It’s that time again!
Who’s your favourite this year?
I’m not sure I have one. I haven’t had one since my beloved Marat Safin hung up his racquet a few years ago.
How is it possible not to love a man who said:
I am not a singer or a rock star. Tennis is tennis. If you want to see a clown, go to a circus.
I do quite like Marcos Baghdatis, but I’m afraid none of the top-seeded players really excites me these days. I suppose it would be good if Andy Murray won.
Tennis is more than just a sport. It’s an art, like the ballet. Or like a performance in the theater. When I step on the court I feel like Anna Pavlova. Or like Adelina Patti. Or even like Sarah Bernhardt. I see the footlights in front of me. I hear the whisperings of the audience. I feel an icy shudder. Win or die! Now or never! It’s the crisis of my life.
And are you one of the lucky ones who’ll be there in person? If so, I do hope you get some good weather. The forecast isn’t brilliant, unfortunately.
If you haven’t got a ticket, you’ll be like me – having your strawberries and cream in front of the television. One of these days, I’ll get there in person. Until then, enjoy!
P.S. Those bookish tennis fans among you might enjoy this literary tennis quiz, courtesy of The Guardian.