LONDON—One benefit of traveling is that you get a chance to exercise your acclimation skills. Two weeks ago I rode through the narrow streets of the Wimbledon village in the dark, in the back of a cab, with a driver who had even less of an idea of where we were going than I did. The next day I tried to make the 10-minute walk to the All England Club and got horribly lost, circling for what seemed like hours through a series of identical-looking suburban streets—it was The Blair Witch Project, South London style. One wrong turn had set me adrift; eventually I came around a corner to find myself back where I had started, in front of my flat.
Now that flat, so foreign and weird when I got here, feels like a second home. I could make the walk to the club blindfolded. Each morning I say hello and talk a little tennis with the shopkeepers around the corner. Today the woman behind the counter, looking at the titanic stack of weekend papers I thumped down in front of her, said, “You’re like my son, he reads too much.” I’ve even considered taking the precarious step of entering the local pub, which seems to get rolling at about 11 A.M. each day. Upon closer inspection, though, I’ve thought better of it. It doesn’t look like a tennis bar, I’ll put it that way.
Just when you feel at home, that’s exactly when you’ve got to go. This will be the penultimate edition of Keeping Tabs, but that may not be such a bad thing. What would it be without Andy Murray to kick around, anyway? Today the papers get their last boots—and bites, and jabs, and stabs—in. They try, at times, to keep it in perspective. Thankfully, they fail.
The Star
"ALL MY FAULT: Andy’s Pain at Rafa KO"
The headline refers to Murray’s assertion that he played too much “high-risk,” attacking tennis against Nadal this time. He said he’s had more success being patient against him in the past. Murray also said, with a trace of understandable bitterness, that he’ll be criticized for going for too much, but that if he hadn’t attacked, he would have been criticized for being too passive.
—The hits keep coming:
MISERABLE MURRAY IS MADE TO LOOK LIKE LONGSHOT: Andy Murray’s Wimbledon dream died last night—after he missed a shot that most club players would have put away
I GOT IT ALL WRONG
RUTHLESS RAFA POUNCES AS ONE POOR FOREHAND FROM ANDY SPARKS A COLLAPSE
Simon Barnes of the Times isn’t quite as brutal. He sees what all of us saw, albeit in very English, and somewhat graphic, terms.
MURRAY WAS WINNING TILL HE REVERTED TO THE ROLE OF PLUCKY BRIT
After playing “like a souped-up Rafa for a set,” Murray double-faulted and missed a makeable overhead to be broken. “It was a clear, almost a flamboyant failure of nerve,” Barnes writes. “It was an ugly sight, and the rest of the match required a strong stomach as Murray was more or less disemboweled in front of us.”
Can you be “more or less disemboweled”? Seems like kind of an either/or situation to me. But it’s still a good description of the last three sets. Murray’s missed forehand at 2-1, 15-30 in the second took the wind out of his sails, brought him down to earth, made him doubt that shot, which, during the first set, he had hit better than he had ever hit it. His forehand has never been a natural point-controller, and missing a key sitter seemed to confirm that fact in Murray’s mind. He stopped going for it.
—In other non-Murray, or at least only semi-Murray news, the Times’s fashion critic, Lisa Armstrong, finds that Wimbledon is getting more stylish—“and you don’t even have to worry about your shoes, because no one sees them.” Armstrong says that with the number of celebs on hand, Centre Court has the makings of “becoming dangerously modish,” and no longer a prim antidote to “the bronzed, throbbing cleavages and champagne-laced breath of Royal Ascot.”
To which I ask: What is this Royal Ascot of which you speak?
The Mail doesn’t waste words:
"CRUSHED! Murray takes first set, then is blown away by Nadal’s stunning display."
It gets downright scary, as well as a little confusing, on the inside pages:
"ANDY EATEN BY THE SHARK: Nadal in for the kill after Scot blows bright start"
Shark? I thought, in tab-speak, Nadal was “Hungry Raf,” the raging bull. Now he’s in the water? Apparently that’s where he smelled the drop of blood that Murray shed when he missed the Now Infamous Forehand.
—Brad Gilbert says that, as much as anything else, Nadal’s excellent serving—high m.p.h., good placement and tricky spin, a percentage in the high 60s—made it tough for Murray to do much.
—Head writer Mike Dickson now feels that, “It’s a case of ‘if,’ not when, Murray will win a major,” and that his loss to Roddick here in 2009 may haunt him the most.
—The Mail has a quick Q & A with the usually less than loquacious Petra Kvitova, one of the least-known Wimbledon finalists I can remember. The last movie she saw was The Social Network. She liked it because it didn’t require too much thought. Not much thought? Has she seen anything else out of Hollywoord in the last 10 years?
The Telegraph takes the mock-hopeful route so well-trod by Britons:
"BLOWN AWAY (But at least he won a set this time)"
Boris Becker sticks his nose in here, with a column on the match. He comes up with one piece of eternal tennis wisdom:
“The very top guys are predators: when they smell the blood, they want to eat the meat.”
Alongside Becker’s piece is a two-part photo sequence of the Now Infamous Forehand. Murray is shown swinging at the ball, and in the next photo its landing spot is circled. It all looks very Kennedy assassination.
—On the following pages:
MURRAY ADMITS HE BLUNDERED OVER TACTICS
and
NADAL’S BRILLIANCE PUTS REST IN SHADE
It does need to be said that over the last three sets, Nadal was at his best and virtually unbeatable by anyone, living, dead, British or non-British.
—30 years ago this week, John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg played their second and last Wimbledon final. Yesterday the two were reunited in London—to launch a new line of underwear. McEnroe also revealed that he wears boxers himself, in case you were wondering.
The Guardian begins its Murray coverage on a note of admirable sympathy:
NOT A CHOKER. NOT A FAILURE. JUST NOT AS GOOD AS NADAL
Admirable, but also kind of drably sympathetic, don’t you think? The paper seems to realize the error of its ways and quickly rectifies on the inside:
FOR AN HOUR THERE WAS GENUINE BELIEF. THEN CAME THE COLLAPSE
If that didn’t get the point across, on the next page there’s this:
THE HOPE AND HOOPLA TURN TO SILENCE ON CENTRE COURT
Phew, now I feel better. I'd almost forgotten: Something awful happened out there.
The Mirror is thin on news, but at least they don’t make the same mistake as the Guardian and try to put it all in perspective. Nope, they tie Murray to another born loser from these parts and send them both to much worse place:
SEMIFINAL HELL FOR ANDY AS HE SUFFERS THE SAME FATE AS FELLOW BRIT TIM HENMAN
The Express doesn’t offer up any over-the-top headlines, but its main story may be even more depressing. Neil Squires senses that “the gap,” between Nadal/Djokovic and Murray, “is growing, rather than closing.”
It’s tough to disagree with that, when you see Nadal play such vintage, 2008-like tennis. But it’s also tough to do much about it if you're Murray. Rafa and Djokovic have been on their own two-man tennis planet all year.
A negative theme about Andy Murray? Leave it to the Sun to pick up on it. But I’m stunned, and frankly a little disappointed, that the paper doesn’t go in for the kill:
"ONE DAY IT MUZZ HAPPEN: But only if Nadal, Djok, and Fed retire"
That has the ring of the truth, which might make it the worst headline of all for Murray.
Or maybe it indicates something even more horrifying: After two weeks, I’ve begun to see the Sun as the voice of reason. Get me out of this country!
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