Wimbledon Crisis Centre, Day 7
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by Pete Bodo
Good mornin' everyone. Well, I'm on the ground in London and gearing up for what promises to be a mind-boggling day of quality tennis - starting with Roger Federer vs. Robin Soderling on Centre Court (how's that for a warm-up act?), and ending with (more or less) Juan Carlos Ferrero vs. Gilles Simon - on Court 3 as an afterthought.
This week, I'm rooming with El Jon Wertheim, in a flat on the storied Church Rd. - the church being St. Mary's, where a number of tennis players of yore, including Lew Hoad, were married. It's a fine flat complete with an aggressive little electric kettle that, upon ignition, sounds like a Boeing 747 preparing for take-off. Then it starts shaking and tap-dancing across the marble countertop. It's quite a show.
i also learned the hard way that the kettle discharges a nasty backblast of steam right onto the top of your hand if you don't observe an appropriate "cool down" period. So much for lethal appliances. My only beef with the flat is that the refrigerator is a puny under-the-counter thing, about the size of an Igloo cooler and - worst of all - it has no freezer compartment, hence no ice cubes, hence no chance to pour a nice scotch on the rocks after a long day. Hence, I'm looking into having Fed Ex deliver a load of ice cubes.
And a long day it promises to be.
My first impression of the new roof over Centre Court was fabulous - that is, I didn't even notice it walking down to the club, or as I made my way over to the press center. I'll have to check this alleged sliding roof later, but as of now I'm still not sure it really exists. Why should they put a roof over this stadium? It's sunny and hot, and just a moment ago I saw a photographer lathering himself with sun block. What is this, the Perth Open?
I'm eager to see the new show court, No. 2, but that pleasure will have to wait given that the first match scheduled there is the battle of the Elenas, Vesnina and Dementieva. On this day, that's chopped liver. My gut feeling is that Dinara Safina might have her hands full with Amelie Mauresmo, and Andy Roddick vs. Tomas Berdych promises to be an old-fashioned rock fight. Then there's the Fernando Verdasco vs. Ivo Karlovic clash. I expect Ivo vs. 'Nando to be kind of like Whack-a-Mole, with Karlovic looking for a KO each time he steps up to the service notch.
I'm still trying to decide between Federer vs. Soderling on Centre or Venus Williams vs. Ana Ivanovic on Court 1. Maybe I'll warm up on Court 1 and then move on up to the main house. It's getting to be make-it or break-it time for the ghosts of Court 2; if they can't set up house in Court 3 today, the entire Graveyard Court tradition may soon go down the tubes. Two of the three Court 3 matches are unlikely to be remembered as Graveyard Court milestones- I mean so what if Juan Carlos Ferrero takes down Gilles Simon, or Nadia Petrova surprises Victoria Azarenka? Neither result is likely to end up on the back page of the tabloids, with a headline in Doomsday type-size, over a picture as evocative of despair as The Scream.
But if Dudi Sela can dismantle Novak Djokovic's well-riveted and tightly bolted game in the second match on 3, it would certainly qualify as a ghoul-worthy accomplishment.
In other news, Gianni Clerici, the Italian journalist,/novelist/poet had his pocket picked while he was wandering around this morning near Big Ben. This was the second time Clerici had his wallet lifted in London. He's the only ink-stained wretch I know who's got a career pickpocket Grand Slam, having had his wallet lifted in Bangkok, Lisbon, Madrid and London (twice). "The strange thing," he said, "is that they never steal my wallet in my own country of Italy, a country of robbers."
My question was, what the hail were you doing hanging around Big Ben. Good grief, you may as well go watch the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Which reminds me of a great line by Pat Cash, for whom I continue to have a soft spot even though he's pretty much alienated almost everyone on the planet, and certainly everyone in tennis. The guy definitely lets it rip, and while many of his remarks are insulting, over-the-top, and/or unenlightening (a deadly combination, that), he's straightforward and says what he's really thinking - that's a rare commodity in a media-centric world where the carefully calibrated remark rules and the idea of saying what's on your mind makes some people queasy. The impulse is honorable even if the content is disappointing.
Anyway, some years ago, John McEnroe was invited to play an exhibition a Buckingham Palace for an audience of pale-skinned royals plus one (that one being the late Princess Diana). When McEnroe told Cash about this invitation, Cash just guffawed and said, "The only way you'll get into Buckingham Palace is over the fence."
Well, enjoy the tennis everyone.
-- As at 11:30 am TW time, an overflow post is up. Andrew