Thursday, 5 July 2012

Boring, boring Wimbledon - or come on, Tim

It never occurred to me before just how boring Wimbledon fortnight is - and that's with Andy Murray still in the competition.
Or maybe that's how it's become or else, if you insist, how it's become for me.
The characters are gone from the game and their place, mostly, taken by assembly line East Europeans with names like a losing hand of Scrabble.
When I was a Fleet Street journalist I turned down many corporate invitations to a day out at the Championships. Sitting in the sun (or rain), looking from left to right and back again for hours on end seemed a high price to pay for strawberries and cream and a glass of Champagne.
But I used to enjoy the television coverage. However these days I can barely watch 10 minutes before channel-hopping. This afternoon, for example, a Ladies Doubles match lost out to the Loose Women  comparing PMT notes.
The BBC's obsession with Wimbledon has made me question the value of tennis as a sport. Regular readers (today the blog passed 75,000 page views) will know I think  professional sport is a contradiction in terms. In any sane world you wouldn't be able to earn shedloads of money playing games.
But this isn't a sane world and I've come to accept the craziness that exists, for example, in football (soccer), although I would rather hammer nails into my own brain than attend a golf tournament or F1 Grand Prix - both sports being equally fatuous.
Without the colour and drama of yesteryear, Wimbledon is exposed for what it is. The exploitation of a game, best suited to sociable social club members in pursuit of exercise, hi-jacked by the powerful alliance of money and snobbery. 

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