W: Closing With a Corker

Typically Concrete Elbow begins one of these tournaments with a timeline post. That’s where we—OK, I—fan out over the grounds, see as many matches as possible, and come back to the press room at the end of the day, sunburned and with hair flying, to write it up in as few words as possible. I haven’t tried the timeline out this week, because specific stories kept popping into my head (I'm going old media). Now that it’s my last day at Wimbledon and the sun is still shining—and it’s a Saturday, after all—I’ll take a ramble. Here’s how it goes.

10:00 A.M.: Wimbledon village

The consumption of London tabloids this week has already had an effect on my attention span. I can barely make it through the first paragraph of the lead article in today's Herald Tribune. It’s about the expansion of new U.S. wiretapping laws into Europe, and I’m out of here in a couple days, so why should I care? Though the headline below the fold does get my attention: “Taliban are Poised to Take Over Big Pakistani City.” What’s been going on this week?

I’m happy to get back to the tabs. The Mail buries Ana Ivanovic twice on Saturday: “Ana’s China Crisis” is the back-cover headline; on the inside, the banner headline is “Ivanovic the Terrible.” So much for the game’s latest sweetheart.

The Sun has this “exclusive” from Tim Henman: “Me Jealous? No One Will Be as Thrilled If Andy Wins Wimbledon.” On the opposite page, the Murray-Haas puns keep flowing: “A Pain in the Haas.” Chris Eaton, Britain’s star for a day, may get the worst of it: “Remember Chris Eaton?” the paper asks of the man who was a national sensation on Wednesday.

But we’re not done with the Murray-Haas puns yet! The Mirror contributes “A Bit of Tommy Trouble.” Nick Mcleman then proceeds to go over the top on Ana, opening his column with this immortal sentence: “Tiny Zie Jheng caused the biggest shock in Wimbledon history last night when she knocked out No. 1 seed Ana Ivanovic.”

Sadly, no Times today, so I don’t get to learn anything more about the early morning dreams of Simon Barnes.

12:30 P.M.: Court 19

As I said, it’s Saturday, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and the grounds are more crowded than on any other day. So crowded that this small side court is jammed for a junior match. The top-seed in the boys’ draw, Bernard Tomic, is playing. He’s an Aussie, by way of Germany (his birthplace), by way of Croatia (his ethnic background). This IMG prodigy has been groomed, hyped, and packaged for so long it seems impossible that he’s still just 15. At 6-foot-1, with a smooth game, he hardly looks 15, either. It’s the first round today and he isn’t tested, so it’s hard to gauge much. But Tomic looks good. He’s got a sweeping, effortless, flat forehand, a clean two-handed backhand, and he can hit drop shots and volleys. If there’s a hitch, it’s that, as with other young guys like Monfils and Gasquet, he likes to roam the back of the court and hit with power from behind the baseline. This may become more of a trend in the men’s game, but it hasn’t been a winning strategy at the top level yet.

Still, Tomic's easy pace—he hits everything, including half-volleys, standing nearly straight up—is impressive. I just feel sorry for his opponent, a Spanish kid. Tomic is going half speed, but the kid can’t win points even when he has them in his grasp. It’s a helpless feeling, and every player knows it well. You’d almost rather lose immediately and get out of sight. Which is what he does. I watch the handshake and turn away for a few seconds; when I turn back, he's disappeared—fled—completely. All I can think is that he found a way to go straight underground. Tomic is signing autographs.

1:15: Court 9

The sided-court garden is given over to the juniors today. I pass through and stop at Court 9, where a boy from Zimbabwe is playing one from Russia. They’re in the third set and it’s getting tense, in a way that only a junior tennis match can. After each point, the player who wins it stops, looks over at his opponent, and yells, “Come on!” Juniors are harsher to each other than the pros, their competition more raw. On tour these days, the men have learned to treat each other like colleagues. It’s one way to keep their sanity.

1:20: Court 10

Next door a Polish girl is playing an Australian girl, two courts over it’s a boy from Taiwan against one from Italy. There are a dozen languages spoken in the crowd. This year Zie Jheng became the first Asian to defeat a No. 1-ranked player. All this is taking place on the grass courts at tennis’ original aristocratic, Anglo-Saxon headquarters. “Open tennis” originally meant allowing professionals into the game’s most prestigious tournaments, including Wimbledon. Now the tournament is open—democratic and meritocratic—in a vastly wider sense.

1:45: Centre Court

When an usher is assigned his spot on Centre Court, it must be for life. The same gray-haired, blue-suited gents let you in each year. There are also Honorary Stewards, duffers who wear armbands identifying themselves as such, and who sort of maintain order around the grounds, in a harmless, symbolic way. They seem like Wimbledon’s version of the House of Lords, upper-crust guys with no particular power. One of them serves as the usher for the press section on Court 3. Earlier in the week, there was an American sitting in front of me on that court who was grumbling about how “boring” the match we were watching was. At the changeover, he walked out ahead of me. The steward let him out and nodded a friendly hello. The guy grunted, “So boring.” The steward, startled, coughed and said something along the lines of: “Ahem, ha, ha, ha, I say.”

