When Wimbledon took over the television I have to admit I was annoyed.
It seemed every channel I turned to just featured the thwack of tennis ball and grunt of players.
It’s not that I have anything against the sport. In fact I am a huge fan of everything that comes with it – especially the glasses of Pimm’s and pots of strawberries and cream.
If I am honest it was the fact I didn’t understand it which got my goat.
I mean who scores 15, 30, 40, A? First to six but with a two-game lead to win the set? And just as I was getting my head around the first to three sets for the women, I was told it was first to five for the men. Never mind ‘love’ – I certainly wasn’t feeling it.
So armed with the weekend papers I set up camp to sit it out. You can imagine my surprise then when I found myself sitting forward and actively urging on Kvitova, (or Petra as I called her.) Chosen only for the fact she was the underdog and didn’t make silly noises.
Before I knew it the 21-year-old had beaten Maria Sharapova and I had beaten my stubborn resistance of the sport. To the extent I was already looking forward to the men’s final and ready to pledge my support to the-person-who-wasn’t-Nadal. Who knew two people, two racquets and a ball could be so enthralling or relaxing?
Taking the time out to sit down and immerse yourself in something gives the old grey matter a rest. And for me watching people at the top of their career fight to reach their dreams was really refreshing and inspiring.
Let’s face it, the box is saturated with overpaid and over-the-top sports stars. All better-known for who they date and what car they drive than their actual talent.
Plus tennis isn’t on the telly as much. Meaning less time watching it and more time to have a go. However I’m under no illusions. The closest I will get to centre court is likely to be playing swingball in the back garden.