Another Sporting Moan
So, it’s ‘Wimbledon Fortnight’. Without doubt my least favourite time of year.
I’m not going to slag off tennis as a sport. The skill and stamina that the top players show is frightening. Many professionals such as Federer, Nadal, Sharapova & the Williams brothers ((c)Sean Lock) are a joy to watch and rightly earn millions of $$$.
What I hate about this time of year though are the tens of thousands of people who ignore tennis for 51 weeks of the year just to watch the one week any Briton manages to reach the quarter finals.
There was a time when we were a nation happy to enjoy good tennis and to get behind Wimbledon favourites such as McEnroe, Sampras, Agassi etc whilst cheering on the British offering but not expecting too much and being noble in defeat.
Then along came Tim Bastard Henman. This pencil-necked loser somehow managed to convince the media that he was a half-decent tennis player and that he was ‘destined to win Wimbledon’ despite never wining a grand slam event. Yes, the media dubbed him ‘Tiger Tim’ but if he is a tiger then no wonder they’re nearly extinct. Good job he had a sparkling personality, oh, hang on…
With this media hype came a new kind of fan: your typical ‘Henmaniac’ would be a middle-aged, menopausal woman who has never, ever taken ANY interest in ANY sport before in her life but as Tim is a nice boy she buys a Union Jack waistcoat, a Union Jack flag and she draws Union Jacks on either cheek. I refer to these people as ‘Twatriots’.
She then trots down to Wimbledon, pays £5 for a punnet of Strawberries, takes her place in Centre Court, ignores all the warm up acts who are also playing that day and then shouts “GO TIM!” for 3 hours.
Such was the growth in these people that they couldn’t all get into Centre Court for Tim’s annual Quarter Final. And so it was born.. Henman Fucking Hill. At least in Centre Court you get the genuine tennis fan but here we see a whole congregation of Twatriots.
Sure, when England are playing in a major football tournament you see plasterers’ vans with the Cross of St George flying from their window and you can’t get in a supermarket without passing all sorts of guff related to the event but tennis seems to be different in the sense that these Twatriots have absolutely no idea about sport.
The prime example of this was last night.
I thoroughly enjoyed Andy Murray’s game last night but as is the case with this blog, I’m not going to attempt a review of the match. Tennis is supposed to be a gentleman’s game which is why it was unbelievable when the Twatriots started booing Gasquet for nipping to the loo!
I hate the atmosphere at these things, everytime there’s a rally the court microphones pick up the ever loudening of the menopause screams whenever Murray stretches for a shot that ends up just in.
The pièce de résistance was the bloke on Henman Hill cheering on Scotsman Andy Murray whilst wearing a George Cross around his torso and wearing a George Cross hat.
There’s been many a discussion about whether Murray can capture the hearts of the British Public in the same way Tiger Tim did. I really really hope he doesn’t.
Come on Andy Murray – stay miserable and be a winner for yourself, Scotland and Dunblane.
Andy
x
PS – I don’t think ‘loudening’ is a word either.
