Opening Day Confessions from a Wimbledon Junkie

4:00 PM

I walk into the office cafeteria on a supposed coffee-break. Planting myself in front of the TV, I change channels to watch the tennis. There are shrill protests from colleagues revelling in replays of the latest cricketing triumph of the men in blue, but I choose to ignore them. These are, after all, the inaugural moments of the fortnight on the outside courts of Wimbledon, the first balls being struck in anger, the first rounds of polite applause. How could I afford to miss them?

To my consternation, I end up with Vijay Amritraj and Alan Wilkins, at the best (worst?) of their buddy behaviour. Amritraj talks about Venus getting the bigger room for herself in the Wimbledon house that the Williams usually take up. Wilkins playfully admonishes Amritraj for bringing up taboo words like ‘boyfriend’ in discussing the war of words between Serena and Maria.

Just before the remote control gets snatched from my hands by angry cricket fans, the action shifts to Court 2, where Ana Ivanovic is beginning proceedings against Virginie Razzano. The pleasant green stripes of the tennis court and the familiar solemn, overcast atmosphere at Wimbledon has a soothing influence in the cafeteria, helped also by the charms of Ivanovic, no doubt, and helps to prevent any further violence here. The Serbian former No. 1 has already won the first 3 games of the match, and I watch her slicing and dicing her way to the net only for Razzano to pass her. The Frenchwoman comes strongly back into the set, and by the time I leave, Ivanovic is letting out a slightly worried “Come on!”, with the score at 3-3 in the first set.

5:30 PM

I pack my bags, and just before leaving office, pop into the cafeteria again. Centre Court action is in progress, with the traditional opening match featuring the defending champion. It is a formal sign that the tournament is actually under way. This time, there is a small knot of people already watching the tennis in the cafeteria. I realize this is not surprising because it is Roger Federer who is in action. He is, in many ways, the Sachin Tendulkar of tennis, to an Indian audience.

In the opening game, Federer trots to the net, and his opponent, Hanescu, almost wrong foots him with an attempt to pass behind him. But Federer sticks out a nonchalant racquet even as his momentum carries him in the opposite direction. The ball makes soft contact, and drops quietly into Hanescu’s half. Federer continues to move effortlessly on the grass, indulging in trademark wristy flicks and smooth, powerful forehands. It is an exhibition of tennis as high art, and before I realize it, I have spent an hour in the cafeteria, spellbound in the master’s display.

8:30 PM

I am at home, in front of the TV, with a vague sense of déjà vu building up. Nadal has just forced the match into a second set tie-breaker against Steve Darcis, after losing the first set in a tie-breaker as well. I am not sure what exactly I am watching. Is this the first week of the French Open from a month ago where Nadal looked shaky in a couple of matches, lost a few early sets, before roaring back? Or is this Lukas Rosol from a year ago, who pummelled Rafa into submission in the last edition at Wimbledon? Nadal saves four set points in the tie-breaker, and I think this might be the turning point. Surely, this Darcis chap will break under the pressure now. Darcis promptly goes on to win the second set on his fifth set point.