The Hindu : Sport / Tennis : An enduring affection

Online edition of India's National Newspaper
Wednesday, Jun 15, 2005

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Sport - Tennis

An enduring affection

Years ago as the excitable young girl skittered across the court towards her blond-haired God named Borg, the English television commentator was appalled, by both intrusion and attire. "This is sacrilege", he exclaimed, "she's wearing high heels".

At the All England Club, this was heresy. This is not any tennis event, this is The Championships. Disrobing spectators like in Australia are met with a cocked eyebrow of faint disapproval. Booing on centre court is like spitting in St. Paul's Cathedral. Sponsors like Slazenger remain from 1902 but their presence is wonderfully discreet.

This is a chaste tournament. So wear white, please. And, of course, in a traditional style. When Anne White once wore a rather fetching all-white bodysuit, she was politely asked to correct this wardrobe malfunction.

An enduring affection for Wimbledon remains precisely because of its image of quaint snobbishness, a sense that to be amidst those ivy-covered walls is to walk through history. In a time of endless gimmickry and crassness (starlets in spaghetti straps do cricket commentary) Wimbledon stands as some timeless guardian of an ancient sport and its fading values. Of course, tradition is not merely protected it is peddled, for this is Wimbledon's uniqueness, its selling point.

Wimbledon is a reminder of times gone by, but it is not always behind the times. Change is embraced, but only they will determine the pace. Now even bowing to royalty is deemed unnecessary. Of course, women's players are jarringly referred to as Miss and only they, and the French, retain the outdated idea of unequal prize money for the sexes.

Antiquated surface

But the one constant, and Wimbledon's most precious calling card, is its antiquated surface. Once three of four slams (the French excluded) were played on grass, and Wimbledon's exclusivity is both its allure and its challenge.

But even the All England Club cannot control the game's direction, and while grass still lives, its art is dying. In the powerful universities of baseline play, the volley is almost an unnecessary ornament; in the stylistic universe of the two-handed backhand, the sliced approach is almost extinct; in a time of lateral philosophies, forward movement is an idea mostly abandoned. Nowhere are we more cruelly reminded of the dismantling of the elegant ballet of serve and volley than here.

It is a tragedy of sorts for serve-volley has a dramatic tension to it, the volleyer poised like some alert athletic sentry, then exploding into creative action. Of course, baseliners, some having amputated their back swings, artfully defied convention to succeed on grass, like Borg, and Agassi, providing a contrast of styles that elevates sport as an artistic form.

Now the serve and volleyer has become the exception, most baseliners have Ph.d's in needlework and can thread passing shots through keyholes in a gale, and the reportedly slower grass has allowed the back court boys to treat the net with disdain. Sampras-Ivanisevic may have reduced tennis to monosyllaballic exchanges, but it was clearly more entertaining than the baseline bore Hewitt-Nalbandian produced in the 2002 final.

Hope flares

But hope still flares. Federer with his all-court grace has been Wimbledon's saviour, Roddick is known to approach the net without trembling, Hewitt can volley if in the mood, Henman has a sweet touch and Mark Philippoussis can be a menacing forecourt presence when his body isn't in rebellion.

In a way, of course, it does not matter, we will still watch, for this is Wimbledon. It's just that if the man at the end holding tennis' most celebrated trophy has played a volley or 40 on his journey, there will be a sweeter taste to it all.

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