Tennis Anyone?

Ask any sport lover what event the words 'June and July' conjour up in their imagination (apart from rugby, or F1 motor racing, or golf, or the Durban July horse race), and I bet a good number will answer 'Wimbledon'! Well, that's what I think, and its my blog!

So, this weekend we settled down to watch the Finals. I must admit I lost a bit of interest once Rafael Nadal had been knocked out in the second round, an unheard-of tragedy. (I have a friend who calls him The Sleeveless One, he used to play in vest-type shirts!) I also loathe watching the females who yell like stuck pigs every time they hit the ball, Maria Sharapova has the honour (?) of holding the record for the loudest grunt at 101 decibels. Is that really necessary? When she plays another shrieker you almost have the background beat for a rap song and I am forced to mute the sound or switch off altogether. I think Monica Seles was the first to start that, no wonder someone stabbed her, he was probably deafened and desperate!

Bring back the ladies of yesteryear, Chris Evert never made a sound when she played!


Anyway, I did some research into the history of Wimbledon, because at the back of my mind, I seem to remember mum watching it on television when I was small, and sure enough, Wimbledon was first televised in 1937! I was born in 1947 and we got our first tiny television in the early 1950's, a little black and white, 12" screen Rediffusion.

The first Wimbledon was played in 1877, when the total crowd of 200 watched W. Spencer Gore win in forty eight minutes! His prize was 25 guineas and a silver challenge cup. The ladies were not allowed to play then but in 1884 they were included and the first title was won by Maud Watson.

I also remember mum talking about Fred Perry and the fact that he lived just around the corner from us and would greet her every time he walked past! That must have been true because according to my sister, his sister Sylvia used to give us bags of tennis balls from Wimbledon! I remember the tennis balls clearly, we always had lots, but until yesterday, I never knew where they came from!

Fred Perry's statue at Wimbledon

So, yesterday the hope was that Andy Murray would be the first British man to win since 1936 when Fred Perry won for the third and last time. Now, I was not hoping that because I do not like Andy Murray. I do not like his attitude. I do not like his temperament. And I do not like his mother.

Yesterday was also the F1 race at Silverstone, so Rob, who grabbed the remote first, managed to watch the race while I rustled up some tempting snacks in the kitchen. No, not strawberries and cream, sadly, but drop scones with golden syrup!
(Did you know that a total of 28 000 kilos of strawberries were sold over the two week tournament period? That is 2 000 kilos per day! Plus 7 000 liters of cream? And 17 000 bottles of champagne? That was consumed by half a million visitors! Compare that to the tiny crowd in 1877!)

Then we settled down in front of a roaring fire, with rain and grey skies outside, to cheer Roger Federer to victory, although after the first set it was beginning to look as though he was not up to the job!

Shame, poor Andy. (Thanks to BBC)

Sorry Andy. He was!

Roger Federer, his seventh Wimbledon win.  (Thanks to BBC)

Game, set and Championship!