will this be her last Wimbledon? As for Serena, it’s been 12 Slams and over four years, and the core question hasn’t changed: can the great but aging champion equal Margaret Court’s elusive record of 24 singles Slams?
Chris Evert recently said, “If Coco Gauff’s game continues to evolve like it has, she could be the biggest thing in tennis by the end of the year – she could be the biggest thing in sports by the end of the year.”
Maybe. But for sure, we know one thing: at last, after 696 days, tennis will celebrate the splendor on the grass, and, for two enchanting weeks, Wimbledon will again take its proper place as the biggest thing in sports.
