Posts tagged with "tennis"

Andy Murray's hopes of lifting his first major were thwarted by defeat yesterday in the last 16 of the US Open to Croat, Marin Cilic.

I like Andy Murray. I don't think he's a dour individual. I think he's a very talented tennis player who is focused and determined. I admire the fact he coped with being sent to live in Spain at the age of 15 to improve his tennis.

Occasionally, I have even stalked him by scanning his Twitter stream. Yes, it's genuine.

I'm not a pathetic 'Little Englander' who hates Andy Murray simply because he once said 'anyone but England' on radio 5 during the 2006 World Cup. I thought it was a funny response during an amusing exchange of banter with the interviewer, fellow Scot Nicky Campbell, and his English friend, Tim Henman. Each and every one of my Scottish friends would have said precisely the same thing.

Since my own lad started playing junior tennis at a competitive level, my admiration for what Murray has already achieved (No.2 in the world) has increased ten fold. However, the real reason I believe Andy Murray will win a major tennis tournament in the not too distant future stems from an incident a couple of years ago.

I was watching my son play in a junior Surrey tennis competition held at the National Tennis Centre in Roehampton. I was walking around the 22 courts, admiring the excellent facilities and killing time before he played his first match.

I walked along a balcony overlooking four, immaculate indoor courts. Andy Murray was warming up with his coaching team. They were playing keepy-uppy with a tennis ball and generally messing around. As word got round the complex that Murray was present, a small crowd of aspiring young tennis players and their doting parents gathered to watch.

I was surprised at the sheer number of people in the Murray entourage. After ditching Brad Gilbert, Murray now employs Miles Maclagan (coach), Matt Little (strength and conditioning coach), Jez Green (physical conditioner) and Andy Ireland (physio).

Once the warmup was complete, the laughter stopped and Murray started doing serious tennis drills. He was rallying from the baseline with his coach. I watched in awe as he repeatedly and monotonously hit shots from the baseline low and hard over the net.

Each shot was powerful and landed just within the baseline or even on the line. I soon realised that that's why tennis players knock up (or 'hit') with fellow professionals. Most mortals or even decent club players would be incapable of taking part in this drill.

Murray continued his exercises. He didn't acknowledge the people watching. In fact, I'm pretty sure he wasn't even aware of our presence. He was solely focused on hitting that ball.

Another rally started. Murray continue to hit ball after ball low and hard over the net. Occasionally, he'd readjust his position to reach to a shorter or wider shot but he kept on returning the ball. Slowly but surely, the pace of the rally and the variety of shots increased. Now Murray was exerting himself but he kept on hitting balls back like a machine - low and hard, each shot just skimming over the net at great speed.

Finally, the rally came to an end when Murray netted a baseline shot. He shouted 'Oh - for fuck's sake. COME ON !'.

Some of the parents assembled on the balcony looked aghast and told Jocasta to shield her ears from such Scottish profanity and gently suggested it was time to get a drink while I just continued to watch on in admiration.

On Friday, Norman Junior III and myself loaded up our picnic hamper, packed the cool box with brightly coloured Bacardi Breezers and set off for SW19.

We had been lucky enough to get tickets for Wimbledon tennis in the public ballot last year but, thanks to the English weather, we only saw grey skies and 63 minutes of play. It was scant consolation that we saw Maria Sharapova in the flesh. OK, I'll admit it - that was a massive consolation !

This year, we applied again in the public ballot and we got lucky. Very lucky. We were allocated Centre Court tickets for Friday 4 July, the day of the Men's Semi Finals. Or as those posh stewards from the Wimbledon Championships prefer to call it, the 'Gentleman's Singles'

We used my own private and exclusive 'Park & Ride' scheme which entails parking on a residential road and walking through Wimbledon Village, admiring the beautiful people, en-route to Wimbledon Tennis Club on Church Road.

