Mystique of Wimbledon

Tennis acquires a distinct sanctity for players as well as the spectators at Wimbledon, Ravi Dhaliwal reports from London

Serena Williams leaves the court after rain interrupted her semi-final match against China's Zheng Jie. She and her sister Venus reached the final in their own contrasting styles proving what magnificent athletes they are

The Wimbledon is a unique tournament, which attracts people from all over the world. It is, indeed, the most amazing place to be in if one is in London during this time of the year. The venue gives the feel of an idealised British seaside resort where tennis replaces the sea. There’s sunshine, straw hats and a wide range of people, all immaculately turned out in their best. It is ‘sports tourism’ at its most fascinating.The venue is as engaging as the players — present and past — and the spectators who converge here.

Just outside the Centre Court, the place of many an epic battle between tennis greats of yesteryears, are two stalls next to each other: one is marked ‘ice creams’ and the other ‘strawberries’. That just about sums up the Wimbledon etiquette: all ice creams and strawberries, and no chewing gum or any other ‘rubbish’. The security is so tight that you just cannot pull out a knife without immediately using it to cut a piece of cake.

Everything has been freshly painted and there are fresh flowers in spotless pots. Alcohol is freely available but there is no sign of drunken behaviour or blotches on the ground pointing to people who cannot hold it down. The place is so perfect that it seems like a film set.

Many say that cricket is like a religion in England but a visit to the Lords during a county match reveals that the game’s Mecca is not that holy a place after all. The grass is well looked after and the pavilion impressive, but the crowds are far too rowdy to give the place any real sanctity. Spectators talk and shout while the game is on.

Wimbledon is a sort of midsummer festival where everything looks picture perfect — Photos by AFP

At Wimbledon, things are different. There is a hush, almost as if a sacred ceremony is on, while the points are played. If things get really exciting, like they did when British No. 1 Andy Murray beat his rival in a five-setter, pre-quarter final match, there were gasps from the orderly crowd but they, too, sounded like stifled noises. You just cannot escape the feeling that what is happening is too solemn to be violated with noise or interruptions. It seems almost religious.

The behaviour of the line judges and the ball boys and girls adds immensely to this feeling. There is a high priest-like intensity to the behaviour of line judges; they stand absolutely still, just moving their lips to speak when the ball is out, displaying no emotion and making eye contact with none.

And the ball boys and girls have been drilled to a point where they make the change of guards at the Buckingham Palace look like an amateur event. They seem to behave like robots, unable to do anything but collect balls and then stand at attention, waiting for a player’s command.

Then there is the Royal box and the traditional bowing (courtesies), which is in keeping with the formal air of the occasion but can look theatrical at times.

All this gives Wimbledon a distinct aura that goes beyond what is necessary for the efficient running of a tennis tournament. The Wimbledon ethos seems to be that if you allow a single slip — an unpolished shoe, a ball boy slouching or a line judge scratching his nose — then before you know the whole tournament might deteriorate into one big boisterous picnic.

The strict ‘code of conduct’ is in tandem with the usual English approach to most of their traditional events, "This is simply how we do things." This is a place where the only question the Brits ask themselves is whether they have maintained their standards, not from where these standards came. Everything is done with a precision bordering on a religious zeal.

Thankfully Wimbledon is not really a religion. It is a sort of midsummer festival, where the same things are done year after year with a predictable regularity.

The actors and characters, who make up this classic show called Wimbledon, play their part with a masterly finesse. It is always one champion’s artistry pitted against that of another of almost identical mettle. The valiant defender of this edition’s Wimbledon was Roger Federer. His challenger in the final was Rafael Nadal, who unleashed a game of such a force, that all his rivals in preliminary rounds were flattened in double quick time.

During the fortnight at The Championships as the Wimbledon is also called, Roger Federer played near perfect tennis. He showed time and again that his temperament is forged with steel. Nothing was left to chance in his play and an error from him was as rare as a British champ at Wimbledon.

Then there were the Williams sisters, Serena and Venus. They reached the final in their own contrasting styles proving what magnificent athletes they are. It was being widely suggested that with the exit of Maria Sharapova and Ana Ivanovic glamour had vanished from the tournament. But the Williams sisters more than made up for that with the thrills only these two could have brought to the place.

In the 1970s and 1980s, you were either a McEnroe fan or a Bjorn Borg fan. At this year’s Wimbledon, you were either a Federer or a Nadal fan, both of whom are exceptionally talented players who made The Championship such a delight to watch.

There is a magic and mystique to the Wimbledon that draws people here as to a pilgrimage site. Whatever the final outcome, the chance to have been there makes the occasion fulfilling.