LONDON—The schedule is wild and thick at Wimbledon today. Looking at it, I imagine wading through a forest of matches at the club just down the road from me. Every court is filled up to its edge and, with rain possible, ready to flood its borders. You might not see them at first glance, but wedged—stupidly, pointlessly, obscurely, joylessly—onto little Court 3, fourth up, are two guys named John Isner and Nicolas Mahut. Wimbledon, after putting a plaque up in their honor, has done their best to make their rematch look like any other first-rounder. We know better, right? I’ll be out for that one later, weather permitting, and I might even have a special song here for the occasion.
But before I lug my computer down the road, there’s the stack of morning papers to talk over with my Nescafe. Once again, I’ll start at the high end and work downward—or upward, depending on your taste.
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The Guardian sends its general sports columnist, the syllable-slinging Barney Ronay, out to SW19, where he discovers, while watching Donald Young and Alex Bogomolov, Jr., that American tennis is not quite what it used to be. Watching the gentlemanly Mardy Fish, he yearns for the anti-gentleman, John McEnroe. Ronay mentions that U.S. women have won 46 percent of all singles titles at Wimbledon, and rightly calls that stat amazing. He also hazards a reason as to why the country’s women are less dominant that I had never heard before: Because of Title IX, a law passed in the 1970s that forced U.S. colleges to fund men’s and women’s athletic programs equally, more women have begun playing sports other than tennis; there are more outlets for women athletes. Could the law that Billie Jean King supported so strongly have had this perverse effect on the sport? I don’t know, but it’s as a good an explanation as the one I usually give, which is no explanation at all.
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We’ve got to start the Andy Murray talk somewhere, so it might as well be a tab, the Mirror. The paper begins its coverage with this emminently reasonable headline:
"LAME, SET, AND MATCH: Murray endures horror start, then roars back to raise the roof. Britain’s annual pageant of soaring hope and crazed self-loathing began in typical fashion at the All England Club last night"
At least they don’t take their sports too seriously over here . . .
—The Mirror has a column from Tim Henman picking his old buddy Roger Federer to win the tournament. Henman also made news last night when he appeared on a London quiz show hosted by Sue Barker—Pat Cash, the Bryan bros, and Cedric Pioline were also there, a motley cast of characters if there ever was one. But it was Henman who blew everyone away with his tennis knowledge. One of the Bryans claimed that Henman was “zoning his ---- off.”
—The paper comes up with a nice moniker for the Royal Box: “a retirement home for sporting freeloaders.” Yesterday those freeloaders included one-time champions Michael Stich and Richard Krajicek. Apparently the uninvited two-time champ Jimmy Connors saw them and asked, "What do you have to do, win Wimbledon once to get in?" Snap!
—Apparently, according to the paper, the people in the famous Wimbledon queue are getting soft. Some have been seen putting up a tent in line and then going home for the night. Nothing is sacred.
—Finally, the Mirror goes easy on local loser (see how much fun it is) Katie O’Brien, who lost to Kimiko Date-Krumm yesterday:
"OH, KRUMMBS! Brit flop Katie is crushed in just 64 minutes by Japanese housewife . . . aged 40!"
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Yesterday I lauded Times’ columnist Simon Barnes’ phrase “majestic claustrophobia” to describe Centre Court. This time I’m not as sure of his accuracy. “[Centre Court] has a strange impulsive nature," Barnes writes, "and it frequently plays a part in shaping events. It likes to oppress those who show fear: as with a thoroughbred horse, Centre Court can sense when a player is afraid. . . . But the court will shift sides on a whim. Show a bit of feistiness, show that you’re ready to have a go and all at once the court starts looking after you.”
It’s the age-old question when it comes to this type of romantic sportswriting: Is this poetry, or is he hearing voices in the grass?
Barnes goes on to say that, “Murray has one thing that Tim Henman never had: authority. Henman was very seldom able to boss a game at Wimbledon.” I’m not sure about that. Murray can boss first-week opponents around, but I’ve often written that authority is the one thing he lacks when he goes up against the best, the one thing they have in their games in their mindsets that he doesn't.
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At first glance, the Mail’s Alan Fraser seems to have gone into sports-fan overreaction overdrive with his Murray article, which is entitled:
HAIRY MOMENT, BUT HE’S ON RORY’S PATH
It quickly becomes clear that there’s a double meaning at work here: “Andy Murray," Fraser writes, "who has had some some scary bad hair days in his career, now has some catching up to do on Rory McIlroy and his curious comb down.”
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The Express expresses outrage at the cost of strawberries at Wimbledon: They're the equivalent of about 40 cents per strawberry.
Also, the Express describes the BBC as “celebrity obsessed." This is fairly ironic coming from a paper that gives up a third of its front page to a photo of a coyly smiling young woman over the headline: “Cheryl’s turmoil: Why it’s not Simon Cowell’s fault.”
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Well, maybe I was wrong, maybe the Express is on the side of respectability. The Star’s front page goes with this breaking piece of news about a local soccer star as its lead: SEX ADDICT GIGGS GETS THERAPY
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OK, a little sanity may be in order. The Daily Telegraph gives it to us by putting in a good word for the new Court 3, soon to be the site of Isner-Mahut 2. It’s true, I spent a few minutes watching in there yesterday and it’s a fine place—intimate but comfortable—to see tennis. It already feels cozier and more lived-in than the generic Court 2 that was erected two years ago.
The Telegraph can't stay reasonable forever, of course—this is Wimbledon, this is Murray. They begin their coverage right on the front page, with these blazing words of hope:
ONE DOWN, SIX TO GO FOR MURRAY
Hey, no problem, right? What could be easier? But don’t worry, no pressure or anything.
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I’m off and down the hill, into the forest of matches. I’m praying for no rain and a chance to wander. See you this afternoon. In the meantime, follow me around on Twitter here.