This past fortnight saw a welcome return to order, predictability and normality in the form of the annual “All England Lawn Tennis Championships” played at the hallowed “All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club”, as it has been since 1877. It was played on grass - the only grand slam still played on that surface and the dress was all white - the only grand slam where this is still demanded - all as it has been for the past 149 years. The only break was during the second world war when the Nazis mistakenly believed that bombing Center Court would break Churchill and the British people’s resolve. To add to the nostalgia, in a world, which has been taken over by fake news, cynicism and greed, the greatest champion ever, Roger Federer, stamped his class on the event by winning it for a record eighth occasion. This feat after a four year break from the winner’s circle. Federer is not only the world’s best player ever, he, in the words of John McEnroe, is the greatest gentleman ever to have graced the game. All in all a welcome respite from the gross behavior of celebrities of every endeavor that have been a feature of the second millennium and thereafter.
Wimbledon is tradition personified. It hails from the glory days of England when Queen Victoria reigned and the sun never set on the British Empire. Unlike most sports stadiums it is owned by an elite club. It stands as a monument to those wonderful days when Britannia ruled the waves and its status is not compromised by the fact that the Island Empire has been relegated to being a third rate world power.
EVERYONE WHO SHOULD BE THERE IS THERE
It is all so perfect and nice. The ivy which clings to the walls in an arena, which although it has changed over the century and a half of its existence, is still recognizable to those who have worshipped at the shrine for decades. All alterations are tastefully executed so as not to detract from the dignity of the past. It is also comforting to know; that the ballboys and girls, in navy blue will be regimented and disciplined hurrying to their designated positions and then standing at attention with their hands neatly behind their backs; that the linespeople, dressed in blue and white striped shirts and Wimbledon ties with deerstalkers will remain motionless till they punctuate the hallowed ground with their calls; that the umpire, who dons a jacket and tie as do all the spectator members, will be firm and impartial making his rulings crisply for all to hear while paternalistically tolerating the occasional bad behavior of the gentleman and lady players who are always called Mr. or Miss or Mrs; that the grounds people dressed in green are ever ready to put on the covers should it rain and that the Chelsea War Pensioners in their resplendent red uniforms, who occupy a corner on Center Court, lend color to the proceedings.
Then there is the royal box where the royalty and other dignitaries including some prestigious club members view the grand old game. Till recently the Queen of England was the patron a position now taken over by her daughter - in - law Kate Middleton aka the Duchess of Cambridge or the wife of Prince William. Kate and her hubby were present at the final as was British Prime Minister Theresa May. There are only three hundred and fifty members of this, the most, prestigious club in the world - who represent exclusivity that money alone cannot buy - breeding and connections still count. There are seventy temporary members which avenue represents the commoner’s best shot of becoming one of the “boys”. But before Jay H. Ell raises your hopes that can only be achieved by winning a Wimbledon Singles Championship or by marrying a Prince as Kate Middleton recently did. The Club itself is the last testament to snobbery.
The Championships are stage managed in the best heritage of pomp and splendor. From the choreographed walk of the finalists onto the turf, their bags carried by distinguished looking flunkies, to their coin toss and ritual photograph with the umpire, to the prize giving where the ball boys and girls form a line of honor and dutifully bow or curtsy when introduced to the Duke or Duchess of Kent who dish out the trophies. These customs are repeated year after a year. Then there is the ceremonial walk around by the winner which in recent years has been extended to include the hallowed corridors of the old club with its pictures and memorabilia of championships gone by. The engraving of the winners name on the honors board immediately after the outcome all dutifully recorded for the viewer is a neat touch. It is all so certain in this world of uncertainty - a respite from the humdrum of chaos.
THE GRASS IS GREENER AT WIMBLEDON.
The year prior to the All England Championships is spent tending to the lawns for the tournament - both in repairing and then preparing it. Never a tournament passes without the commentators commenting on the manicured perfection which is mowed and rolled day after each day. There is no play on the first Sunday of the tournament to give the deified grass “a rest”. The two score or so courts are as green, flat and smooth as billiard tables. There is the annual mention by the commentators that the base lines of Center Court and Court One are brown and “beginning to wear” from the two weeks hammering as if it is mandatory to point out that even perfection isn’t quite perfect.
