Wimbledon

The British are a strange and unique breed. I've been watching the tennis matches at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, where everything is oh! so proper. Wearing white is mandatory unlike any other locale, be it the Australian, French or U.S. Open. Whereas in Paris or New York you will see Maria Sharapova and Venus Williams, at Wimbledon it's Miss M. Sharapova and Miss V. Williams. The men however are not accorded a Mr. Some years ago, if my memory serves me right, Jimmy Connors refused to enter because of the dress code, but is that not merely an American attempt to impose their ways as the British have done for centuries?

In the glorious days of Empire, the Brits insisted on taking their way of life with them wherever they went. Any of their breed who 'went native" was beyond the pale.

"Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun" was a Noel Coward song. In England it was fine to wander about when the sun was at it's highest, so they damned well would do it on the Mediteranian coast or in India. I once knew an Englishman in Newfoundland who would not remove his necktie or suit coat in the most sweltering part of the paper mill where he worked.

But to get back to tennis. The men's final between the calm Swiss Roger Federer and the glowering Spaniard Rafael Nadal was stupendous. It is being described as one of the greatest matches of all time. I have never seen such tennis. After Nadal took the first two sets (best of five) 6-4, 6-4, Federer tied 6-6 in the third and won on tie-break. I missed the fourth set because of visitors, but I understand that Federer, being down 5-2, came back to win it with brilliant play, also on tie-break. The fifth set was something else, with both players going above and beyond. Nadal finally prevailed after tying 6-6, in extra games, thus ending Federer's string of five straight Wimbledon championships.