As someone who knows little about sport, the decision to spend a day at Wimbledon (the world’s most famous tennis tournament) seems peculiar. Appreciation of sport (especially one as engaging as tennis), I don’t feel requires expert knowledge and understanding. Pure enjoyment of the fervour created by sportspeople and their fans is enough to be enticing.
Why do I say this?
Because I caught ‘the fever of Wimbledon’ while living in London and couldn’t resist trying to get inside the famous gates, mid-championship.
Here's some history, and an overview of how a day at Wimbledon might look.
The Genesis of Tennis
The game played today owes its birth to jeu de paume, a thirteenth-century French sport without rackets. The French game of ‘handball’ gradually evolved to incorporate the use of rackets, whereby it migrated outdoors ... onto the grass.
By the time the nineteenth century rolled around, the English had configured an All England Club that met outside London. The club members, towards the end of the nineteenth century, decided there was enough support to advertise a meet: it was open to amateurs. Official plans were detailed regarding rules and court size and the first ever championship was played weeks later.
The competition that commenced in 1877 has gained momentum and international prestige over the years. It is, to this day, the only international tennis championship played on grass.
The Challenge of Getting inside Wimbledon
Understandably, then, considering the prestige, I was without options: either I went to Wimbledon, or I left London eternally regretful that I hadn’t tried.
So, I got up at 4am, left home at 5am and made haste for Wimbledon via the Tube (London’s Underground) on a brisk Saturday morning in June.
Despondence enveloped me as I walked out of the Underground stop in Wimbledon: the queue of likeminded fans (many of whom were wrapped in blankets with flasks between their frozen fingers), curled like a human chain around the grassy field.
I dejectedly placed myself at the end of the chain which likely went for hundreds of metres. Whispers coursed through the air of “more than two and a half thousand people waiting.”
It was hopeless: I was never going to see Wimbledon's inner sanctum.
However, despondence dissipated as the atmosphere electrified. Men dressed as their favourite female tennis players patriotically started singing traditional British chart toppers.
The mood shifted as the sun warmed the crowds, energising our moods and shifting our focus forward – towards the gates that were gradually letting people through.
Gaining Access to Wimbledon (at Last)
As my watch hit midday, I entered the gates (prized ticket in hand) with an endearing smile, the tips of which directly faced the clear blue sky.
I felt elated, vindicated even. A smile emerged as did a wave, both directed at passersby, all of whom genially reciprocated: cheerfulness dominated the atmosphere.
Looking left to right and straight ahead, I was overcome with choice: there were numerous courts to visit. I started my bounce around Wimbledon at the Lower Courts and, prior to accessing Centre Court, spent time spectating at the Upper Courts.
Enjoying the Sounds of Tennis
Ice cream in hand, my head turned from side-to-side in sync with the ball as it spun through the air between hits.
Junior and senior professional players grunted, sighed and groaned as they ran from side to side, chasing the ball as it propelled through the air. As beads of sweat streamed across their brows, I had another lick of the ice-cream melting in my hand. Cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by applause as one player emerged victorious.
Moving from court to court, the picture was similar, the atmosphere the same.
Accessing Centre Court (Row Z)
As the afternoon progressed, I started to feel a sense of desperation emerge: I didn’t want to go home with only a ground pass in hand.
I was determined to access centre court and witness at least one set between a pair of elite players.
I joined the line for recycled tickets and, within minutes, was sold someone else’s seconds. I skipped my way to the back of the stadium and didn’t care that I was in row Z.
Note: Row Z is located towards the top of centre court stadium, just below the roof.
I had an unobstructed bird's eye view of the court, including the players and the energetic crowd of spectators (and there wasn't any disappointment I hadn't received a court-side seat).
I watched, with great intensity, as Rafael Nadal matched Nicolas Kiefer, defeating him in three consecutive sets. Notably, Nadal’s continual removal of underwear from between his sweaty cheeks landed him the affectionate title ‘wedgie king.’ Perhaps it's his secret ingredient to championship success?
Nonetheless, being present at the meet was a once-in-a-lifetime dream come true.
Spectator Satisfaction
Visiting Wimbledon, even without a detailed knowledge of the grassy sport, left me feeling satisfied and sent me home without any regrets.