The faithful are reminded that this Grand Slam is the only one played on grass and that is why it is regarded as the purest test of greatness. It is taken for granted that any and every tennis player if he or she could only win one slam it would be Wimbledon. Ivan Lendl who dominated tennis in the late eighties winning eight Grand Slams, (McEnroe only won seven), ninety - four career titles, being world number one for two hundred and seventy weeks and winning seven end of the year “World Titles”, never won Wimbledon. He tried all he could changing rackets missing a French Open which he had won three times in order to concentrate on the main grass prize. But in spite of two finals and five semi finals in the 1980’s where he was a Wimbledon feature, to his chagrin the main tennis prize alluded him. As a result he is hardly remembered if at all.
This reverence to grass lawn is quite ironic as the French Open, the only one played on clay, is not given the slightest respect in spite of the uniqueness of its surface. Clay rather than being considered a parameter of tennis strength is considered a bit of an anomaly only to be tolerated because of tradition and as noblesse oblige to the Latin speakers of this world.
But there is a far deeper significance to the dogged attention and retention of the Lawn at The All England Lawn Tennis Championship as Yuval Harari lays out in his depressing new opus which outlines “A Brief History of Tomorrow”. In Homo Sapiens relentless push for power and prestige the lawn became one of the earliest symbols. The bigger and the neater the lawns, that stretched as far as the eye could see, that adorned the Castles and Chateauxs, the more powerful the owner was believed to be. If the grass became unkempt it was a sign the Lord of the Manor was in financial trouble. All prestigious buildings, since, have their showcase lawns - from Palaces, to Parliaments while any decent home boasts its turf. Other than in sports stadiums where on the sacred turf many a glorious battle is played out, the general injunction is “keep of the grass”.
Now lawns in their own right are pretty useless and costly accessories. They produce no agriculture and you cannot graze livestock on them. They are merely expensive adornments and status symbols. It is therefore not surprising that in 1978 the United States Tennis Association, (USTA), that controls the US Open Grand Slam decided to call the labor intensive business of lawn courts a day. In so doing they epitomized the difference between a culture of tradition and one of pragmatism, entrepreneurship and disdain for tradition. The USTA decided to leave the lawn tending to the WhiteHouse.
FEDERER UBER ALLES
Jay H. Ell in his wallowing in the magic of the past forgot to emphasize the majesty of the present. Whether it be Beethoven or the Beatles, Pele or Messi, Van Gogh or Pollock, Babe Ruth or Barry Bonds, Shakespeare or Hemingway, Wilt Chamberlain or Michael Jordan or Laver or Federer, genius is a thing of beauty to behold. This year Roger Federer affirmed that status by winning two of the Grand Slam Championships he has participated in giving him a record total of nineteen Majors - four ahead of his greatest rival Rafael Nadal, arguably the second greatest tennis player in history. What has made Federer’s achievements so noteworthy has been the rivalry with this dominant competitor who in a different era would have been the undisputed king. All this akin to the comment of Bing Crosby when asked to comment about Frank Sinatra’s voice he replied dolefully - the greatest ever and my luck to be singing at the same time.
Superlatives in describing Federer in every aspect of his game do not do justice for the man who has now won, at the age of thirty - six, a record eight Wimbledon Men Single’s titles. His tennis style is literally poetry in motion. The fluidity of his play, his all round game, his temperament, his sportsmanship and his behavior have made him the crowd’s favorite wherever he plays. The husband, the father, the son, the philanthropist and the “mensch” have resulted in him being recognized as a celebrity ambassador to achievement, kindness and citizenship. A conventional role model in this crass day and age.
AT THE END OF THE DAY
So the tennis camps have packed up and are ready to move onto the US open, the final Grand Slam of the year. This will be played at the Billie Jean King Tennis Center, the biggest in the world and will be decided on the unique synthetic deco turf on Arthur Ashe Center Court. The latter was constructed in 1997 at a cost of a quarter billion dollars and replaced the Louis Armstrong Court as the center court. If Wimbledon represents old world class the Ashe stadium serves as a modern day reminder of the Coliseum gladiatorial contests. This year promises to feature Federer and his arch rival Nadal who will continue their over a decade’s rivalry that has riveted the tennis world.
Crowds will shout and scream at the participants that are resplendent in garb that is anything but white. Here Federer is equally at home having won five times and as always the favorite of the screaming unruly mob, not one of whom will be wearing a tie and jacket. As always in his acceptance winning speech Federer graciously pays tribute and thanks to the appreciative crowd. The only feature constant between the old and the new world is their worship of genius.
Form Jay H. Ell’s world he can only hope that the August US Open will do for his battered psyche what Wimbledon did, thereby affording him the opportunity to program out the reality of the world around him for two blessed weeks.
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