After clearing security, ('No sharp objects just ham & cheese rolls') we wandered around the outer courts which were hosting doubles and junior matches. We saw the world's sporting journalists and TV crews setting up in the media centre, had a look at Aorangi Terrace - sorry 'Henman Hill' - sorry 'Murray Mount' and gazed at hundreds of people, soaking up the sun and the atmosphere, preparing to watch matches on a very big screen.

Norman Junior asked why Wimbledon was charging a staggering 85 pence for a Toffee Crisp and £2.60 for a bag of Maynard's Wine Gums. I told him it was so the LTA can pay off the rest of Brad Gilbert's contract and finish the retracting roof.

At 12:30, we took our seats on Centre Court and were delighted to discover we had brilliant seats on row 10, to the left of the umpire's chair, bathed in brilliant sunshine.

Roger Federer against Marat Safin was the first match and Federer did indeed look impressive in his cream cardigan, with five gold embossed buttons (signifying the number of his Wimbledon triumphs). Federer beat Safin in straight sets and he's an awesome player. It must be soul destroying to play against Federer as the guy never seems to make a mistake and barely seems to be exerting himself. Safin tried manfully but rarely looked like breaking Federer's serve and, after losing a second set tie-break and smashing a racket on his chair, Safin understandably lost heart and Federer triumphed 6-3, 7-6, 6-4.

After a quick break to play 'Spot the Celebrity' in the Royal Box (Prince Michael of Kent, Des Lynam, Michael Parkinson and Trevor Macdonald), it was time for Rafael Nadal. When Norman Junior III asked me for my prediction, I loudly said 'It will be close but I'm going for Schuettler in four sets' which drew some puzzled looks from our immediate neighbours.

Nadal is a big man and taller than I imagined. He is very strong, athletic and muscular. In fact, I think he has muscles on top of his muscles. Nadal swept into an early 3-0 lead after breaking the serve of the German, Rainer Schuettler. The game looked like it could be an embarrassing, one -sided affair but credit to Schuettler who actually broke Nadal's serve and was on top in the second set. Nadal came back though and levelled to take the set into another tie-break. Inevitably, just like Federer and like a true world class sportsman, Nadal went up a gear and won the tie-break (and the match) easily.

We finished our cheese and cucumber sandwiches, drained our flask of tea, cracked open our packet of Wine Gums (60p from Asda), took some more photos and watched one set of Mixed Doubles (Jamie Murray) before making our way home to try to (successfully) spot ourselves on the TV highlights.

Obligatory photos (with captions) here

This year, like the previous three, we applied in the LTA ballot for Wimbledon tickets. This year, unlike the previous three, we were allocated two tickets for Court 1 for the middle Saturday in blazing June.

I checked the Order of Play on Friday night. My wife asked me who was playing. I casually replied 'Oh - just some ladies playing pit-a-pat tennis then Djokovic (Men's #4 seed) against Kiefer followed by another ladies singles match.'

'Are the ladies well known ?'

I manfully tried to control my rising excitement and the quiver in my voice: 'Oh I dunno - someone called Sharapova. I think she's the pretty, athletic one. Tall, blonde hair with long shapely legs who also does modelling.'

After a cold shower, I checked the weather forecast, looked outside at the torrential rain and, for the first time in 23 years, said a little prayer before turning in.

The day dawned grey and wet. We arrived at Wimbledon, prepared for the increased security checks. A gentleman in a blazer asked me and my son to open our coats. An unusual request but, in the interests of homeland security, we complied. He said 'I'm awfully sorry, Sir but you can not wear those T-shirts on Court 1.'

We looked down at our chests. My son's read 'Blog in Isolation' and mine was adorned with 'www.nbrightside.com'. 'Why not ?'

'Those shirts constitute "ambush marketing" which is strictly not allowed by the LTA. Come to think of it, didn't I see you two dancing on stage at Glastonbury last week behind Iggy Pop waving a "Bring back Wispa" flag ?'

Undeterred, we promptly removed one layer to reveal our contingency shirts

'Come on Andy !' 'Come on Tim !' 'We love you, Maria !'

'That's much better, Sir. Have a great day and enjoy the tennis.'

Pictures here.