Call me an old sourpuss, but Wimbledon today is less stylish, less sporting — and a tad vulgar

ANDY MURRAY’S defeat yesterday by the 6 ft 6 in muscle-bound American giant Sam Querrey destroyed the distant prospect of two Britons winning both the men’s and women’s Wimbledon single finals for the first time since 1909.

Let’s hope that ‘our girl’ — the Australian-born Jo Konta, who is of Hungarian descent and took time to master the national anthem — will still prevail. But the prospect of two people who call themselves British ever carrying off the championship in the same year must be vanishingly small.

We should in any case be honest, and admit that what goes on at Wimbledon today bears about as much resemblance to what took place in 1909 as modern warfare does to the Battle of Marathon in 490BC. Indeed, professional tennis has changed out of all recognition in less than 50 years.

The last time Britain had a man and a woman in the Wimbledon quarterfinals was in 1973, when Roger Taylor and Virginia Wade made it to the last eight. The winner of the gentlemen’s title that year was handed £5,000 in prize money, while the ladies’ champion got £3,000. At the weekend, both winners will pocket £2.2 million.

This year, seven players withdrew during matches in the first round due to injury but were nonetheless paid £35,000 each just for turning up. It has been suggested that some of them had no intention of playing a full match. If true, this was an egregious example of cynicism and an insult to people who paid a lot of money to watch tennis.

Yes, everything has changed at Wimbledon — the money, the tennis, the players and, of course, the crowds. My colleague Robert Hardman ventured down to SW19 and observed gargantuan quantities of champagne and Pimm’s being quaffed by fans. Britain’s crude drinking culture has seemingly spread to the once-genteel Wimbledon Championships. WHILE

crowds used generally to be fairminded, they have become rather raucous and rowdy. They do not — yet — behave like yobbish football followers, but I fear things are moving in that direction.

There was a thrilling match on Tuesday between Jo Konta and the Romanian Simona Halep. But on match point, in the midst of a rally in a hardfought third set, a woman in the crowd emitted a demonic scream. Halep was so disconcerted that she limply hit the ball into the net.

More generous souls than I suggest that the woman in the stands was so carried away by the drama of the moment that she lost control of herself. Perhaps they’re right. But many people have said it was a deliberate act of sabotage — and proof that ‘the days of British politeness have long gone’. My immediate suspicion, too, was that the scream was intended to make the Romanian lose.

In either event, shouldn’t the point have been replayed in a spirit of fairness? And if the umpire was unprepared to do this — as he evidently was — shouldn’t Jo Konta have asked him whether they could play it again? That would have been the sporting thing to do. The shriek, and the response to it, seem to me to embody the loss of decorum, the extreme partisanship and the win-at-allcosts ethos of modern Wimbledon. That stupid screamer should surely be identified and banned from the tournament for a year or two. I bet she won’t be.

By the way, it may be fitting that the new patron saints of SW19 should be the Middletons. Kate has naturally been there as patron of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. Pippa has been treating it as something of a fashion show. Their mother, Carole, has notched up three visits.

But if the crowds are less classy than they used to be, so are the players. A champion from 50 years ago would probably find it difficult to win a single set against their hulking modern counterparts with graphite rackets and lightning serves. I doubt, though, that the tennis is more enjoyable to watch. Rather the opposite.

The game today largely consists of bludgeoning opponents into submission — witness Sam Querrey’s demolition of Andy Murray yesterday. Strength and height are paramount. The average height of the eight men’s quarter-finalists was 6 ft 3 in. Two of them were 6 ft 6 in. All were over 6 ft.

There would be no place for former champions such as Rod Laver (5 ft 8 in) or Ken Rosewall (not quite 5 ft 7 in) with their elegant and sinuous drop- shots, and perfectly placed winning cross- court groundstrokes.

I’m afraid the women’s game is going the same way. Serena Williams ( absent from Wimbledon on maternity leave) and Maria Sharapova (not yet fully rehabilitated following her ban for a doping violation) are undoubtedly monumental athletes who give the ball an almighty whack.

Even so, dietitians and fitness coaches have their limitations, and none of them has yet come up with a 6 ft 6 in female colossus with a 150 mph serve. Perhaps they will, given time.

Am I being too hard on the modern game? Possibly. I don’t pretend that everything at Wimbledon used to be rosy. Who can forget the ugly arguments that John McEnroe picked with umpires, 30 years and more ago? Or the tantrums of his argumentative American compatriot Jimmy Connors in the same era? THOUGH

there is a lot of grunting and punching of air and snarling at defeat among many tennis players today, there are also some who know how to behave, such as Roger Federer ( winner of Wimbledon on seven occasions). He is gracious and sportsmanlike, as well as an elegant tennis player.

Still, I can’t help feeling that something has been lost that won’t ever be recovered. In some ways, the changes that have transformed Wimbledon reflect what has happened in wider society.

On the one hand, the tournament is more professionally run, richer, and not stuffy, as it once undoubtedly was. On the other hand, it has become less stylish, less sporting, and just a little bit vulgar.

Britain was, after all, the cradle of most of the world’s most popular games, and the way in which they have spread around the world is one of this country’s most precious achievements. The essence of all these games was, of course, to win — but while respecting one’s opponents. Something of that spirit of fair play is being forgotten by players and spectators alike at Wimbledon, as it was long ago in football.

I don’t imagine that Wimbledon will ever again witness the kind of epic battle that took place in 1969 between the 41-year-old American Pancho Gonzales (one of the most revered players in the history of tennis) and his much younger fellow countryman, Charlie Pasarell.

After five hours 12 minutes, the greying Gonzales finally won 22–24, 1–6, 16–14, 6–3, 11–9 in a match that nearly half a century later is remembered for its brilliance and grandeur. Gonzales was very far from being a softie. In fact, he was feared by some opponents. But he was a sportsman.

Now that Andy Murray is out for another year, our only hope is that our adopted heroine Jo Konta will triumph over the next few days. Despite everything that has happened, tennis can still be a thrilling game, and Wimbledon remains a great arena. But I fear it will never again be the home of honest sportsmanship.