Well this is the first Monday Mandible, in which I’ll wax lyrical about whatever happens to be on my mind. Which at the moment is tennis. Wimbledon. Andy Murray causing anguish in the Pocock household by taking off where ‘Go On Tim!’ Henman left us hoping for someone to shout at and project our own hopes and dreams onto.
My word! I mean, I thought it took me a long time to get home after two and a half hours because of a line-side fire at London Bridge, but a four hour or so game of tennis? They must be shattered, I know I bloody well am! Fair play to the gent though – he’s through to the Quarter Finals and a step closer to being the Brit we Brits hoped would once again win Wimbledon…and the Scot he hoped would. It’s not the same thing, but anyway, most people tend not to notice…
I am slightly perturbed by one thing however, and that’s my mum’s insistance that ‘that could’ve been you playing at Wimbledon’, soon to be followed by a comment along the lines of ‘You like his [Murray's] girlfriend, don’t you’, after my purely innocent comment that I thought she had a hell of a lot of hair (she does). Two things wrong with that. One, I never seriously played tennis when younger, and two, that might be the most bizarre compliment likely to mean you like someone ever. I can see me trying that one out in Central London.
“Excuse me random lady, you appear to have loads of hair.”
“Oh, my, they say that about Murray’s girlfirend – you must really like me.”
No. Exactly. By the by, another golden parental moment was when she randomly said at a happy lady in the crowd (on the TV, may I remind you) ‘Yes alright, Boobs McGraw’… but I suppose you had to be there for that.
Anyway, aside from my Mum’s insistance that I could have been Andy Murray, though as my mum, she should realise I could never have been, and the insistence I want his woman, I must admit to feeling a little lost as I do when I watch most sports I enjoy. I really wanted to be a pro sportsman when I was younger. Immensely so. Now it’s rather grating that I probably can’t ever be, but there we go, horses, courses, roads and forks etc.
To be honest, I’m just glad that I’ve managed to fill the first Monday Mandible with some words. Oh and that I can go to bed Murray’s through.
G’night.
The Mandible: Born to play
I was rooting for him – Roddick I mean. And though I dislike Federer’s logo (below), the number of grandslams victories on his gold and white tracksuit jacket, the nonchalant way he wore his collar post-match, and his – in my view – unnecessarily chic tennis bag, he is a legend. Did he deserve to win? It’s an irrelevant question like the one Roddick bats away in the above clip. Federer did win, he is a legend, and he is the greatest men’s tennis player of all time as far as the stats are concerned.
But I was backing Roddick because of his sheer unwaring effort and desire. The effort that pushed him into a perhaps tired mistake which sealed the title for Federer, and the effort that probably endeared him to the fans of Centre Court during the longest match in history. A truly gargantuan epic of a battle, no doubt, which allowed me to be in South Wales at the start of the match, and home in Kent for a large proportion of the second half. But i digress.
Federer was at times superb. You could argue that he is the complete tennis player, perhaps even over Nadal, yet the guts and mind that saw Roddick beat Murray and the British public stand up and take notice, gave me real heart and respect for the man. And when he was teary-eyed at the end of the match, it was plain that he was truly devastated. For that I can forgive him a little interruption during Federer’s interview.
For those that missed it, here is the video courtesy of the Beeb, in which Federer says that even he went through some tough times and went through one last year when beaten by Nadal. Roddick countered by saying (and I paraphrase):
And for me that summed it up, cemented my respect for Andy Roddick, sparked a further interest in tennis (I’m a sucker for personal sporting journeys hooking me into a sport in general, because remember, I regret in some ways not trying to become a professional sportsperson). He will be back, he says, and good for Roddick, for tennis and for Federer (great opposition and competition sustains great champions). And I really hope he’ll win Wimbledon in the years to come, and if he does I he’ll deserve it.
However, let me end this rather cloudy blog entry (weekend capers still linger in my limbs) by applauding both Federer and Roddick equally. They managed to fill our screens, and the BBC One schedule, with a superb contest, something that was actually worth watching, and something certainly worth recalling at the start of future Wimbledon tournaments when anything can happen.