Picspam: Wimbly Report

I trust that Poojay is keeping you well informed with the tennis results, so I’ll keep this on my observations of the tournament during Day 7.

And what a day it was, looks like the Australian Open weather followed me all the way to London, for as I woke up in the morning, cloudless skies stretched to infinity all around me. Good morning sunshine! Jetlag? What jetlag?!

Staying in Wimbledon has its advantages. The apartment was a 15 minute walk through leafy suburbia streets, where the scenery changed from rows of red brick townhouses to small cottages and then to much bigger cottages. Wimbledon is not unlike its Melbournian counterpart – Kooyong. But wherever you went, the scene of florals filled the air: people here are nuts about flowers – in gardens, pot plants, window boxes. Got a piece of spare soil? Fill it with something colourful.

By the time I strolled into the AELTC, “the masses” were already lined up outside the main gates like sardines. For some reason, one of the smaller gates let me in early, so I found myself walking around largely deserted grounds, keeping an eye out for … err … ‘objects of interest’.

Sure enough, about 10 steps in, Melzer and Petzschner came walking past on their way to practice, yapping away happily in German. I kept a distance and began stalking in earnest. The two led me, bizarrely, to Severin Luthi, who was headed in a different direction with a can of balls on his racket. Suddenly changing my target, I followed Severin, who eventually led me to Court 10, where through a growing crowd, I could make out someone hitting a single handed backhand …

Trampling over young boys and older women, I eventually fought my way to the front bench on Court 10 like a true bitch. I’m sure you’ll all agree that I had premium views.

Overheard at Wimbly

A woman to her husband: “Oh my goodness, I didn’t realise Roger Federer was such a young man!”

The gap between tennis age and real life age.

Another 20 minutes (focused mainly on the return of serve) and Wogie was done. I gathered my things and prepared to go: it was game day. Roger had his game face on (no playing with lady bugs yo!). He probably won’t sign any autographs.

Overheard at Wimbly

A group of AELTC staff wandered over, “Roger, can we get a photo?” “No problem … wait wait, I wasn’t ready!”

More staff hurried over, too shy to ask now that Roger is back to packing his belongings.

“Haha, you’re too late!” One of guys in the photo teased. Roger turned around and motioned to the camera, ‘it’s okay,’ he said, he’ll take photos with the rest of the staff as well.

“Thanks Roger, good luck for the tournament”, said a girl shyly as she got moved into the photo. The fans awwed.

Having taken enough photos, Roger walked over and began signing autographs for the onlookers. Federbear caught his eye with his epic cuteness, and Roger took him from my hands and signed it!

I guess future forms of bear torture won’t involve the washing machine anymore.

With the practice session over, I hopped along to watch a set of Bartoli v Pironkova.

Overheard at Wimbly

Guy: “Who’s that chick over there?”
Me: “that’s Bartoli.”
Guys: “she’s the 11th seed here, so she can’t be bad, right?”
Me: “Are you kidding me? She made the final here a few years ago.”
Guy: “[silence] … Naarrrgggh. Yer wrong.”

A set of Hamster tennis was all I could handle. With a lot of time to spare before Roger kicks off the Centre Court proceedings, I decided to hit the Wimbledon museum. Not being a tennis traditionalist, I had no idea what to expect from the museum. As it turned out, I didn’t regret my visit.

Overheard at Wimbly

Museum staff: “You look Aussie, are you Aussie?”
Me: “How did you know?!”
Museum staff: “I’m going to take a guess and say that you’re from Melbourne.”
Me: “OH MY GAWD IT’S WRITTEN ON MY FACE ISN’T IT?!”

The museum was chronologically organised, covering the history of tennis from the champions to the changes in technology, the balls, the racquets, and of course, the fashion.

What I didn’t appreciate fully before visiting the museum was the role tennis played in women’s liberation. I’m not just talking about BJK here. Suzanne Lenglen caused a stir when she ditched her petticoats to play in a cotton dress. Helen Wills Moody popularised tennis fasion and made this sport stylish and aspirational for young women. Hell, the Suffragettes even tried to burn down Wimbledon one year.

But naturally, this was what I really came to see.

I don’t know how Robert and Lynnette do it. As I was standing in front of Roger’s Wimbledon outfit from last year, as I looked at the trophy nearby, I was so flooded with pride. Roger might be older than me, but he still has the tendency to make me feel like a proud mama sometimes. Well … most of the time.

The darling boy can’t help himself he’s so adorbs.

Time for the match! I was highly amused for a minute, when I sat down and discovered the person sitting on my left, right, behind me, and in front of me were all Aussie.

“Wait … you too?”

“Me too! I’m from Adelaide.”

“Sydney here.”

“Melbournians!”

“What are the chances?!” Everyone exclaimed.

“Well, I got my ticket through Tennis Australia.”

“Oh … that makes sense.”

What are the chances indeed.

Not much to say on the match. Roger kept it frazzle-free for me so I could use my time wisely to perve on his Royal Gorgeousness. For stretches of the match, I watched his feet, I watched his puny left arm, I watched his hair choreography. I also listened. Roger Federer has always been a quiet mover, but on grass? He’s totally silent. The only sounds were the shuffling footsteps of Melzer, the “plonk plonk” of forehands, “tap tap” of Federer’s slice, the “whoooosh!” as he suddenly hits through a backhand. Collective draw of breath from the crowd, and then – exhale, as backhand bounced, unreachable for Melzer.

Overheard at Wimbly

“Oh gosh, he’s so effortless. GOSH,” moaned the woman behind me, reaching tennis nirvana.

Fedgasms – it matters not if he plays B+, or A- or A+ tennis. It matters that you’ve seen his feet lift off the ground on a forehand, his torso rotating, his eyes watching the ball intently: friend or foe? It matters that you’ve seen him serve an ace, then turn around as applause rings through the stadium, the expression on his face nonchalant. I do this all the time you guys, no biggie.

It matters that I now have permanent bragging rights over my future grandchildren. “When I was your age, I saw Roger Federer play on grass, that guy was really something.”

By the way, Roger maintained his perfect record of never losing in front of me. 8-0. GET ME TO THE US OPEN NAOOOO.

Didn’t get Justine and Kim, but as far as OOPs go, getting my two favourite female players on centre court ain’t bad either. Fabulous first set tiebreaker, won in the end by the woman with the better serve. Like that should surprise anyone.

What was surprising was that this is the first time I’ve seen a crowd cheer for Maria Sharapova, partly because she was the underdog. Partly, I suspect, because of the Williams sisters’ uneasy relationship with the tournament.

Overheard at Wimbly

“Did you know that Serena once threatened an Asian woman that she was going to kill her?” Said the woman behind me.

GET YOUR FACTS RIGHT BITCH.

I drank what I needed to drink. I ate what I needed to eat. Everything tasted better with plastic cutlery. YOU KNOW IT DID.

No photos of Mandy. My camera battery died the moment he walked out onto court. I took it as a sign from the Tennis Gods that I should stay far far away from his pants. So I headed off without watching his first set and had a failed attempt at swapping my centre court ticket for a Court 1 ticket.

Overheard at Wimbly

“Is anyone here desperately in love with Ahndee Murray that they’d be willing to swap me their Court 1 ticket?” I asked a group of people waiting to go into Court 1 during the change of ends.
Their laughter was the only response.
“Come on guys! I mean … he’s so cheery and bubbly.”
More laughter. “Don’t like Murray huh?” A guy asked.
“Well … no.”
“Oh-trust-me-you’re-not-alone.”

Even the usher couldn’t suppress a giggle.

xx doots