We’d be disappointed if it didn’t rain at all. That happened once in the 90s, then again in 2003, and despite all the raving about strawberries and cream and summer dresses, there was an undercurrent of disappointment. What,
The rain can change fortunes. 1988, the year
So it’s raining in
Then there are the others. The ones who turn up, make up the numbers, fight their way to the third round or the quarters but never ever win. Once in a while fairy-tales come true. Jana Novotna beating Nathalie Tauziat in the ’98 final, 5 years after she cried on the shoulder of the Duchess of Kent. The beauty of that final was that no matter WHO won, it would have been a fairy-tale finish.
There are those who are remembered for one-off triumphs. Like
Then there’s ‘Tiger Tim’, ‘Tin Man’.
Come to think of it, those years, beating Henman must have been like a lucky charm. Whoever beat him in the semis went on to win
This is the angst of the journeyman. Knowing they’re good, better at what they do than all but 100 or 200 people in the entire world, but never in the record books, never engraved on the trophies, always footnotes in the sporting histories. Tormented by hope, by ‘what ifs’. Maybe if I just keep returning steadily over 6 rounds, maybe if the other guy falls apart, maybe if I have the edge of windy conditions … Almost - pardon the self-indulgence - a Prufrockian dilemma.
What was that name in the second round?