Two weeks ago at midday I was preparing myself for a mental challenge. 3 hours later, retching and tearful, it’s fair to say that the preparations did not work.
I refer, of course, to Andy Murray’s victory at Wimbledon 2013. To most it was a special moment to watch or hear about, but little else. To me it was the culmination of a lifetime in loving tennis. Tennis is – you may have guessed – my passion. Playing or watching, I just can’t get enough, so when a fiery 17 year old brit first came to my attention nearly 10 years ago I was delighted. Finally, this young British tennis nut had a young British tennis pro to root for.
Year after year I have witnessed the best quality tennis that has ever been played. My career as a tennis fan couldn’t have been better timed. The centre of this has of course been wimbledon, my annual two week seclusion to my TV, or SW19 itself if i’m lucky enough to get tickets. Through all the epics – rogers, roddicks and rafas – I have enjoyed immensely the scintillating displays of athleticism, precision and power.
And then came Andy. Andy ruined this joyful experience, replaced instead with sickening nerves and stress…when Andy’s on court everything stops, especially my ability to act rationally. Broken sofas, smashed mugs, pulled hair and screaming, lots of screaming. My love for tennis hasn’t changed, but the experience of watching it has. After 10 years of intense anxiety I can finally relax, he’s won…That is of course until next year…when the whole process begins again. No matter how unpleasant it can get, I’ll never miss a wimbledon, it’s the one thing i’m sure of.