Back to Centre Court, where Caroline Wozniacki looks like she’s trying to make herself believe. She pumps her first, nods her head, and shakes her long blond mane. It’s working—she wins the first set over second seed Jelena Jankovic 6-2. Wozniacki is another up-and-coming teenager—she’ll turn 18 on July 11—with Polish roots, though she’s officially Danish. She has the usual equipment of the young WTA player: two-handed backhand as weapon, forehand that's explosive but erratic, and a shortage of variety.

Can Wozniacki make herself believe? She goes down an early break in the second but bounces back to earn break points at 2-3 and 3-4. She can’t close the deal. Each time she gets tight on her forehand and shanks it long. She does it again at 4-5, 30-30. Jankovic, who's like a cockroach when she's on defense—you just can’t kill her—survives the set and the match.

Wozniacki didn’t quite believe. She’s also not as smooth and natural a player as Jankovic; she makes everything look a little harder than the Serb does. Still, she’s just 18, which had Jelena feeling a little old in her press conference afterward:

Q: Is this match a classic example of a veteran player knowing how to beat—

JJ: You’re calling me a veteran? I’m a veteran at 23? Thanks for making me feel very old

Q: Is it a classic case of a veteran player—

JJ: Oh my God, he keeps continuing with the veteran. I don’t feel good at the moment [laughter].”

3:30: Centre Court

Before the Murray-Haas match, I look at the various gradations of green and accents of white and gold around Centre Court. I understand why the BBC chose it as the place for the first color broadcast—of anything—in its history, in 1967.

Murray seems energized by the moment, but the crowd doesn’t. Or at least not in the way it did with Tim Henman around. When Tiger Tim was in action, the atmosphere in Centre Court felt like something between anxiety and doom. Nervous chatter filled the stadium during every changeover.

Murray is obviously thriving on something. He’s serving in the 130s these days and taking control of points earlier. Rather than move back and enlarge the court the way he usually does, he’s closing it down and forcing the action when he can. He’s inspired enough today to make two spectacular reflex passing shots to break in the third game.

Haas looks like an actor playing a tennis player. With his conservative hair cut, he could be the James Spader character in a John Hughes tennis movie. But he wins the second set and gets his fabulous backhand in gear in the third. Effortless winners begin to flow from it, but Murray stamps it out with a few big serves. Suddenly, within a matter of minutes, Haas’ game is stamped out as well. He loses the third and fourth sets quickly. The German remains a glorious but fragile talent even after all these years, someone in the mold of Richard Gasquet, who must rely on inspiration to strike. It strikes now and then, but it never lasts.

Murray-Gasquet Monday is going to be a barn-burner, a festival for lovers of artistic tennis. This may be the strongest argument for more grass-court events: The stuff brings out the best in the game’s tortured artists. Who doesn't want more of that?

4:30: Court 2

Two attractive women are sitting together and watching Tipsarevic play Tursunov. In their row is an off-duty linesman who’s trying to catch their eye(s). The problem is, he’s in his linesman’s outfit, which, if you’ve been watching the tournament, you know consists of a white beret, blue striped shirt, and a blue-and-green-striped tie. In other words, he’s got an uphill climb. I imagine the women saying to each other, “Take a look at the costume.” They don’t glance in his direction.

5:00: The Grounds

While walking near the center of the club I think: Where’s the food court, and where are the corporate logos? Turns out the food stands are hidden on a less-crucial side of the grounds. This may be for a reason, because the food doesn’t look too good. Unlike at the U.S. Open, you’re not bombarded here with items to buy soon after you walk through the gates. And the few logos in view—for Slazenger and Rolex, mainly—are small and integrated into the color scheme. They feel like they could be part of the All England Club’s original signage.

7:00: Court 2

The day ends in an appropriate spot, the Graveyard, with a battle between two eccentric, hot-headed, all-court Eastern bloc guys, Mikhail Youzhny and Radek Stepanek. This will be one of the last significant matches ever played on this court, and, as you might expect from these two, it’s a corker. They run and hit, race forward and back, make topspin lobs and flying stretch volleys, for four hours, until it’s 9:30 and darkness is closing in. With Youzhny serving at 5-3 and deuce, Stepanek rolls on the ground with an injured wrist. He takes an injury timeout, then comes back and misses two shots badly. The match is over. Youzhny walks to the middle of the court and does his campy salute. As he begins, we hear the sound of Stepanek cracking two of his racquets on his chair. The clouds are rolling in, the light is almost gone, the wind is kicking up, half the crowd is booing Stepanek, the other half is cheering Youzhny. The first week of Wimbledon is over.